My Friend, Dusty's Poem

I. An Old Fisherman’s Tale
Drowned... from the hope
The day is over
Looking beyond what is known
Just how I held her

The sun sets as my eyes rest to her memory weighted...
as old nets waving in the sea
swallowed and pulled deeply
All of this weight reflecting... tomorrows

My boat rocks through hours as waves wash by
My heart plunges by the second- deeper everyday
I pull my traps into my vessel
And like my heart there is a catch

She snagged my nature... like I the tribes of rays
And as I am prisoner I will fish another day
When a mermaid calls in her subtle way
I answer with absolute silence to say:

Living the example screams louder than words
If she knew anything… this she would know
I am chained to a fountain of love that always endures
I float to meaning… with mostly danger below my nerves


And on this daily quest each hour passes
Getting there… weathered hands… lower the webs
As my eye dwells at a haggard reflection
My mind is doing the same with readiness

I sway on cured wood as I have been sentenced
hundreds no thousands of moon cycles ago
It is strictly for the love of this… The reminiscence
That keeps me thirsting for nowhere else to go


The cold quiver in the summer heat
That is what my tan hide strives for
The solid adventures below my feet
Out here I open reality’s doors

An Old Fisherman's Tale
by me



II. An Old Fisherman's Tale by me continues... As clouds encumber the sky... thunder roars... gripping the catch... as the welkin dims... Experienced stretched... haggard thirst sweats through every pore... as darkness begins to eat them alive

Empyreal lightening slices notice into my blind eye
It searing my flowing beard I tug my net closer
As the concussion of thunder throws me and all else inside
My grasp reveals my guerdon

And it; a ray… has pierced my hand on the pull
Swollen blood and toil drop to the bow
I trade these for its life
It bartered poison for my blood

And it pours; my wound... as the storm
Down the side dispersed into fathoms
Crimson flows into a space of blackening blue
Swallowed whole into something new

Waves trespass feet into the air
The tempest brings mercy to a need
Open mouth catching a perpetual basin
St. Elmo's Fire has come chasin’

Each breath- I feel is my last
Each wave a final dash
Yet as this air thickens
the storm suddenly ceases

Awestruck in the halt of the cyclone and arrival of substance
Scared to tears with no other fear through the motionless silence
surrounded by emerald air and twinkling stars
Lost all direction close or far

The timber floor holds Adam’s ale for days no lest
The skate thrashes in its freshwater doom
It wraps its tail around an ankle for one last jest
but my lark is that I have grown immune

　
　
　
　
III. Suddenly:

the echo of the whale
the mother
The harmony of the calves
a symphony:

up from chords
thru the air
over water
into crags
suckled by ears

Submerged silence eviscerates my fear
As the environs become ever so clear
Venus peeks out as I see heavens so dear
I know where I am at and my mesh is near

Beyond in the outskirts air bubbles burst
They slowly arrive closer and closer
from deeper to shallower
They pop at the front of my ship


She calls

Up the bow her perfect hand gracefully fastens
The sound of water drip; massages
Another hand holds open abalone

I answer

as the clam receives the corpse it collapses shut
She slowly sinks like a candle burning down
I know one that would call this true love... And that I would
Anyone else would call this a tithe


　

　
IV. Homeward



For this deed
and through the day
I can now go home
and sleep away

Ah, but tomorrow I will be called a myth maker
I will have to admit that the nets were not mine

Yes, jovial laughs and perhaps mead will follow
but by dark... I will be belittled

My crest is beyond their understanding
Insulted I will send them out to the last fool's trap
Those nets will cast their end
forced onto her spectrum grey abalonian

Their screams will deafen the whales
The horror will outfeast the great white
Their mystery will add to the tale
as I recite the saga with such delight

As long as people cry myth
I will have no tithe
As long as there are fish in the sea
there will always be love for me

& yet… the lifemare is squid...
A leviathan that can grasp every boat and dream
collapse all hopes below just waiting for me
It is the bone crusher… The Kraken is in reality
　
　

　
V. On the cusp of the Threshold


Awoken being strangled by these thoughts
I oared home in a cold sweat
It seemed forever to row a shekel’s throw
but forever became distant in the next

