POEM: Succumb Lame Less

He suffered
Multiple strokes
Of genius
Rendering him
Unable Not To speak
Out
With what
Was in
Left and right
Both lame
All to gather disarmed
In infancy motions
Red and blue
Leaving won
Marooned
Feeling peaked
In a fervorish affection for awe
Only not taking — seriously!
As if
Cracking
Sum remorse code
And infirm resolve
Following every empath
Willing to lead
Awe the ardor
Challenging
Everything
Wee wince knew
As invalid

This poem is a takeoff on having a stroke, or in this case, multiple strokes…of genius.  This poem is an ode to playfulness as a form of salvation from the lameness of politics.  By playfully challenging virtually every ideology one can escape the death grip of political calculations.  Also, such playfulness is both a means and an end to revitalize overly serious politics.  Politics is important enough that being rendered unable not to speak is a useful affliction, as participation is key to vital community.  Nonetheless, sparing oneself, and others, from the cynics of politics is reason enough to embrace awe and playfulness.  The braininess of political operatives may be able to triangulate winning electoral strategies and even pretty enlightened politically correct platforms, but truth is more akin of joy than rightness.  Politics tends to create as many problems as it solves.  As Albert Einstein so aptly noted,   	 Intellectuals solve problems; geniuses prevent them. Albert Einstein quote SPIRITUAL BUTTON“Intellectuals solve problems; geniuses prevent them.”  May you be subject to multiple strokes of genius as an antidote for lame politics.

Posted in Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

POEM: Weepin of Choice

His unwillingness to be a victim
Soully exceeded
Buy his willfulness to be a perpetrator
Better to have
Willed a gun
Than mirrorly get
A ballad in ahead
That imminently natural selection
Of hapless pray
Re: in force
Such patriotic cant
And simp-ly a parent of chorus you can
Too the tear of awe
Weepin’s helled in our hands
Sow a verse
That thin red line
In the thick of
The deference
In the seaminess
Of oppressor and oppressed
The enigmatic quest in
Of weather you can
Have won
Without the other
To shed more hate than light
In discriminating prism
Only to con serve
Cell preservation
Or wherever egos
Fallowing death
A firm life
In mortality
A test too
They’re weepin of choice

This poem is a dramatic ode to the thin line between victim and perpetrator.  There is a horror in both estates of being.  The truism that hurt people hurt people begs for a broken chain, often presenting itself to beat the hell out of others or take it as unjust a beating.  Is there a fare-mined weigh to go on, strike?

The horrific picture in my mind is that of children in war zones enforced into soldiering, specifically by being forced to kill someone else, typically someone they know, as an initiation into the invading forces.  Or be killed themselves.  The ensuing trauma, and the desperate promise of survival as a perpetrator rather than death or indigency as a victim, often seals one’s fate in a choice beyond most adults, let alone children.  Such a display of soul murder is perhaps the most dramatic, even as an epic cautionary tale far removed from the real or contemplated lives of most adults in this world.  Nonetheless, the daily bred of the victim-perpetrator cycle is mostly much more subtle and insidious.  The routinized bargains most of us make are well fed by seamless self-serving rationalizations and hermetically sealed worldviews safely partitioning good and evil.  We are grateful, even thank God, that we happen to be, well, on the good side. Our own cultural in-groups are neatly washed in the wringer of what we typically call civilization, a convenient euphemism for “us” — now, even 25% cleaner; progress you know!  Our dark sides are projected on others, safely sequestered in “them” — the looming barbarous hordes, who mostly want to take our way of life (or jobs) — equally progressive and precarious — but will take the life of our hired mercenaries, peace officers, or even ourselves if we let our guard down.

What I hope this poem inspires is some contemplation about what might be that thin chalk line around your soul that defines what you would not do to save your bodily life.  What would you not do, even if a gun was pointed at your head?  Such a boundary quite starkly outlines that which you re-guard as sacred, worthy of the sacrifice of your bodily life.  If your skin in the game is only to protect your own skin (or kin), then the cycle of perpetrator-victim will be incarnated perpetually.  Protect your own or sell your kind?  What kind of quest in is that?  Won of kindness — your own kind and every other kind.  Dramatic examples can be highly instructive in contemplating the demarcations of our soul.  Still, my hope is to provoke a more thorough deconstruction of our lives, as our lives are sow much more than bodily existence.  What in your life would you be willing to lose for a higher purpose?  My favorite definition of sacrifice is giving up something of value for something of greater value.  I view this trading up as the primary vehicle for living up to our highest values.  What material/bodily stuff are you willing to trade up for that which is higher?  What parts of your life are you willing to sacrifice for a greater whole?  We all end up in a hole; not all become whole or make their fare share of the whole.  Of course, the hierarchy of goodness is not simply some binary division of material and spiritual.  Our bodies and material goods are gifts to be purposed and re-purposed in the progressive filling and fulfilling of our souls, shared humanity, and awe of creation.  If there is anything that all spiritual and religious traditions lift up, it is that our purpose wrests in that beyond our self.  Next in line would probably be that we each have a soul responsibility that cannot be contracted to others.  As you confront the many weepins in life, may your soul purpose find itself bigger and better, not simply at a loss.

