Saturday, January 21, 2006

Entitlement

What is entitlement?
Is it a large bank account,
expensive house,
or fast car?
Is it race, nationality, gender, religion, or ethnicity?
Is it a beautiful face, lean body, or hard muscles?
I don't know what it is, but I see it every day,
and, frankly,
I am sick of it.
Because of this catch word,
the lines of graciousness and acceptance of others
have been eradicated.
Every day, I experience and/or observe this phenomenon
and I shudder at the direction in which
this country,
this world,
is headed.
Everyone seems to think he or she is entitled
to whatever it is he or she wants,
the wishes of others or the needs of the masses
bedamned.
I am entitled to be rude and ugly,
to have what I want,
to my rightful place,
because
my ancestors were repressed
or because
I am a woman
or because
I am white
or because
My child is smarter
or because
I am beautiful
or because
I live in an expensive Malibu bungalow
or because
I am an Ivy Leaguer
or because
I am a man
or because
I drive a German sports car
or because
I am a victim
or because
I am on welfare
or because
my ancestors were wealthy
or because
I am black
or because
I am fat and lazy
or because
I am handicapped
or because
Of my ethnicity
or because
I know the President
or because...
The reasons are endless, superflous, and disingenuous.
Why the need for entitlement?
It has done nothing but
cultivate bitterness,
promote segregation,
emphasize separation,
cause misunderstanding,
foster mistrust,
and
endanger this country's,
this world's,
relationships.
Because of this attitude,
our country,
our world,
is more divided than ever.
Every day brings fresh news of conflict between people
who feel that they are more
entitled to what it is they want
than are the people who believe opposite,
who also believe THEY are more
entitled to what it is they want.
It is a vicious cycle and it is not new.
No, it has been around for millennia.
However, the relentlessness of
technological advancement,
the explosion in world population,
and the heightening educating of the world
have begun to narrow the distance
between neighbors and encroach upon
the privacy of the world,
serving to make this a more urgent problem
than ever before.
It can be found on small, insignificant scales,
such as a claim to a space in line
at a coffee shop,
or it can be found on larger scales,
such as a claim to a promotion
at work,
or it can be found on the grandest scales of all,
such as the claim to land or religious monument
at home.
Entitlement has always existed,
and especially on the grandest of scales;
it is the reason for war.
But it is when it starts to become an epidemic on the
smaller and less large scales
that the problem of entitlement
must be addressed
and the attitudes toward and surrounding it
must be altered and
compromises must be reached.
Perhaps this entitlement is part
of Nature's course
for the universe,
but I suspect not
because we as a species of humankind
have begun to believe more and more
that we are entitled to destroying
more and more parts of Nature,
literally and figuratively,
in an effort to further our own advancement,
which, of course,
is not an advancement at all.
In trying to impose our sense of entitlement upon Nature,
we run the risk of provoking Her wrath.
When we believe we are entitled
to know and understand
what it is that Nature
knows and understands,
so much so that we will attain this
knowledge and understanding
at any cost,
we jeoardize the future of Humankind's
relationship with Nature
and even, indeed,
the future of Humankind itself.


