New Primary Blog

My primary blog is moving from Verses of my Destruction to Spindle, Thread, Loom, Stitch, Trim ( until further notice). On this blog I will be doing at least one re-write (2 paper writings) plus editing as I type for each post instead of throwing the first pass up. I hope the results are appreciated. I will most likely be renovating some posts from my other blogs (also temerityofoptimism and firsttopicsindrugs.wordpress etc) to go up there as well. I hope the results are appreciated. I will be casting an eye more towards commercial publishing so things may not remain on the blogs for long. Some posts may continue to accrue at Verses of my Destruction, or may not. I don’t know. I guess any first passes that I wish to publish as is might. Verses of my Destruction will not disappear, although things may eventually begin to disappear from it. There is one teaser post up so far.

Conflict (semi-non-linear verse #1 12-21)

The queen kindly requests

Your execution

Eyeliner will be provided

On fire and insane

Sticks and stones

We run in circles

May break my bones

In time to the beating

Of the tambourine

On the campaign stump

The beasts stomp the Earth

Making their presence known


Like a tornado

Battle set-to, one-two-three

Bring your monsters

We’ll bring ours

A great show for all to see

I jump on the band wagon

Your cloak tears,

Betraying your purpose

But words can wound me deeply

And all your glory

Emerges with wings

Out of the dusky cocoon

Dying of roses

The petals drifting down

Like mustard gas


Let us not be silent

But clap

For the victor

Disconnected Star Verse

Implants, a screenplay, a few bullets

My mind ventures into strange territory sometimes

A pen drips ink on the obituaries

I say to myself, “Stable, Stabilize, Stable”

A knight moves across the board to benefit homelessness

My nemesis is depressed, should I no longer suspect him?

The fireflowers and amanitas grow in abundance

What shapes my trips?

Another star or starburst?

Or a broken mirror?

I look into my many eyes

And someone else looks back,

Then there was me

Shards, Pieces, Sunlight, Mirrors

My mind grows legs and goes in search

For a dream, a parchment, a piece of life

Everything is shards, pieces, sunlight, mirrors

In my world

Everything goes to pieces

The Jabberwock!

Also a frequent character

A weathered beast gobbles you up

It’s noumenon swallows the world

Red mice flitter about

And the wings get trapped in sticky gel

Artful though the construction

I could not sustain

Everything broke apart

But nothing was known

Until it was clear

The sharks circle

A mousetrap snaps shut

Everything goes dark

For a moment

My Life as a Stranger


Lifting up hands in greeting

And to show they are empty of weapons

Pieces of distrust flit between us

Unfounded suspicions, and bits of hope



I walk among the townsfolk

Feeling their searching glance, like Arrows


Tickling uncomfortable places, full of doubt



Visiting shops, finding an inn, finding a tavern

Busying yourself with your traveler’s business

You find a girl, stranger to you, gazing at you

You wonder if she may feel a stranger in her own town



Loving her look, you turn and walk on

I, the other part of you, wonder what might have been

With a bit more boldness, and a bit lighter heart

You walk through the swirling strollers,

To your inn

Feeling the heaviness of your heart,

And the weight of the past



Needing to find solace, I turned again to wine

Needing to find peace, I turned again to settling

Finding a room in a boarding house, I dropped anchor

Finding a job with a smith, I came to rest again

Hoping, and fearing, I had found my last hometown



Blinking in the light of morning,

I stroll to work

One of them, the familiar strollers now

Yet still a stranger in my heart,

And theirs



Working, I hammer horsehoes and nails

One day, perhaps next month

Graduating to arrowheads and daggers

I tell the master I know the art of Damascus steel

He does not believe me,

But one day I may have a chance to prove my claim



Later, I find my way to my home tavern

Some have come to know me,

To nearly trust me not to lie

But I do not know this

And if the thought crossed my mind,

I would not trust it



The next morning, I drink my frothy coffee

At the shop

A luxury I can barely afford

For a copper, I read the shop’s newspaper

Wondering what may become,

When the kingdom’s ill regent passes



I sink into circumstantial angst

I still feel existential certainty

There is some reason for this

But just now I cannot see it

I drift, I suffer, I exult

I work, I drink, I talk

I wander, I feel, I act

I do not feel all is well

But I need nothing;

I know I have enough



I sit in my room and read;

Making friends is a young man’s game

Seizing on the past

You fail to see the small gains

At your elbow



Clenching my hand about the hammer

I beat iron into ornament

One for me to take home

And wear about my neck



Feeling something in the air,

I look up, see an eagle circling

Continuing to dockside,

I ask for a sea bass for the night’s fire

The seller says to me, “Many strangers about these days;

It cannot bode well, can it Jack?”

I look at him quizzically, saying nothing

And taking my fish



In the evening, at the tavern, at the inn

We talked of politics, foreign countries, each other,

The mechanisms of the modern world, stinking philosophies,

Prisoners, the war, language, and books,

And each other

We drank and danced,

Yet nothing ever panned out



At home alone I drank more, and read

Until sleep took me

I did not dream



On and on it went,

Year in, year out,

Yet still I felt a stranger

Never with a place as I had been before

Daniel Burston: Corruption in the Mental Health Professions — Psychology, Psychiatry and the “New Normal” 

Originally posted on Vox Populi:


The Social Psychology of Corruption

Ask yourself the following question; “What is the most corrupt place in the world?” Forget Sodom and Gomorrah. Forget Caligula’s Rome. Forget the mind-boggling intrigues of medieval and Renaissance Popes and potentates. Focus on the present. Is it the city of Naples or the island of Sicily? Is it a post-colonial country whose brief fling with democracy ended badly, issuing in successive waves of kleptocracy, like Haiti or the Philippines? Or is it a far flung country across the globe with no history of democracy – Russia, Afghanistan, Somalia or Burma?

Transparency International rates Somalia as the most corrupt country in the world, but by all accounts, it has a lot of competition. And besides, in the final analysis, there is no way of determining objectively which of these festering places is really the most corrupt…

View original 6,191 more words

Dream Movie

The dream movie
I was greatly enjoying
This 4am awakening
Fluttering up past the mental barriers
Into this heated 4am bedroom
I wish for more sleep
But the double dose of anti-d
Makes this impossible
Whipped cream litters my house
I must put a stop to this
Call one of those AA guys
In ‘Once’
By Meghan O’Rourke
‘My Life as a Subject’
And ‘My Life as a Ruler’

Broken Door

A broken door signifies
Yet all our entreaties win nothing
To our aid our neighbors are deaf
But to enforcement of curfew they are not
A trial at rest slips into motion
A broken tool sits on the bench
But the smith is forever departed
The lifted cleric gives no more solace
Dawn prayers for the faithful are called

At half past dawn, I rise