Death By Tornado

    The storm chaser is hosting his own podcast. He interrupts one of his guests when a tornado is about to form. There is enough down time when storm chasing to make this possible- he has a whole team helping him. The show is broadcast straight from his van, where all his meteorological technology is, and once a storm hits, the camera in his car turns on so that his fans can watch him as he's driving. Reed Timmer meets Art Bell. The show becomes the most popular podcast in history, mainly because of the chaos involved in cutting off an exciting topic for an even more exciting chase, and the possibility of  seeing his reaction to a tornado taking form.
    One day his wife calls on the air just before an F4 tornado touches down. He tries to cut her off but she becomes agitated. She exposes him for cheating on her, totally live, right as everyone sees the tornado he is chasing.  The humiliation causes him to change direction, putting him right in the path of the storm. He forgets all safety protocol in a futile attempt to passify his wife. He can't even listen to his crew because he is trying to "explain" his side of the story in ultimate panic mode. Finally he realizes the gravity of the situation; the F4 tornado is about to send his van flying with the whole world watching as his wife continues to chastise him. 
    He tries to interrupt her one more time, and in the back of her mind she can hear him saying he is about to die. She doesn't care. The tornado accomplishes her revenge. What makes it funny is her complaints seem trivial to the actual cheating. Very little is said about the true offense. A garden variety domestic quibble has turned into a viral sensation as the awesome forces of nature tear it apart. The storm chaser becomes the first person in history to die on the air from driving into a tornado.

Toby

 Innocent youth skimming the lake
 Lush with fronds from the willows,
 They're coming for you, the demons of lust
 Who lie hidden in the lake community,
 Behind the incense of sermons, priests
 Who preached from the heart, not the mind.
 Take your books and go back to school,
 Don't look behind, or they will follow you
 Cordless vespers in the evening dew
 Clamoring for attention over the soft air
 Treading water you breathe in the passion,
 Oblivious to the schemes of scripture,
 Fully absorbed by the atmosphere
 Where fireflies at twilight soothe the water,
 Torn asunder by curiosity to discover
 What the nuns declined to render,
 Dormant sirens muffled by the bell below.

Unicorn of the Forest

     In the cold frostlands of Russia there lived a maiden who loved to sing.  She sang so sweetly that all the animals in the forest came to witness the beauty of her voice.  Even the fabled unicorn, who was attracted to virgins, came to her voice like a calling from some arcane mythology.  Of all the animals, the unicorn was her favorite, for it was the only one that matched her in beauty, and so she did well to tame it.  When she brought it back to the village, all were amazed that a mere serf had caught the attention of such a legendary creature.

    One day, a nobleman came to the village and heard her singing.  He'd never heard anything as captivating, so he spied her from afar.  What also attracted him was that she was comforting the white beast of the forest, caressing its neck as she murmured a soft lullaby, making him feel envious.  It didn't bother him that she was a serf; he did everything he could to woo the maiden, and inevitably she relented.  After she lost her virginity to him, he asked her to marry him, and so they planned to wed the following spring.  But laying with him came with a price: the unicorn was seen no more in the village.

    The maiden became like any regular serf, still lovely and talented at singing, but without the charm of her unusual pet.  Yet the nobleman still loved her, like she hadn't even lost her unicorn.  When he brought her to the city of his birth, she was shunned by the aristocracy to have bewitched their young count, but he insisted on loving her, that it was he who had courted her, and that all were invited to their wedding.  Only five people came though, as even members of his immediate family were absent, which left him feeling betrayed and disillusioned.  How their love could be rejected and vilified due to a social convention was beyond their understanding.  As time went on they found themselves living in seclusion, isolated from everyone who'd paid tribute to his regality, even his own family.  He was also disheartened to find that he'd lost his inheritance; that even his heirs would not get anything because of the supposed sin of interclass marriage, indoctrinated most strongly by artistocrats in the Church.

    Over time, love proved stronger than convention.  The couple loved each other deeply for years, having a son in the process, and building a life for themselves.  That strength never brought society to their side.  When the wife grew deathly ill, she was only in her 30s.  It was only then that she regretted marrying a nobleman, as she was certain God had punished her for her actions by taking her away early.  Lying on her deathbed, she asked forgiveness from the Lord, which pained her husband to no end.  That her last thought should be regret for marrying him was something he'd never recover from.

    Until one day he was teaching his son to hunt in the forest, when the unicorn came upon them.  It rested its head on the nobelman's legs, as it had done when it first saw the virgin so long ago, his bride to be.  The man stroked its glorious horn, as his wife had done just before he courted her.  Take me back, he said to the unicorn, so that I may undo what is done.  The unicorn did not listen.  Instead it went over to the son, himself a virgin, and led him deep into the forest.  The father followed, confused at this sudden turn of events.  In the forest they found her, bruised and bloodied, raped and presumably dead, not from disease but from a raid on the village that was to occur soon after she left with the count.  It dawned on him that this is what would have happened had he never taken her away, and neither would his son have been born.  The apparition faded once his understanding was complete; he had made the right decision, and his wife would have agreed had she known.  God's judgment is never made in death, only in life.

    There in the forest, he built a new home to live the rest of his days, honoring his deceased wife with a shrine of pagan imagery.  The son returned to the city to successfully reclaim his heritage, convincing the aristocracy that his father's actions should not influence his status in society.  He was so convincing that the cultural dam broke on interclass marriages, and others would soon be doing it- the shame directed at the castigated couple turned back on the aristocrats.  Every time he returned to the forest, the unicorn led him back to his father's house, which could never be found on a map.  The son would wonder if it even existed; if the unicorn had somehow taken them through a portal to another world.  And there he would find him, seeing his father for what he hoped wasn't the last time, the faint remembrance of her songs emanating from their embrace.