Posted in Peace, Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

FREE POSTER – Black Lives Matter: Devolution of Blue Lives Matter to Corporate Lives Matter, NOT Evolution, NOT Revolution

The Black Lives Matter movement has been successful in spawning reactionary movements.  The latest of these is the Blue Lives Matter messaging going national through billboards as a so-called public service.  Here is my take on such reactions:Black Lives Matter Devolution Poster

Black BLACK LIVES MATTER [black background] POLITICAL BUTTONThat police are threatened by nonviolent social movements is perhaps the only evidence needed that the police are not simply defenders of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  Police Everywhere, Justice Nowhere POLITICAL BUTTONFor no good reason, gunning down black men in the street puts in serious doubt the defending life claim.  The police as the front line of the racist and repressive criminal justice system betrays any just claim as leaders and defenders of liberty.  The police take their orders much less in the pursuit of happiness than as per suit of property owners.  Police are far better suited to protect corporate interests than human rights.  Respect Our Existence Or Expect Our Resistance with African American Flag colors POLITICAL BUTTONThus, the logical and deathly devolution to “Corporate Lives Matter,” codifying the rights of property over people.  The police serve as tools in this regressive hierarchy.  The Criminal Justice System is CRIMINAL POLITICAL BUTTONUntil that hierarchy is turned over, to the people, and a revolution completed, the police can never truly be peace officers, and they will face the honest and just resistance of masses of people.  Until police stand up to challenge their own impunity to justice and the dehumanizing criminal justice system, they will neither get nor deserve the full respect of the communities they have sworn to defend.  White Silence is Violence POLITICAL BUTTONMay the seed of Black Lives Matter take root in our hearts and lives — Let’s root for a criminal system that is just, for people, not simply persons of privilege and their monied interests.To Protect and Serve The 1% [Policeman] POLITICAL BUTTON

Posted in Free Stuff, Peace, Political Action, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

POEM: That Wholly Lessen

Kneeling before
Mother
Earth
Shattering
Knews
Buy sum mirror mortals
That scant except abundance
Farced too
Under stand
That wholly lessen
Taut
As awe for one
And won for all
And what too due
To be apprehended
Those borne too big for their breaches
Both yearning their keep
And wanting to cry like a baby
As partially dread
King Solomon’s wisdom
Discerning a real mom
From a ‘mother’ in name only
In every crook and nanny
Of awe that might be
Haunted by possessions
Those who cull out
For halve of everything
As if
Like some indivisible man
In a crowd
Stealing a weigh
Amidst a pound of flash
As a parent
As won
Divided buy too
Is not twice one peace
However disposed
Won is to give
Forbear
Meaning less labor
For priceless heir
And each arrival
Comes a bout
In his stork visit
That universal root
Digs ever deeper
Beyond belief
Yet sum people
Proffer a Roamin’ umpire
A tempting
A scuff-law-less Caesarean delivery
To buy pass
The belly of the best
Dilatorily a void
Mete cleave her
Where even moderation can be excessive
Only too grasp
After brooding over
In a so-so pregnant pause
And sow ill-conceived
Being a touch bankrupt
Morally in half-way hows
That irresistible fix
Working for you
And know won ails
Halve the weigh homme
Leaping twice across the chasm
Returning
To Mother
Earth
Won way or the other
Making a hole world
Of deference

Here is yet another poem about the ongoing crisis of Mother Earth’s destruction.  To portray the half-ass response by so-called developed nations and industrial powers that be, I employ the metaphors of King Solomon’s infamous wisdom in dealing with dispute over motherhood and that of crossing a chasm in two leaps.  To add another metaphor regarding our relationship with Mother Earth, we want to have our cake and eat it too!  In the case of the King Solomon judgment, two mothers living in the same household claimed a baby as their own.  After one of the mothers accidentally smothered her own child while they were sleeping in her bed (by the way, an ancient public health problem that persists today), she claimed the other mother’s baby was her own.  Without enough evidence to make a reasonable determination, King Solomon wisely and shrewdly ordered the baby cut in half, so each mother could have their “fair” share, to determine their reaction.  The true mother insisted the baby be given to the false mother to spare the baby’s life.  The false and jealous mother said go to it.  Of course, this revealed the true mother to which King Solomon ordered the whole baby as hers.  Our greed and jealous protection of our own unjust interests would rather halve the world we live in than deal with a whole new world.  Globalize THIS - ENVIRONMENTAL RESPONSIBILITY [earth graphic] POLITICAL BUTTONAs greed and envy continue unabated, we naively and vainly assume that things will “naturally” work themselves out.  As if the day after we can reassemble two halves of a baby and have a whole baby.  This is akin to jumping a chasm in two leaps.  It don’t work that way!  Our fundamental disrespect for motherhood is a parent to anyone who possesses the wisdom to differentiate between motherhood and smother-hood.  Of course, in the real world, there is no second baby to even attempt to appropriate.  And the chasm is too wide for even a long series of half-ass measures.  I’ll take a flying leap here: we either return to mothering Mother Earth or we will return to Mother Earth, as a specious not suited to evolve any further.

Posted in Health, Peace, Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Double Oh No: The Name’s Cadabra, Abra Cadabra

God’s
Name is knot
Abracadabra
Too be unloosed
Unwhirled
As owed man
Putting on
Some kind
Of spectacle
Who’s genesis
Giving
No quarter
To years
Behind
In a sense
Out right hostility
And udder a version
Sow called
Crater of the whirled
And awe wanting
Clear too see
Not a wood be casket
Drowning in a box
That must
Not hold water
As wee might reckon
Only too be
Delivered
In the final seeing
As figure out
By no means
Self evident
Pulling rabid
From won’s hat
Empty
Sored in passable caskets
Wee suspect
As a parent harms
As sure as there are no teeth
In taking
A bullet to the head
Wear the art
Matter’s not
And yet
Who is
The one
Cutting people in
Have
Awe that is given
Taking it
To the blank
As grater than
A loathe of bred
From nothing
Excepting freely
Wile rooting fore the nix
In a New York minute
As some goaled in goose egg
In disposed
Of whatever
Ladder day judge meant
Too due no wrung
As diff a cult
To under stand
As re-bounding
Back to the show
Is caping
Behind curtains
For the wrest of us
Only too be duped
In mere images
Peering real
Mirrorly a muse
Meant for inspiration
Knot too be swallowed
Hole in won
Or fish tails sow bred
Subject to
Dis tract
As divine accessory
And slight offhand
In vane miss direction
On the eve of knowledge
As simply a trick
Convinced one no’s
How it is
Done
Nothing
Too see
Hear
More than wee in vision
In blinding silence fallow
In a tacit urn hoarse
And yack knowledge
A bit fancy
Meager too please
As inn sufficient
Comforted buy con jury
In the worst kind
Of source err he
As if
Got hour
Back
To slots plain
As abettor
Be helled
No good
For make believe
When cloaked in daggers

