I just got done running 7 miles in the non-stop snow. Now waiting for my 7-mile muse to tease me into some strange word frenzy over which I have no control…

 

On Christmas Eve, how does one gift someone who can't have anything?

 

 

A newly-placed bundle of about 30 fairly evenly-cut, carefully-bound tree branches.  Significance unknown.

Is Christmas dying? 
Elves laid off…
‘Mr. Christmas’ pulls plug on light display…

  

Let
me state unequivocally, I don’t believe there exists a unique
energy-entity with its own volition called Santa Claus, even though the
metaphor of Santa bringing children gifts is the precise recapitulation
of the Wise Men bringing the Christ-babe gifts.  And, in that
sense, all Christmas gift-givers are Wise Men and all receivers
Babes-in-Toyland.  As Col Frank Slade (Al Pacino) exclaims so often in
Scent of a Woman (1992): "hoo-ha"

 

But
I do believe in Faeries and in realms of the unexperienced (though
never unimaginable).  And I’ve had visions of time spent on worlds
of unmitigated sunlight amidst alien civilizations that perished kalpas
ago.  And life seems ever a startling vagabondage as
mosaically tapestried with surprises as the pattern of craters on the
moon.  And thus I find myself once again...

Caught up in the cosmic stream

Where children’s imaginations play,

And comic book characters dream,

And visions converge into curvatures

To begin each day anew.

 

Here Dorothy soars high over her rainbow.

And E.T. flies straight through the moon.

And the sun rises each day as an alien orb

While the dish elopes with the spoon.

 

And the baby cries 'cause the spoon’s gone

And finds succor in sucking instead,

As mommy-genius devotes her entire life

perfecting Mr. Potato’s head.

 

And the Green Lantern meets up with Diogenes

As he’s looking for one honest man.

And Tinkerbell teases poor Capt. Hook

by acting like a slut who is damned.

 

And sailors wafting aimless on odysseys

Are taken captive by Sirens at sea.

And Lost Worlds are adrift beyond remorse

As they’re embraced by eternity.

 

Here I lay my head down gently

Upon a sacrificial stone in a ruin

And see virgins led to deflowering beds

For the Hero who will join the gods soon.

 

And the raised sword lusters brightly in sunlight

Just before the swift strike on that stone.

And the virgins deflowered and laying in bed

Have finally learned how to moan.

 

And the little dog laughs to see such a sight!