Sapphire Dinner

Blue seafood banquet on the Edmonds pier

That sunlight graced with loving kindness

Presented us a pristine Puget scene

Of ferries and mountains and whales,

Wispy fragments of childhood wonder

Brushed by a cloudless quartzite sky.

Smiles aglow around the seraglio dome,

Mothers in ecstasy celebrating home,

Glints off the glass that love smashed

To smithereens, shirts blue and green,

Cards from sons and daughters, emotive in spring.

We thank you for this food, we thank you for their love,

Theirs is the greatest of flavors, dashed by a holy cross,

Saints of tenderness the angels marinated,

Joy and care transmitted from their smiles to ours.

Those beau monde coquettes who stole the eye,

Reflected lasciviously through the polished glass,

Yield to this platter of crustaceans and kinship:

Nothing is more important, alas, we sometimes forget.

To stay together is a gift, often overlooked,

Though we deign to surrender its value,

With plates of gratitude left at the shrine.

A Peaceful Death

    Into the ocean we fell, three or more comrades, blasted from a ship in some war, or natural disaster.  We knew our lives were over, we resigned ourselves to the end.  No struggle, no pain, only acceptance, a mutual acknowledgment of the inevitable.  Yet together we were stronger in death than we would have otherwise been.  Dying with others is less scary that way; it's as if the shared experience purifies it, attaches your soul to others for eternity.  We left with no regrets, no anger, no fear that we would not live on.  Our lives felt complete, as if we'd left no business unfinished, no stone unturned.  Weak as we were, the strength of death infiltrated our bones as we closed our eyes, drifting in the shallow light, darkened underworld reaching to catch us.  La petite fille de la mer, ejected from the mantle of the material, misty corridor through which surrender evaporates, shaded enigma where the scaled ribbons of light undulate.  As the light went out, we spoke to each other, that this is the end, that all is ok.  Nothing left to achieve, nothing left to say, nothing left to do but let the universe dissolve our ashes while preserving our souls.  It is not as terrifying as it seems, for even if we are alone, others are waiting.  All the ones who passed before us.  They say welcome, brother.

Brother Ivan

Long-haired hippie of the golden coast,

Disciple of wisdom and all that's free,

Preach to orphans destined for light,

Show them the way from trauma and abuse,

Neglect sedated by drugs of wonderment,

Miracles in the mind turned to healing.

Hitchhiking gypsy wearing tattered cloth,

Shoeless yet radiant in the sunset's calm,

Baptize these lost children, that they may be saved

From the dark machine's firm grip.

Seek the elders who misunderstand, castigate,

Yet care in ways only you could reveal.

Rejoice in the delicacy of their illusions,

Pry them open with parables and proverbs.

 

On the mountain you sit, the wind on your face,

Talking with your father, who commands

You to unite them, who wishes to use you

The untarnished vagabond above the fault,

Destitute of vice despite the hardship-

This the truest miracle in all you perform-

You must be his voice, yes, in the calm golden light,

Fingertips of sunlight bathing your skull,

Wrapping you in warmth with the city's heartbeat.

You will wander those freeways, an answer to prayers,

Forsaken once the Word got out,

Content beyond measure to have served

Divine teachings where the ocean is reborn.

Globalization or Americanization?

     Globalization is the catch-all term for modern economic and sociopolitical norms, fermented by technology, communication, and transportation networks that facilitate trade and the transfer of ideas.  But how much of it has its origins in the U.S.A, and if it is upwards of 50%, would Americanization be a better term to describe the zeitgeist of our modern world?

    The short answer is yes, the vast majority of innovative products with global appeal have American origins, or at least were inspired by something American.  Not only do people like to buy our stuff, but the traditional incentive for immigrants attracted by our superior law system, the idealization that money grows on trees here, that there is so much prosperity and land that anyone can be happy, means that most of the free world world now yearns for an American way of life, which is arguably more important than the actual products we export.  It's our superior marketing talent (and volume) that stamps a lifestyle for the new age on all citizens of the world, from the Chilean mountains to the Australian outback.  The idea of Americanism actually uprooted globalization- for a truly globalized world means all countries spread goods and ideas equally- to the point where one country dominates by incorporating elements of all the others.

    It's the nature of investment, and the establishment of an identity when there isn't any.  Companies like Disney do a brilliant job of building an artificial mythology, stolen from the cultural vaults of other countries.  Every film they release takes a piece of someone else's culture and tattoos it onto ours, effectively marketing it for global distribution, so that what we have now are American versions of ancient, sacred stories to pacify unaware consumers around the world. The transformation from an authentic mythology rooted in a specific region, such as Aladdin in Arabia, may seem ominous until you realize this is what people want.  The modern world wants modern stories, fast and zesty, fun and accessible, for all to relate with it, which also serves to make them easier to market and distribute.

    It doesn't stop at movies either.  Our music, food, engineering, software, literature, etc., have all made strides around the world, so that what we have are a group of many cultures gravitating toward one.  No other country even comes close to our prestige and influence.  China could if it wanted, but its political order will not allow it.  India was too far behind to have a chance.  Britain and other European countries never had the resources in close proximity the way America did.  Only Japan seems capable of catching up with us, with potential revolutions in anime and video game adaptations.  Yet one doesn't see Japanese culture overtaking a place like sub-Saharan Africa the way American culture could.  It's because our people have roots everywhere, and nobody is limited from coming here.  They wouldn't know it, but the anti-immigrants in this country are truly the anti-Americans, for they want to deny America the very thing that made it great enough to grow uncontrollably alluring: its unprecedented diversity.