This poem strikes a familiar theme of mine, the parent elusiveness of God and the unsophisticated ways of even daring to speak of such things from most any perspective brought to bear.  The dark side of religion has wreaked hellish trauma, bludgeoning both real people and tender hope for sublime understanding.  Militants, that is fundamentalists, from both theist and atheist perspectives routinely bash each other.  Religionists often infantalize atheists, and atheists are often eager to throw the baby out with the bathwater.   My guess is that if theists and atheists got together and compiled all of the gods they don’t believe in, that there would be a pantheon of common ground.  I view militancy, that is fundamentalism, as the primary divide, not theism and atheism.  There are plenty of poor intentions and chronic misunderstandings to go around.  As I see it, militancy bespeaks violence, that is a commitment to winning by creating losers, forever separated buy uncrossable divides in human life, terminally fighting over uncommon ground.  Fundamentalism of all types reduces perpetual paradoxes and the centrality of metaphorical ways of seeing the higher aspects of life to small-minded literalism stuck arguing facts rather than truth and stiff-hearted relationships valuing right ideology over harmonious community.  The siblings of truth and harmony, which are deep quests of theists and atheists, religion and science, or of anyone seeking to work out the seems of their worldview, knead less judgment and a sober patience unwilling to bury others in uncommon ground.

As in most conflicts, power and trust are the ultimate issues, or perhaps more to the point, abuses of power and trust.  Personally, I am increasingly convinced that absolute power absolutely corrupts.  Hell, I even believe God shares power in order to create a better overall world, that is not merely more benevolent and fair, but creates the very foundations for the highest human aspirations and shatters the ceiling of cosmological and worldly puppetry (and the inevitable puppet tiers).  I experience my most human living on a small-scale, in community, where direct accountability to one another breeds well proportioned living.  This brings humanity to power and builds trust seamlessly into the process.  Such human-scaled enterprises are far more sane, represented by the encouraging movements to local — not loco.  Large-scale enterprises are typically suited and tied in hubris, albeit the the finest hubris civilization can offer.  Only such large-scale undertakings can globalize insanity alongside the endemic learned helplessness paralyzed in the reality of “how did we get here?!”  In human community, power resides in people.  Power in human community requires consent.  Complicated — often called “civilized” — nonhuman mechanisms to consolidate power, typically under the auspices of creating “bigger and better” things, ultimately rely on people’s consent.  This often does succeed in producing bigger things; though the better part, our humanity, commensurately suffers in the accelerating smallness and relative unimportance of people in such enterprises.  Not surprisingly, people, not built for such inhumanity, become viewed as the problem, gumming up the efficient workings of the machine.  Depressingly sow, our views of human nature are then tempted to align with the misanthropic view that people are less important than things — see corporate personhood.  Withdraw consent and these nonhuman and inhuman structures and mechanism whither.  This speaks to the importance of protest and noncooperation/resistance to appointed authorities of all unkinds.  Opting out of institutional and corporate enterprises starves the beast and  frees up time and life energies for building alternative human communities.  Active noncooperation and resistance naturally arise as the dominant and dominating culture (sic) inevitably will clash with any growing culture (hopefully viral) that questions the sick assumptions and unearned trust of its immeasurable victims.  In such a project, Jesus radicals, atheist anarchists, and sordid kinds of others can find common ground, fertile for reclaiming our humanity in a whirled of profit tiers.  Let us not be distracted by our differences, but rather unite  in disavowing all things undermining the human heart.

Posted in About Top Pun, Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

POEM: Born With Two Black Eyes: Owed To New Be and Queens

She was born with two black eyes
Living in a whirled
Wear her highest aspirations
Sore over the lowly color blind
As every color whited out
Yet she sails the sees of dark and light
As two dance freely
A bout just us
As real eyes
Realize
Real lies
And sojourn truth

This poem is a tribute to awe the positive power, beauty and wisdom that Black women birth into this world.  De-spite all of the racism, sexism, classism, and other aspersions heaped upon them, they reveal truth responding to a dominant culture of lies.  Even as often dealt three strikes from birth, their two Black eyes reveal a compassion honestly earned, unleashing a mother’s love and a sister’s devotion in a world sorely in need of them.  I thank you!  May every sacrifice you make return a hundred-fold.

If Wealth Was The Inevitable Result of Hard Work, Every Woman In Africa Would Be A Millionaire -- George Monbiot quote POLITICAL BUTTON

Posted in About Top Pun, Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

POEM: Speaking With Spoken Sword: Owed To Hungering Fore Anew ProMedica

The profit tiers
Some how a peer
To set the captives free
Going won after the other
Like mammon and famine
As to somehow heel the ravenous
As fiend and faux
As sow appetite for the pauper reproach
With such lack luster assurance
As hungering for
Corporate solutions
Like KoolAid™
For the poor
As food desserts
Like a cock tale
Wagging the dog
For mirrorly fucking bitches
The same owe same owe
As prophets of ode
Rapiers by daze
Templars buy eve
The paltry of knights
With chicken shit
Offering
A hundred and fifty bucks
Posing as dear
As if
Doing its doody
In sum fecund foundation
For just us
As financiers of poetic justice
And diets high in irony
For its undeserving marks
And omnipresent logos
As going in kitsch in sync
With awe that cannot be stomached
Paving roads with good attentions
In know name
Butt there own
Sitting a top the whirled
Of hell care
Reigning
Pennies from heaven
As coppers too familiar
To the indignant
And indigent
Of that speaking with spoken sword
Offering crumbs
Leading know where
Their droppings
As little balms
As met a sin
Requiring heart surgery
And prescribing
Take two aspirin
And call me in the mourning
And if that is not enough
Tact on
Take care
Your own
Busyness
Such self-determination
Only too be food agin
As so much on won’s plate
For what is whored
As up rightness
Only to be drug
By profits of owed
Living on exorbitant feeds
As the CEO my God
And the staff buy his side
Dis cuss policy
As their weighter
Serves there well fare
Wile others
Dine in the streets

Here is my decidedly unofficial entry in the ProMedica sponsored poetry competition so unintentionally named, “Revealing Hunger: Spoken (S)word.”  While it is the Big S poetry competition they are currently sponsoring, I’ll pass — though I’m quite sure it will be a gas.  ProMedica was sure to eventually reap the madness of my poetry, sow here it is.  ProMedica is always in the running for trying to coroner the market in buying good will to which it might be able to attach its moribund name.  Though the pathetic $150 price for a singular winning poem betrays how little they truly value good will and poetry.  If my words don’t speak well enough for me, then I invite ProMedica to eat me, should their hunger for justice suffer in digestion.