And once on shore... once I got on shore
My wife opened the door
My eye greeted hers so fine
The wretched man’s finest prize;
her smile
her squint
with dimples
and sincerity

The joy on her face faded to hell’s despair
Yes that pure raw terror
and nothing was heard
only felt
as
I
looked
down

It was that perfect hand
locked onto my ankle
as every tear sprinted from my eye
I begged not to be abandoned

And yet like the female whale
My love deserted me to this hunt
The door slammed and bolted shut
Her screams and cries hid behind the hinges


My ankle popped as it was tore off
I turned and saw face

　
And...
　
　
　
I…
　

VI. Awoke


Destitute

No wife
On a bow
In a boat
Tangled nets

Drowned... from the hope

as I watch red tentacles fasten themselves to choke my vessel
Creaks abound as the only song she can sing
And the creature arises with an eye as big as I
We exchange silent greetings in knowing who will die


That silence that I always fear
Culminates to now
Perhaps I am a soothsayer
Silently stared down on my bow

The abandonment that suffocates; the unknown alone
Cast away like a net into foreign shores
It will all end soon above my salty grave
There is only time for an epitaph left to say:

The darkness of a storm
The darkness in an eye
The darkness of the deep
Have these fears dyed me as I die?
　
　
　
　
VII. Now to Plunge into Death


The giant squid releases its prey; I and The Mermaid
It is ripped to bloody piecemeal on this fine day
When it’s gut bag is nailed- black bursts blinding the sea
I thank God for the whales for they came and saved me

In the ages to come if you despair
Read my tale fellow if you dare
And if you feel that there is no hope
The only thing that has nothing is nothing

Remember that


There is always hope


Remember that
　

The end of a Several Hour Older Fisherman's Tale
by
Dustin M Mahrt

Fuck Twitter

I don't know what Twitter is. I've heard about it for a while and then this week it's been a big deal because a bunch of politicians have been doing it (i.e., tweeting) when they should have been paying attention to things like the President and ruling the country and war and peace and what not. I've inferred that it's some sort of instant message system, and thank god we finally have another way to instant message each other. Just yesterday I thought about getting in touch with my wife, whom I live with, but I just didn't feel I was going to get the intimacy I needed through email, text messaging or, oh yeah, instant fucking messaging, and obviously just calling someone is so 2008, but then I remembered this Twitter thing. Fuck Twitter.

I do take a strange pride in not knowing what these things are as I hear about them. I've come to love and appreciate the internet and email, but I certainly don't think we ever "needed" them despite the great things they allow us to accomplish. These trivial "time saving" conveniences are dominating our whole world. So, yeah, fuck Twitter.

Grand Torino Is One Long, White, Geriatric Jerk-Off

I like Clint Eastwood. I also mildly like muscle cars. So, after hearing from literally every source available (critics, friends, friends of friends, the "Academy") that this movie was soooo unbelievable, Rustie and I decided to go see it. How could it not be awesome? Clint directed, produced, starred in, and scored the god damn thing. Well, the rest of this blog will be listing the reasons why this movie clearly wasn't awesome.



One dimensional characters. Now, I'm no screen writer, but I have seen a lot of movies and read a lot of good books. Characterization has always been my favorite aspect of fiction. I can deal with a bad story if the people in it are interesting enough. It doesn't work the other way around, though. Every story is about people, one way or another, so you better have some effort put in there. With Grand Torino there is literally not one character that isn't completely cliched and one-sided. Let's run 'em down:



1) Clint- the old, angry WWII vet who is an unapologetic racist and has no tolerance for how this world is going to hell in a hand basket. Mean to everyone, including his family. It is implied that he dearly loved his wife, but they begin the movie with her funeral, dismissing any chance at nuanced acting on Clint's part. They leave him with two hours of "grit" portrayal, except when his racism is completely reversed by his experiences at a Hmong cookout. Even this experience is forced down the audience's throat by having Clint say, out loud in a room full of people, "I have more in common with these people then I do with my own family." Great, an old, drunken, racist who mutters to himself in public as the protagonist. WHITE GERIATRIC JERK-OFF #1.



