The Promised Boy

IMMACULATE!                                      PROMISED   BOY

Some never make it to see another spring! 6 Degrees with my pitching arm worn out; the man child awakes! The kid came to town on A Sunday and a week later he was dead! Give me hope, give me strength, give me peace, give me love, patience and in grace, abandonment. Give me youth, give me beauty, give me wisdom, give me enlightenment and in happiness; brief contentment for I savor those seldom small things that we all take for granted. The groans in joy and pain and the realizations of nothing being down there: The low rider running cold and high roller running hot; the creative flex away from the hustle and bustle towards peace and quiet, dry docked and contemplative, how it saves my ass. Grabbing at straws for the wind-up and the pitch in baseball but in my business it is the Pitch then Wind-up and my pitching arm is now blown out. The Art that purified me is incidental now that funny stuff trickles down Underground wrestling for years with the visual, picture and sound. Three turned to thirty at sixty-four frames per second and the contrast and horizontal turns toward Density and Saturation baffling the most delusional of directors of photography. 100 some odd years gone by with the making of an imagination that sparks others to re-imagine and give audiences an act of organic re-invention in this, the New Amsterdam, Holland and Hell’s Kitchen. I handle all with care and in cruise control, surfing the internet and the planets; becoming aligned within 6 degrees of separation. The shows are great in the Keystone State but the business stinks in Denmark strewn into empty cubicles all over the globe in this new age of misery and grief and wrestling with how to showcase it. Politics or performance, you do what is right over what is popular because the documentary filmmaker will be a person too, being all things to all people. So who is the real king of ranks in Williams, Hanks and Beatty or is it the Prime Minister of Canada or Italy perhaps. Into such a rich country, the promised boy: poor but a free-thinker and lancer, enlightened and standing at your door. So beautiful but be careful what you wish for; you soon may get it and pray society doesn’t treat you like a stranger for what you have gained on the way to very little. These small truths should be evident in jest; these very things I drop in your ear, granting sway to the Queen’s language. On paper and with audience, I bubble up the brook and fill with energy, the floating wet and dead leaves towards stream and eventually, oceans of love and enlightenment. What were once art and music replaced by pictures and sounds; some real and some imagined. The promised boy walks happily among the throngs and masses, courageous in his movements and poetry, Love being his Only Law. A child! You were a child…when you were a child; but now you are adult; still wrestling with those feelings of being a child. It is a child that will lead them because God knows they are lost; and God so loves the children, animals and especially dogs; he has returned… but this time he is not alone refusing to sit for long periods anxious to perform feats most strenuous. He is the Overlord, the under lord, the War lord and the Landlord. He is the Real Lord and he isn’t alone this time; but is willing to speak to anyone who claims to be “The Actor”. Thank You Mother, for the Dream; and you Father, for being in it! The stream of Violence ever excels as I lay under the Mother Tree, unencumbered….My work is done! God’s Speed! My scriptures need not be repeated. They are all just pictures in my head that I hope will never have to be made. I have found my voice, fulfilled my passions, lived the Dream and loved the pursuits! I will find no peace now in trying to impress; calm will only come in being inspired by someone, something…anything! Resentment only leads to envy which leads to jealousy; which no one needs. Diversity must lead to tolerance, not contempt; and the fire in our bellies only lead us into vice. Dexterity gives way to mental gymnastics that may lead us all in wisdom. I will find no peace in trying to impress you but feel calm in every inspiration of pursuit, passion, challenge, dream and movement in becoming the promised boy. You will know him by his movements in the animal graces, like the June bug in summer and the bison in winter. He is not a work of fiction but is made for a non-passive audience. He is not a God and he is not a daemon or a hermit. He doesn’t practice resentment, jealousy or envy. He runs hot and cold under his Mother’s tree witnessing, in silence with her, the busyness and noise as the sun seems to be the only thing that is working right; born from Industry into electronics and growing digitally by all this pixilated posturing.