Posted in About Top Pun, News, Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

POEM: For Awe That Has Been Urned

In her dreams
She is wanting
To be moved
By more than
Slumber too slumber
Mirrorly to a wake
Daze unending
With that annoying buzz
Thirst thing in the mourning
The pique of the day
The latest snooze
A stay of execution
From a commute
Never quiet arriving
In during
The same owe same owe
A mounting to nothing
Carrion on
From dead line to dead line
Only hopping
To meet your destiny
Long the weigh
Too the beat
Down
Of a humdrum
In exhaustible work lode
Sow being a ware
Only dealing
With sum strain
Of staff infection
A little off
And on and on and on
Without a brake
Wading
For some kind
Of savor
In any respect
Of a Jōb
Well
Done
Succeeded by rehash for dinner
A little bit like
Looser
For awe that has been urned
From dusk to dusk
And willing succor
For a weak end
And easing into won bunk
Affording seconds of fuel’s goaled
Mine razing
At the prospect
Too due it
Agin

This is a good Monday mourning poem for all of you enduring slave wagers.  To me, work is simply doing that which you do not want to do, that which we do when we would rather be doing something else.  The conventional wisdom is that there are inescapable compromises that must be made, such as selling large chunks of our life to finance the remains.  Wee are part and parcel of this so-called American dream, which George Carlin so aptly observed, It's Called the American Dream Because You Have to be Asleep to Believe It - George Carlin Quote - POLITICAL BUTTON“It’s called the American dream because you have to be asleep to believe it”  — that is, if you can fit sleep into your schedule!  Frankly, I can no longer afford to go to such conventions, though I’ll meet them half way with the whole whizzed ’em thing.

Having to wake up to an alarm strikes me as one of the great bastardizations of true awakening.  If you get up and it is dark out, you might want to make a note of that, hopefully, plenty of notes, see notes!

If you are going to sell yourself, I would definitely hope that you get a good price.  Still, there is a whirled of difference between getting a good price and a good prize.  Selling your own passions, your own heart’s desires for someone else’s notion of productivity is perhaps the real idolness.  Far too often, no one can even really identify the specific person whose notion of productivity is being served.  Wherever it is, it’s the birthplace of “It’s not my job” and “I’m only doing my job” as workers serve nameless and unaccountable masters, and can’t help, but serve in their master’s apathetic and/or irrelevant image.  The bulk of so-called work in capitalist cultures represents an immeasurable opportunity accost of passions passed and hearty lusts lost.  Even awe that has been urned echoes in time off, weather having perpetual rehash as eve approaches or dread as eve withers a way in the dread of coming daze.

May you find work indistinguishable from play, an awakening without alarm, and find no idolness in site.

Posted in Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

POEM: To Abettor Portion: Owed To Math You 5:21-48

The shepherd pays dear
Attention to his sheep
As the sheep due
Not follow suits
But accompany prophets
In ways safe from a peril
That compound interest in the whirled
As you have herd
It said
You shall not murder
But now this is tolled
Do not bill bloodsheds
To finance your palatial manner
Or liquidate nations
In the name of kicking assets
Do not except life
And its costly knock offs
Anyone who pro claims
Your life is feudal
Or you fuel
Will end up burning oneself
And anyone bastardizing my word
Is an executer of my state
Do not purchase good will
Wile others out lay
Make it rite personally
Without gaudy talk
Before just us
Decent upon you
Rather forced to pain
Fore every debt sentence
Sow all can make cents
You have herd
It said
You shall not commit adultery
But now this is tolled
Any man dishonoring the source
Of human life on earth
Wood be better off
Had he never been borne
Any man divorcing himself
From what is a parent
Is not fit for a womb of his owin’
You have herd
It said
Long a go
Do not brake your promise
But now this is tolled
Do not sow your wiled oaths
At awe
Your promise on heaven unearth
From here on ahead
This simply know
And yes
Any more sow
Is from the evil won
You have herd
It said
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
But now this is tolled
As eye tooth sow telling
Bring to light every bone picked
Sow not striking in efface
As a retainer of humanity
And if won from beyond
What is fare comes
Barren suits
Down on you
Make just us naked
XXX-posing
Shame on them
Farcing won too walk a mile
Sow trying
To catch up with your smiles
Only wanting them
To borrow
Awe that you have
And if knot
Make no’ing to all
You have herd
It said
Love your neighbor
And hate your enemy
But now this is tolled
Love awe
Before you
De-spite those who prey
Wile publicly prosecuting
You as their enema
Knowing full well
Sons rise
And reigns fall
As surly as won nose
Effacing such loathsome fishiness
Too tax a verse
Getting more than you put in
As children of ungaudiness
Seeking abettor
Sow much better
Than that which they are used
To have
Being
Holy one’s own
Reflecting awe
Given freely