2) Hmong girl protagonist- The girl who befriends Clint after he stands up for her family. She's a smart, studious girl who effortlessly walks the line of honoring her elders and cultural tradition but simultaneously taking full part in American culture, thus being perfectly suited to bridge the gap between her cliched neighbor and her cliched family. She is the movie's equivalent of a Tyler Perry-esque "strong, young black woman".



3) Hmong boy protagonist- Having no male role model in his life, despite the fact that the Hmong community seems to gather in his house at least once a week and there are men everywhere, he leads a life of shy submission. The audience is told, not through good acting, but again through literal, scripted dialogue that he has no direction in his life and needs to be taken under some one's wing. Not under the wing of one of the Hmong men of his community, because it is implied that they are all weak and incapable of good leadership, but under the wing of a life long racist, gnarly old white man who drinks too much and keeps loaded weapons within arms reach. WHITE GERIATRIC JERK-OFF #2.



4) Hmong grandmother- Old, angry Hmong woman who is an unapologetic racist and has no tolerance for how this world is going to hell in a hand basket. And to further smash into our skulls that this is the Hmong version of Clint's character, the writer actually has her chewing tobacco and spitting right after he does. Wow, I guess we ARE all the same. Fuck this movie.



5) Hmong gang members- They dress and act like black gang members from other movies. Wholly selfish and "evil", even though the protagonists are related to them. This may be a real account of how Hmong gangs act, but I only have this movie to trust on that, and this movie has so far completely raped my trust, so...



6) Every other Hmong male- weak, submissive, scared, and desperately searching for a "protector". WHITE GERIATRIC JERK-OFF #3.



7) Every white person under the age of 50- selfish, materialistic, soft, completely lacking in integrity and despicably uninterested in the welfare of the elderly. WHITE GERIATRIC JERK-OFF #4.



8) Every white person over the age of 50- strong, capable, wise, apparently armed, racist(but ostensibly in a cute way) and darn-tootin' fed up with the nefarious youth and determined to take a stand. WHITE GERIATRIC JERK-OFF #5, and really this is the money shot of the whole film. The plot could have been anything, as long as all the old people in it were kicking ass and saying gook a bunch.

Alright, I could go on all day about even the most minor extras in this piece of shit, but let's move on. The story. That's what I've heard from everyone so far. The story, the story. The story seems as bludgeoningly contrived as the characters. The good guys are laid out clearly. The bad guys are laid out clearly. The conflict is laid out clearly. There was nothing that caught me off guard in this entire film. Even the "twist" at the end was completely predictable, and I'm not someone who usually sees it coming. I'm a sucker for the "twist". I like it when a movie throws you a curve ball, but I saw this twist coming a mile away and was actually hoping they wouldn't use it. I thought it would have been much more shocking and original if he had gone in all Rambo style and executed those fuckers, even though that would have been highly unbelievable. It seems to me that this script reads like a 101 writing lesson. How is this thing getting such critical praise? It's drama for the dumb.

Well, I can only assume that Clint, after a lifetime of great, entertaining movies, and an almost flawless track record of directing and producing, just decided to make one with the intention of giving one last, big, fat wank to his octogenarian peer group. I can't hold it against him. I mean, he's Clint fucking Eastwood, enough said. But the writer of this movie, as well as anyone who thought it was "brilliant", can really just fuck right off.

A-Rod's On Steriods!

They're all on steriods. All of them, and at least two people you will interact with today. Steriods are everywhere. The end.

Governor Destroyvich

Gov. Rod Blagojevich is straight out of Hollywood. Let's set aside his Kosovoian warlord sounding name and his awful hair-do, even though this probably plays a part in why he had so much trouble with girls in early life, which built up feelings of resentment and vengeance. How could I know he had the same hair style when he was young? Come on. Who are we kidding? That hair cut hasn't changed in 35 years, and we all know it. There, it's been said out loud.



Now, take a look at his "smile", http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rod_Blagojevich. He looks like something out of a Sam Raimi film. Let's be honest, he has the look of a well fed zombie, who may or may not eat your child... depending on your "contribution".

Aside from genetics and poor fashion choices, he really is evil in a very movie-villain kind of way. The FBI has him on tape saying that there is no way he is giving Obama's empty Senate seat away without some kind of profit for himself. His response: I didn't say that. But we have it on tape. I just played it for you. Blago: nope. Uh...