Santa Monica
01.02.01

Monday, January 09, 2006

A Window on Perspective

A woman sings karaoke
while I sit and drink and contemplate.
I am invalidated and angry
(even using the word "invalidated" pisses me off),
happy and exhausted,
weary and resigned.
To my right,
I look out the window and watch as, out on Wilshire,
an old-looking middle-aged woman
pokes through the garbage can on the corner.
I bet on the baseball playoff game
tonight and won.
A parlay on three hockey games
would have won had I had the guts
to have made that bet.
I curse my cowardice
as, a half-moon hovering overhead,
I notice out the window
an old-looking middle-aged woman
poking through the garbage can on the corner.
Victory and elation,
disappointment and letdown,
all relative to the beholder,
smolder like incestuous hillbillies
on a Jerry Springer show,
baring all on syndicated television,
merely to cash that virulent paycheck while,
just outside the window beside which I am sitting,
an old-looking middle-aged woman
pokes through the garbage can on the corner.
Shame and embarrassment
steal over me for things
I have done or said,
ways I have acted or reacted,
situations I have caused or created.
I feel sorry for myself and think that
I am the unluckiest person on earth,
until I look out that window and see
an old-looking middle-aged woman
poking through the garbage can on the corner.
My wife sleeps at home
while I am in this bar,
sad, alone, near the breaking point,
while her cowardly, self-loathing husband
pines away, genuflective before a bottle
and this pen and paper,
attempting to discern his lot in life,
while outside, with no home and a sorry lot in life,
an old-looking middle-aged woman
pokes through the corner garbage can.



Santa Monica
19.10.99

A Mid-January Midnight - in Shorts

Midnight
in mid-January
sitting outside in shorts
on a bench at the corner of
Santa Monica and Wellesley.
Across Santa Monica Boulevard
~~~~~~~~~~(straight ahead)
is Rocky's Hot Dogs and Hamburgers.
Across Wellesley Avenue
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (to my right)
is Del's Saloon,
into which I have set foot many times.
A perspiring can of Coors
sits on Beside Me Street
~~(to my left)
and keeps me company
as I watch the sparse traffic meander by.
I think about my
being in shorts
at midnight
in mid-January
(it is Los Angeles, after all)
and it brings to mind
where I was a year ago
(Budapest)
and two years ago
(Boulder),
neither in which place I'd be
sitting outside in shorts
at midnight
in mid-January.

I watch the traffic and enjoy the night.
A Lexus, a Honda, a Chrysler
all drive by;
then a Ford pickup truck
and several other cars.
However, my mind is not here on the bench;
no, it thinks about my soon-to-be ex-Mrs.
in bed at home:
a second marriage failure.
I feel pathetic and I'm not even
thirty-two years old yet.
I am momentarily brightened at the thought
of two potential successors, though:
one in Hungary and one in Turkey.
But I've a feeling they would just be
the third and fourth ex-Mrses,
so I decide not to take my act
international just yet.
Hell, they probably aren't even
potential suitors; it's probably just
the Coors talking or
the desire for good drama amidst all
this rubbish.
Questions do remain, though,
and chances saunter past me
like the traffic in front of me.
Perhaps, however, as I am doing with these cars,
I am merely watching great chances pass by me.
I get up to walk home and I walk past Del's.
I pause, for it's definitely a bar
I know well and will only
know better, and, although I know
it would certainly be OK in mid-June or -July,
I wonder if it would be OK for me
right now to be
sitting inside in shorts
at midnight
in mid-January.



West Los Angeles
18.01.00

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Exposed

This poem was written within a month of the incidents of 09.11.01 in the U.S. It was written with the assumption, long since disappeared from the author, that those who crafted the events of that day are whom the American government would have us believe:


exposed
we were
we have been
we are

will we learn?

or will we continue trying
to force our will
--unwanted--
our politics
--unnecessary--
our threats
--unheeded--
our ideas
--unsympathetic--
our beliefs
--unessential--
on people and cultures
ill-disposed or -inclined
to accept them?

will we learn when to help or aid
and NOT to interfere?
or will we always follow up our good intentions
with OUR agenda?

Innocents
(and innocence)
have been lost, on our own soil,
a tragedy and injustice, perhaps,
but no more so than what
we dole out to the world all too frequently.

do we deserve to seek justice?
maybe,
but not at the expense of other
innocents
(and innocence)
who will pay for our wrathful vengeance.

american innocence suffered because,
if you believe the party line,
others who are allegedly against our "way of life"
sought vengeance,
not justice.

"we" claim ours to be a superior
morality and culture
just as "they" claim theirs to be.

so, where is the difference
between *us* and
those we demonize?
or between those we
expose
and those who
exposed
us?