This poem is a punny paraphrase of Matthew 5:21-48, the middle portion of The Sermon on The Mount.  The Sermon on The Mount is considered the core of Jesus’ teachings, his stump speech.  The title alludes to one of my stock concepts in my poems, the notion of humans being reduced to math, mere calculations in an oppressive algorithm, and its lowest common dominator, conventional wisdom.  This central litany of Jesus’ “You have heard it said, but I tell you” razes the bar and builds a whole, new worldview.  Jesus’ message transcends the traditional message of religionists and secular conventional wisdom.  This culminates in the proclamation that God rains on the just and the unjust.  This indiscriminate love is the unending ideology that Jesus is found rooting, nurtured by such reign as is God’s.  Jesus incarnated the reality that we are at our best when we are fully our self and fully God’s.  Accepting and giving freely is the deepest nature of God that we can reflect in our lives.  Jesus was such the juggernaut of grace whose designs were to overthrow the weighs of the whirled.  Jesus did not desire to be some historical pinnacle set up on an untouchable pedestal and worshiped.  Jesus lived to tear down the very notion of untouchable, the bedrock of dominating class.  Anyone accessing the indiscriminate love that Jesus accessed, that is, asking for anything in Jesus’ name/character will surpass even Jesus’ accomplishments during his life: “Anyone who believes in me, will do the same works I do, and even greater works.” (John 14:12)  Of course, indiscriminate love is a lousy foundation to rule over others, totally in sync with the instruction by Jesus to be servant leaders, not masters.  Religion, committed to such a precept, will find itself at the heart of human needs, as the oppressed and dispossessed will be attracted like a magnet to non-judgment and working solidarity and service — awe without a needs assessment!  Of course, you will find an enemy in the powers that be which depend of dividing and conquering for their dehumanizing weigh of life.  I find great joy and solace in the summary (variously attributed)  that Jesus only promised us three things: to be completely fearless, absurdly happy, and in constant trouble.  May it be so!

Posted in Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

POEM: Kindness 1.618 — Owed To The Goaled In Proportion

A parent
In the relationship
Between to be gotten
The larger to the smaller
The goaled in proportion
Amidst just us
Sum times christened
The divine proportion
And it doesn’t take
A mathematical genus
To divine its kind
Never the less
As if
Sum
Knew specious
And miss conceive
The gold in mean
Barren resemblance to
The sores of our being
An aesthetic
Of beauty
In nature
And human arts
Desserting know one
The hole slew
To gather as won
And when de-part
Leaving soully
Good will
That is
Grasping the incalculable
After math

This is a geek poem about the golden proportion, or golden ratio.   \frac{a+b}{a} = \frac{a}{b} \equiv \varphiIn mathematics, two quantities are in the golden ratio if their ratio is the same as the ratio of their sum to the larger of the two quantities. The Greek letter phi is used to signify this value of 1.618. The golden ration holds a special fascination in mathematics, architecture, and art.  The golden ratio is considered to represent beautiful proportion, often found in nature.

In this poem, the relationship between the larger to the smaller is defined beautifully by kindness.  In computer age parlance Kindness 1.618 — a soft wear if you will.  Social justice issues always involve power differentials, and hard ware is meaningless without soft wear.  Without kindness, social relationships will necessarily be trapped in perpetual struggle, with neither the larger or the smaller experiencing the beauty of peace.  Neither justice nor peace is a finely engineered and calculating existence.  Both justice and peace flourish in generosity and grace.  Oftentimes justice comes through those who have a steady experience of peace that creates sacred spaces enough for the hard work of justice to be performed without resentment, growing hurts. Living out of generosity creates conditions conducive to generosity.  Like produces like, sometimes.  Love produces love, eventually.  Though like is more of a product than love.  Love is the way.  Love loves love.  As life produces life, love produces love.  The seamless reciprocity of love perpetuates itself and invites others to participate in love.  There is necessarily always more room to grow and make the circle wider.  For another geeky poem on this theme, see Wading for Godel, and ode to Kurt Godel and his Incompleteness Theorem which mathematically proves that science, ideologies, and philosophy — that is, anything that is based on any set of propositions — is necessarily incomplete and there are always true propositions which always lie beyond the perspective of any given belief system.   Enough geekiness for one day?  You can always simplify.  As the Dalai Lama most succinctly summarized awe, “Kindness is my religion.”  May you find kindness often in your days, and if there is not kindness, perhaps you are the one to bring it.

Posted in About Top Pun, Peace, Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

POEM: A Ledged Fall

The leaf let go
Releasing awe that had given it life
In what could have bin
A swan dive
Or a butterfly prancing
But it was doing its own thing
Lining up for know one
Little did it no
But more than enough
That more than one eye
Was watching this spare row
To unseen shores
A boat
To sale free
From cosmic banks
Or goaled claims
And if sow temp
To try land
Wee may very well
Witness yet another
Perfect forum
And only those dolefully miss taken
Call
The fall

This poem is in honor of Fall, and the beautiful seasoning Fall affords.  This poem as a tribute to the perfection of nature and that which gives rise to life.  As might be expected, this poem also slams ingratitude in the face of such awesome and good graces.  Nature revels in itself and God sublimely desires to be holy full of oneself. Witnessing such goings-on strikes me as perhaps the primary purpose of consciousness.  The supreme blessing of consciousness is often overrun by negativity, falling short, the vain grasping of ephemeral realities.  Some of this falling out of the oneness of consciousness is poored in concrete, wanting to secure solid stuff, which also tends to be the most lifeless aspects of creation.  Merely collecting bits and pieces of reality often represents a very poor showing — showing being the complement of witnessing.  The division of conscious experience tends to be an imbalance between the inner and outer life aspects of life.  Some of this falling out of the oneness of consciousness is confining ourselves to our mind, making life academic, hoarding theories and ideologies, dissecting life until life disappears — though much less mysteriously than life peering.  If, instead of witnessing the passing beauty of a butterfly, you prefer collecting their carcasses pinned to specimen cases, then you may fall into this category — being the unchange you want to see in the world.  I strongly suspect that God desires us to experience the fullness of life, not to merely attempt to dutifully collect and accurately describe life’s moving and unmoving parts. Nonetheless, in theology-acide, I would say that the fall is beautiful.

Posted in Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

POEM: Are You A Friend of Dorothy?