Then, of course, there's the Children's Hospital of Illinois. Rod Blagojevich, in what I can only assume was an attempt to become forever immortalized within the pages of a Marvel comic book actually threatened to withhold state funding for CHOI unless he received $50,000 in "contributions". Once again, an actual human being was going to refuse to fund a hospital for dying children because they wouldn't buy him an Audi. One lucky photographer caught the Governor on casual Friday in a rare moment of of unguarded ambition. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Magslee.PNG

Well, as down heartening as this kind of behavior is from our elected officials, the upside is that we may be one step closer to an actual "Justice League" kind of super hero/vigilante organization forming. It's a lot to hope for, I know, but is it just a coincidence that the Hero Cape-Making Company, Inc. has reported a 60% rise in production over the last two months? I think not.

Inauguration 2009

I always find it very easy to write when what I have to say is cynical. These feelings rise up quickly in me and I can’t help but see the “dark” side in most socio-political situations. When you’re pointing out the short comings of others you are less open to pain and rejection. It’s stupid, but true.
Having just watched the 2009 Presidential Inauguration, I can’t help but acknowledge the inspiration I feel, despite trying fairly hard to choke it down in favor of some witty sarcasm. Barack Obama has, throughout his campaign, been able to deliver flawless speeches of strength and confidence. Even when reiterating points that have been heard many times, his natural speaking abilities continually engage. His inauguration speech was equally brilliant.
I have come to a place in my life where every time I feel inspired by a public figure’s words or actions, I become more vigilant of their words and actions. I become more watchful of their motives and how they may benefit. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve become blinded by these suspicions. Barack Obama’s words over the course of the last year have made me wonder if I’ve been blinded, instead, by charisma. At this time in history, every American has the ability to, and should be, aware of the failures and petty corruptions of leaders throughout our nation’s life. This has lead me to a kind of manic paranoia that is sometimes hard to carry, but that I consider to be one of my greatest strengths as a United States citizen, and a true, though partial, fulfillment of the call to patriotism of our Forefathers. The point being, it’s very nice to be suspicious of inspiration for a change.
I expected to hear words like hope and change, courage, faith and unity. What inspired me were the use of words like humility, sacrifice, curiosity, science, and the acknowledgment of failures. This is the true change in American leadership. This is the kind of seed that grows real trust in people. These words also make it so much worse when and if a leader lets his people down, but so far, so good.
People of intelligence and integrity will never follow a leader who rules with bludgeoning force and a refusal to acknowledge their own human weakness, because these qualities keep people in the shadows of ignorance and fallacy. These qualities garner resentment and anger in allies and enemies. Leaders like this will always find followers, but knowledge and truth are hard to suppress and are all that is necessary to destroy stupidity and violence.
A powerful leader has to embody compassion, not just strength. He can’t be a warrior only. He has to be an artist as well. He has to have great imagination and a true desire to make his people better, not just safe. His inspiration must come from true conviction, not convictions adopted for the benefit of the populous.
I can’t help but be a little bit grateful to President Bush. After September 11th, had he been a more skilled leader, a better spokesman, I may have continued to be unaware and uninterested in the actions of my government. Thankfully, his speech at ground zero was like a slap to the face. For the first time in my life, I knew without a doubt, that I was being lied to by the President. I’ve never been able to close my eyes again, even though I would have liked to at times. It was one of the greatest moments of my life.
So, the day has finally come. He’s in. We’ll see. My favorite line from his speech is the one that I will most hold him to. He was addressing it to the leaders of nations sowing conflict and blaming their ills on the West, but I think it is a timeless rule of thumb.

“Know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy.” - Barack Obama, January 20th, 2009.

Why I'm posting...

I just set this up so I could interact with Jess on the Hey Lola blog, but I don't really understand any of this or computers or blog ettiquete or good spelling and this whole thing spun out of control and now I'm way more invested than I want to be, emotionally and time related, and I still haven't been able to talk to Jess and now I have MY OWN blog to worry about and whether or not it's going to be entertaining and if anyone's going to read it and if I even deserve a blog of my own and then if it does become wildly successful, am I going to be able to handle the pressures of internet celebrity and what will my wife think and now I've spent the last twelve minutes with a brow furiously furrowed in confusion and fear and I'm out of here!