As a friend of Dorothy Day
I wood ax
More than won quest in
A bout
Her call
As a tenet in passable saint hood
As if a priest to nun
Or mirror lay person
Aborting gaiety
As an infallible sign of God’s presents
Kneaded, sow kneaded
As abandon plays on
The Catholic work her
Inn to their starting lyin’ up
With little roam for others
As prize winning dogmas
For sake others
Worshiping sons of bitches
Of average Joes and Mary not
Engendering grace
Threw con genital souls
Full of wholes
As if litter
Miss carrion
Never coming to term
Without a hitch
Only finding one self
One to an other
Side by side
Fitting awe
For lives filled with scant do
An offering more than
Sum well
Published comic marvel
As if conceivable in a man’s world
A loan
To the wrest of us
She could never look down to prey
And yet sow much
Heaven unearth
Her whole life sew true
And in those untolled smiles spanning eternity
She most lovingly waives
It just
Saint so
What
Ever you due
Don’t save
Awe of the gory
Fore God
As will only
In yore wildest dreams
Hand it
Back to you
With teeming interest
As got yours
And every body ails

This poem was inspired by the occasion of Pope Franky coming to America and highlighting the possibility of Dorothy Day becoming a saint.  This is deeply ironic, since Dorothy Day explicitly did not want to be written off as a saint, but cast her lot with the poor and dispossessed of the world.  As a former atheist who lost the earthly love of her life by converting to Catholicism, which he rejected holy, she was familiar with heartache.  As a women who had an abortion, I find her consideration for sainthood more intriguing.  Her founding role in the Catholic Worker movement challenged and vexed religious folks — and people of faith as well.  Her living with the poor and downtrodden is a model of solidarity.  This poem posits questions of elite status, which she resoundingly rejected, as holy separate from her understanding of Jesus, the spirit of God incarnate.  The title of the poem — Are You A Friend of Dorothy? — is both a question and a reference to the cultural necessity of gay folks needing code words and phrases to navigate in a culture where they are rejected.  Dorothy Day, about as keenly aware of class as possible sought to transcend it.  She was an itinerant peace-monger, ever-seeking creating those sacred spaces where one side fits all. She knew that salvation was not far off, but right in front of us, in awe its gory details.  She knew what second-class citizenship was, not simply by being a woman in a man’s world or a man’s church, but by daring to embrace the poverty of more than one class and bring a bout wealth, and the privilege to serve.  Her rightness with God is dishonored by trying to capture that spirit in the form of graven images, mere token substitutes for her authentically beautiful and unique, but totally accessible life.  I don’t suspect that Dorothy would approve of a title of sainthood.  I do suspect that she would want us to walk with her.  And in this case, that would be walking among the dead and the living, and everywhere in between.

Posted in Gay, News, Peace, Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

POEM: Can She Be Eunuch?

She stated
No one else can do what I do
To witch
They rejoined
Realing in whore
Accept that you are a cog
You intractable wrench
Unfit for cloning round
And unstranded
She cut out
From the puppet tier
Knot to be
Am ployed
As if
She were eunuch

This poem is about breaking away from the artifice and inhumanity of the machine, aka, capitalism, which is designed to monetize you in any way possible.  When someone discovers the passion of their unique role and contribution to the world, the machine pushes back as it has difficulty incorporating one’s soul eccentricities into it’s standardized system and dehumanized algorithms.  Generous portions of creativity easily overwhelm “the way we have always done things” as well as distant, disconnected orders from big bosses.  Creativity is so unnatural to the machine that it ultimately creates huge inefficiencies, even amidst its seeming devotion to efficiency.  The machine typically finds it much more expedient to grind cows to hamburger than even milk them for all that they are worth.  Workers’ humanity routinely suffers the analogous outcome.  Creativity that cannot be easily plugged into the machine is ignored, discounted, or actively stifled.  In this poem, the sheer stupidity and foolishness of a system that fails to adapt to the unfathomable creativity of the human spirit is represented by the rhetorical question that is the title: Can she be eunuch?  Beside the overlayed meaning of the pun eunuch/unique, the definitional absurdity of a female being a eunuch (a castrated male) illustrates how the machine fundamentally misunderstands and misuses the very people it is alleged to serve.  The machine is indiscriminate in its castration!  Of coarse, such crudeness does serve some people, just not workers within the system.  Even though a system well designed to incorporate human creativity and eccentricities could unleash incalculable efficiencies and productivity AND be well aligned with the desires and needs of each of those working within such a system, the capitalist system is not intended to produce the greatest good, particularly the common good, but instead is geared and cogged to produce material wealth for an elite few who pull the levers of so-called industry.  Private profit at the expense of human potential and the common good is the only real order of the day in capitalism.  The common good is reduced to foolhardiness as it is wide open to being robbed by the capitalistic princes of virtue, greed being the organizing principle of capitalism.  Human attributes not easily monetized atrophy in capitalism.  Turning humans into cogs for personal profit may very well be one of the better definitions of evil.  Robbing others of their God-given creativity and eccentric passions for a few bucks and a cynical acceptance of a diminished humanity is a pathetic way of honoring the countless gifts humanity brings to the world.  Courageous creativity, the bold commitment and determination to find a way to be who you were created to be, is the answer to the dehumanizing capitalistic machine.  Reveling in the infinitely greater portion of life that is not easily monetized assures a home and hearth for your own humanity and all those who take the time to be present to such gifts.  May you find your unique passions and the courage to boldly follow them in their many serendipitous consummations.

Posted in Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

POEM: Uncollecting Notions

She collected
Dangerous notions
Putting them on
A shelf like
Sew many trinkets
Going know where

This poem is about living on the edge, the fringes, the margins — which are populated with dangerous prospects.  This poem is about being centered and confident enough to boldly go where you may have never gone before.  This poem is about experimenting with your life to truly be the change you want to see in the world, rather than mirrorly dress oneself up with others’ logos like some NASCAR driver for a sellout crowd.  This poem is about a willingness to make mistakes in order to learn and unlearn what we need to be a better person, to embrace imperfection on the messy road to our ideals.  This poem challenges the conventional wisdom of being collected and going know where.  This poem points out the inanity of safe, superficial living, or so-called living.  This poem is more about being than being branded — living life in that vast expanse between having a cow and having a sacred cow.  May you find your way for just today, and wake up, fresh, for anew tomorrow.

Posted in Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

POEM: Know Vacancy — Owed To Co-Dependency

Are you so-so special
More than a little off
Renting that hallowed space
Inn one’s head
To fiend and faux like
For what
Mounts to ears
A-pathetic brood
Checking in weigh too often
Getting your pique of the litter
Wondering aimlessly
Sow sow whys
As trashing hows
The leaser of too evils
Getting lesson nothing
Getting squat-er
Yet billing another story
As stairing into space
The winnow of your soul
Reflecting that unending turn off
Flashing neon signs
Know vacancy

Most everyone who has loved someone has made a fool out of themselves before.  If you haven’t, you probably aren’t loving enough, putting your whole self out there.  Loving involves intimacy.  Intimacy involves risk of being hurt.  This is normal, that is, unavoidable, barring building huge walls to keep others out and not caring at all.  Of course, failing to love is assured by not trying to love.

Mind Your Own Business SPIRITUAL BUTTONCodependency develops in the coarse of normal adaptations to abnormal situations, resulting in self-defeating patterns of behavior.  While coping mechanisms may protect oneself fare thee well amidst dysfunction, coping mechanisms applied to more normal situations themselves become dysfunctional.  Fear and hyper-vigilance may trigger defensiveness and offensiveness in situations where it is maladaptive.  This actually repels more normal people in one’s life, interfering with opportunities to more healthily adapt to higher functioning relationships.  Also, the skills developed in codependency are like a neon light to addicts — dependents — signalling your ability to fit their dysfunction.  Strangely, unlike attracts unlike, and match to match ignites situations where the house burning down is transformed into a bizarre opportunity to share s’more with each other.  The fact that you can tolerate such chaos and abuse is the very measure of such depraved and deprived love.

This brutal dance of codependency often continues until one or more of the parties hits rock bottom, and digging the relationship finally peers as absurd.  Oftentimes, since the other person in the relationship is obviously crazy, both the dependent and codependent move onto similar relationships without facing their own craziness.  PRIDE - Please Remember I Do Everything SPIRITUAL BUTTONIf trying to control the uncontrollable, such as other people, is your motto, then you may well be the mayor of crazyville, with all of its perks and benefits.  There are many symptoms of such candidacy.  They include letting others live rent free in your head, nurturing resentments in the self-contradictory hope of taking poison and expecting others to be hurt, and being so lost in others’ business that you can’t take care of your own business.  The hallmark of codependency is not having boundaries where you need them and having walls of denial blocking your view of things as they really are.

Gracefully, there appears to be a sanity clause — just sane!  Mysteriously, many eventually brake free from such self-defeating patterns.  They come to appreciate the proposition of letting go — or being dragged!  Live and Let Live SPIRITUAL BUTTONTrying to control stuff that can’t be controlled creates a bloated illusion that the world will fall apart if you don’t hold it all together.  Living in this false hood is extremely dangerous, and great relief can be gained by relinquishing sow sow much on won’s too due list.  Maybe you aren’t the one holding it all together.  This is a world where you neither play God, nor are played by God.  This leaves you free to fulfill your unique role in the whirled, taking care of your own business and your response-ability, and allowing others to live their own lives, without lording over them, as in sibling rivalry.  Some call this being an adult.  Some call it being a child.

Posted in Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

POEM: Sow Groovy

There is a place
Beyond smooth
A groovy space
Well
Travailed
Up un-till
Over
Flown
The coup
As water worn
Of more to be
A rock fitting
To our sole
Sow groovy

The good habits that we have due to wise disciplines, an uplifting environment, or inborn aptitude, form a groovy place that has a positive inertia of its own, reproducing good things without much additional effort.  Such groovy habits and their ensuing results mold our character, who we are, and provide a foundation for launching who we want to be.  Of course, our bad habits also mold us.  Outside of us, there are also cascading waves of cause and effect, with their own inertia, for better or worse.  These forces comprise nature, other people, our built environment, and the cultures in which we interface.  Both within us and without us, change happens.  Reality seems to beg for change.  While using the past as a predictor of the future often seems to be the best we can do, such predictions are routinely wrong, and even in the most narrow contexts, such as quantum physics, such predictions, given all but the tiniest of time-frames, will ALWAYS be wrong!  The present reality, no matter how groovy, good, bad, or indifferent, will be subject to unforeseen change — necessarily sow!  Now, such uncertainty may seem foreboding, but this is the very space our soul snugly and freely resides, begging to experience the creation of new moments and situations.  This is the ultimate groove.  We each get a profoundly unique set of conditions every moment of our lives.  We each get to contribute our own bit of change, our too sense, if you will.  This is the rock to which our soles groove.  May you be a groovy character who rocks on!

 

Posted in Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

TIME for Top Pun for President

I’m sorry, I can’t stop laughing.

Top Pun may throw hat into Presidential wring

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in About Top Pun | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

POEM: The Next Best President

Victory lies
In the wanton
To be a sitting president
Existentially unable to take a stand
As a wizard behind the bully pulpit
Meaning only
Curtains for US
A commandeered
In chief smitten
Buy the status qouteth
Juggling interest
In a-moral bankruptcy
Issuing debt sentences
Wile balderdashing dreams
In compromising positions
Poll dancing
For hard one
Elections
In feckless cockiness
If only
Too covet to term
Any chide or promise
The next won’s problem
And if such a state of the union
Bares an infantile posterity
Too whatever
Extant illegitimate
In the victory lies
The spoils

With this poem, I grudgingly join the charade sometimes referred to as Presidential election season.  Unfortunately, it is rarely too early to say that the next commander-in-chief of the world’s largest military superpower will not bring us peace.  If you want to join the truly delusional, give them a Nobel Peace Prize before they do anything to not earn it!  The good news is that the system is not broken.  The System Was Never Broken It Was BUILT That Way - POLITICAL BUTTONThe bad news is that the system is fixed!  Electoral politics, particularly the farther you go up the ladder, has a limited range of possible options.  This simply means that the leadership we get is tightly constrained to the powers that be, the status quo.   Electoral politics is akin to changing the system from within, using presumptuously representative democracy garnered through elections and direct means (think money and status) of influencing such alleged representatives.  Non-electoral politics is akin to changing the system from outside the standardly sanctioned tools of democracy.  Protest beyond the law is not departure from democracy; it is essential to it Of course, these two ways of being politically active are not mutually exclusive.  In fact, non-electoral politics is simply a more holistic way of changing the body politic.  For example, I would encourage people to vote.  It doesn’t take much time and it makes some difference.  Let your representatives know directly from you what you want from them.  Ask for what you want.  However, if we rely only on electoral politics to meet the needs and demands of the people, the 99%, then we should expect to be sorely disappointed.  My view is that politicians are largely akin to the rigging on a sailboat, and they will ultimately go largely wherever the wind blows.  Speaking into the captain’s ear may be considered proper protocol, but this is largely reserved for a privileged few who can cancel out voices heard from the masses from dinghies or from people who are overboard.  My goal is to change the political winds.  Part of power is the ability to define or frame the questions we ask. The greatest mistake of the movement has been trying to organize a sleeping people around specific goals. You have to wake people up first -- Malcolm X quote POLITICAL BUTTON The answers we get depend profoundly on the questions we ask!  Oftentimes, wee have to take such power, not simply ask for it.  Movements like Black Lives Matter or Occupy Wall Street have been successful at manifesting such power.  “The 1%” and “the 99%” are now part of our lexicon, framing the way we view the world and molding the questions we ask.  The simple and persistent assertion that black lives matter has thrown a wrench into the largely invisible (to white people) machine of white supremacy.  One of the greatest tools of the powers that be is the power of distraction.  The insistence that large movements have a detailed set of demands is central to this playbook.  As if the powers that be simply overlooked these huge injustices (yes) that could be legitimately be attacked on multiple fronts and they are waiting (stalling) to jump into action.  Truth is on the side of the oppressed. Malcolm X quote POLITICAL BUTTONWhat part of “Stop Wall Street from robbing us,” or blacks crying out “Stop killing us,” don’t they understand?!  The powers that be are not stupid, simply shrewd.  They will do everything in their power to distract us, divide us, and if need be, conquer us with violence, exposing their morally bankrupt and anti-democratic foundations.  Of course, the people pushing back on the lies of the powers that be exposes the veneer of civility and democracy that so-called respectable governments need to function.  All Truth Passes Through Three Stages: First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self-evident. --Schoepenhauer quote POLITICAL BUTTONThis was central to Gandhi’s political strategy.  As paraphrased in the Movie, Gandhi: “What you cannot do is accept injustice — you must make the injustice visible. The function of a civil resister is to provoke a response, and we will continue to provoke until they respond or they change the laws. It will not be over if they arrest me, or if they arrest a thousand people…it is not only generals who know how to run campaigns! They are not in control — we are. That is the strength of civil resistance.”  May we hold firm to the truth, “satyagraha,” and be patient as the details will follow.

They can cut all the flowers, but they can never stop the spring -- Pablo Neruda quote POLITICAL BUTTON

Posted in News, Peace, Poems, Political Action, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

POEM: Shame Old Story

A little bit
Of shame
Goes along
Weigh
Too much
With blinders
Knot visible
In a sense
Lost
To over looking
As awe full as life is

This poem is about the overabundance of shame, a tail as owed as time that wags the dog.  Shame is one of the all-time popular weighs of controlling others.  Shame is a lazy substitute for inspiration.  Inspiration comes with a whole lot of work, such as patience, integrity, passion, and compassion.  Shame is a seductive shortcut that cheats us out of the beauty full results of worthy effort.  In essence, shaming others is shaming ourselves.  As they say: you can’t point your finger at someone else without pointing four fingers back at yourself.  Relying on inspiration and example is a much better weigh.  There is a tribe in Africa where anytime a member commits some offense, they surround them and pummel them with every good thing about them, a wellness practice very telling.  Social psychology has well documented that focusing on building assets is more productive than focusing on deficits.  The rhythms of the human soul seem to be much more in tune with inspiration and positive regard than shame, criticism, and punishment.  In theological terms, this might be simply stated that good is stronger than evil.  Traditional religion often betrays this belief by focusing on original sin rather than original blessing; that is, accenting our inherent falling short rather than our inherent goodness.   May you readily see the goodness in yourself and others, and faithfully live out of our better portion.

Posted in Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

POEM: Halving No Interest

Wile a capital idea to sum
I halve no interest
In how you make a living
Rather
That which
Makes you
Come alive

I would dare say that most of life lost is in the chasm between making a living and doing that which makes you come alive.  I would even dare say that being distant from having to worry about basic needs — “having it made” — is a greater threat to coming alive than what life palpitates within us when we are connected to struggling for basic human needs.  This narrative runs counter to the liberal, artsy dream of not having to worry about money so you can be free to pursue “more important things,” presumably art as luxury rather than art as necessity.

The art of living is essentially doing that which makes you come alive.  This is where art is a necessary reflection of our overflowing aliveness, or, in less flowery language, art is a basic human need.  Art lives coequal with our basic material needs of food, shelter, health care, an environment free of violence and full of affection, and the long litany of human rights inalienable to humanity.  Art flowers in our connection to others and creation.  Revolutionary art serves as a critique of alienation and destruction, which often comes at the hands of money first — sometimes driving a cruel bargain for our humanity; more often offering a seductively easy price for our humanity.

Personally, my art is rooted in both the privileged experience of a first world nation and the surrounding larger reality of vast material deprivation more common than not on this planet we share.  I was literally born into this conundrum.  As a helpless baby, I was not helpless.  While I was born in Haiti, the poorest nation in the western hemisphere, I was not fated to live a life anything like the countless babies born within a stones throw.  I was born to well-educated, white Americans — a doctor and a nurse.  As a toddler, I would fly off in an airplane, already then cementing myself solidly within the experience of less than 1/20th of the world’s inhabitants.  My rant above is perhaps one of privileged hope.  I may never know for sure.  However, as I grow in my art of living, I find it much wiser and productive to root for humanity, not money.  The truth of any above assertions is probably best demonstrated by the fact that Haiti has the largest concentration of artists, predominantly painters, of any nation on earth.  Perhaps art is a necessity, not a luxury.

 

 

Posted in About Top Pun, Health, Poems, Political and Philosophical Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment