tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50860984070793302202024-03-13T03:42:26.169-07:00hipperman's cornerjon ravnenghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06965642745980189826noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086098407079330220.post-39422328190629050592013-02-17T11:01:00.004-08:002013-02-17T11:01:54.351-08:00<b id="internal-source-marker_0.9628864997066557" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">depresleys - Influences and Inspiration</span><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Singer/cellist Sasha Siem recently said that the British press found her music to contain some of that “Norwegian melancholy.” Sure, her father is Norwegian, but Sasha commutes between London and New York with her cello and angelic voice. Could there still be a connection between her lineage and that touch of melancholy? We believe there could be. As a matter of fact, we have been told exactly the same thing about our music. We tribute it to the “arctic spirit,” that if it’s in your blood, it </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">will</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> appear in your art.</span><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In our case, that spirit has been united with the spirit of the desert, as well as that of the enigmatic and multifaceted culture of urban Los Angeles and London. These things are felt rather than heard. We may have listened to The Clash, Pink Floyd, The Doors, Brian Wilson, and Mari Boine, but you would not necessarily guess that from listening to a depresleys album. They say that you are what you eat; we say that you become what you read, listen to, and watch, as well as whom you hang out with. We, as a band, have been surrounded by such a variety of cultural influences that our musical profile has become unique. At least that’s what we are told. We agree.</span></b>jon ravnenghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06965642745980189826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086098407079330220.post-87106956373867175862013-02-17T05:12:00.003-08:002013-02-17T05:14:23.646-08:00<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Brother (That Is
Freedom Talking)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Brother, that is freedom talking<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Brother, that's a rebel yell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Shackled feet, unfit for walking<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If you never tried it's hard to tell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Brother that is
freedom talking<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Echoes reaching
distant ears<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Brother, that is
freedom talking<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bringing out our
deepest, darkest fears<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Winds blew across seven seas<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">They carried ships and men and guns<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Brothers became enemies<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Fathers turned against their sons<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nations sold as property<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Centuries of exploitation<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Applied superiority<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The rise of many mighty nations<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Everything comes to an end<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Empires will fall apart<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Twigs and trunks shake and bend<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Circles tend to end up where they start<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Brother that is
freedom talking<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Echoes reaching
distant ears<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Brother, that is
freedom talking<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bringing out our
deepest, darkest fears<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
jon ravnenghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06965642745980189826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086098407079330220.post-5937166026762859402013-02-14T12:29:00.002-08:002013-05-29T14:35:04.408-07:00jon ravnenghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06965642745980189826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086098407079330220.post-45122002637454452542013-02-13T11:47:00.001-08:002013-02-13T11:47:39.475-08:00<br />
<div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 16.2pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;">Topanga</span></div>
<div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 16.2pt;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;">Topanga Canyon connects suburban
Woodland Hills and Malibu. The highway slithers down the hills with homes,
nearly invisible behind the thick and dark leaves, on both sides. Back in the
day, Topanga was just as important to the musical tribes of Southern California
as was Laurel Canyon of Hollywood Hills, and in the 1960's and -70's unnumbered
bands and songwriters found a home in one of the (often) run-down shacks that
covered the steep canyon walls. Names like Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, Eagles, and Neil
Young lived and created their music there, and it was a natural place for
depresleys to launch an attack on America when we arrived in the US in the mid
90's.</span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Segoe UI","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 16.2pt;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; line-height: 15pt;">The air is saturated with
creativity in Topanga (yes, you may insert a cheap joke here...), and those who
have lived there for a while have stories to tell. Stories of greatness and
tragedy, of success and despair. And so do we. Not that we will tell them
all... some would bore you, some would be too revealing, but some have become
part of the band's history. We simply wouldn't have become what we are today
had not Topanga Canyon opened up to us and invited us in. Most people who visit
Southern California never go to Topanga, and that's the way the Topangaans want
it. If you've found paradise, why invite the crowds? Things change, however,
and today the shacks are being replaced by mansions, and only the truly
successful can afford to make Topanga Canyon their home. We are happy we
arrived in time to taste of what was still a thriving community of actors,
musicians, writers, and hippies. We will always treasure the memories.</span></div>
<div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 16.2pt;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; line-height: 15pt;"><br /></span></div>
jon ravnenghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06965642745980189826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086098407079330220.post-90613868136124958842013-02-13T11:30:00.002-08:002013-02-13T11:30:15.064-08:00<br />
<div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 16.2pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #2a2a2a;">depresleys</span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Segoe UI","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="ecxmsonormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 16.2pt;">
<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #2a2a2a;">depresleys is
more than a band. It's a project. No, it is a lifestyle. A gravitational
center, out of which, if you get sucked in, you will never escape. At least not
unscathed.<span class="ecxapple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><br />
<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"> </span><br />
<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">What kind of black hole occupies the center
of the depresleys universe is a mystery. We--the dp's--have tried to figure it
out for years without success. All we know is that we've found some kind of
source that keeps offering up inspiration and creativity enough that we've been
able to get through the "less pleasurable" periods of our careers.
And, after all is said and done, what's important, what we will leave behind,
are the songs. We have accumulated quite a number... last time we counted there
were 322 of them. 322 original dp creations that live and breathe and demand a
life of their own. Perhaps that is the answer to the mystery? What has a
stronger gravitational pull than art itself? It is a good answer. We like it.</span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Segoe UI","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
jon ravnenghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06965642745980189826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086098407079330220.post-12869789690650497712013-02-13T11:20:00.001-08:002013-02-13T11:56:37.446-08:00<br />
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Melancholy and the Creative Mind</span></span><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute0" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span class="CharAttribute0"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute1" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span class="CharAttribute1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Raise
your hand if you believe there is a positive link between creativity and
depression. If you think an artist benefits from periods of melancholy. I bet
many of you would raise your hand if I asked; after all, one only needs to look
at Vincent van Gogh or Kurt Cobain to find examples of "troubled
geniuses," and there are plenty more where that came from. Personally I
believe it's nothing but a myth, at least the </span></span><span class="CharAttribute2"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">benefits</span></span><span class="CharAttribute1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> part, and
I speak from experience.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute1" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute1" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span class="CharAttribute1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> The
human psyche comes in many shapes and forms. We are born into this world, not
as blank slates, but with partly pre-programmed DNA (new findings in the area
of epigenetics make this more interesting than ever). Our environment begins to
work us over as soon as we arrive and, as we develop, our habits and thought
patterns push us along toward who we will become in the end. The only sure
thing one can say about life is that it is unpredictable. None of us can avoid
the surprises that are tossed in our way; illness and accidents, broken
promises, incidents in the lives of our loved ones... all we can do is try to
prepare for the blows. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute1" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span class="CharAttribute1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute1" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span class="CharAttribute1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> The
boxer Cassius Clay/Muhammad Ali was famous for leaning against the ropes in
order to minimize the impact of the punches he received. The ropes were
flexible, and they made him bounce back again and again after he had been hit.
The tactic made him a champion. Nevertheless, innumerable blows to his head
probably triggered his present crippling Parkinson's Disease. Psychologically,
many of us do our best to bounce from life's ropes. Some blows are harder than
others, and not all of us are "Cassius Clays." And, even if we were,
damage may have been done. A recent study shows that almost once every hour one
US veteran decided to end his/her life last year (22 per day). 70% of them were
over 50, so they may have lived for decades in emotional agony.
"Ropes" may have helped them bounce back, but, deep on the inside,
something dark and paralyzing grew. Something that did not encouraged
creativity but, rather, placed them in an emotional limbo. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute1" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute1" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span class="CharAttribute1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> In
his 2012 book </span></span><span class="CharAttribute2"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The Wisdom of Psychopaths: <i>What Saints, Spies, and
Serial Killers Can Teach Us About Success</i></span></span><span class="CharAttribute1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Kevin
Dutton argues that those who aim for our society's highest peaks -- whether it be in business, politics, or
medicine -- would do well if they score high on the Psychopathic Personality
Inventory (PPI) scale. In order to climb to the top one has to be able (and willing)
to push others down without being bothered by feelings of regret or remorse. I
personally know people who swear by that theory, and I cringe by the moral code
it represents. In my opinion caring about others, including </span></span><span class="CharAttribute2"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">worrying</span></span><span class="CharAttribute1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">, is one
of humans kind's finest attributes. Developing empathy comes with a price,
though. Parents lie awake at night, hoping their kids are okay, and a spouse
worries about his/her partner's well-being. Worrying is as natural to most of
us as laughter and joy. Anxiety, on the other hand, especially if present over
time, easily leads to depression. Not sadness. Sadness is a natural and healthy
emotion. Depression is beyond sadness; it paralyzes and numbs the human spirit.
Some people begin to cut themselves in order to get out of this emotional
vacuum; to feel </span></span><span class="CharAttribute2"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">something</span></span><span class="CharAttribute1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">. Or to
feel something </span></span><span class="CharAttribute2"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">less frightening</span></span><span class="CharAttribute1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> than what
depression brings with it.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute1" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="ParaAttribute1" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span class="CharAttribute1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Sensitive
people, people who score </span></span><span class="CharAttribute2"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">low</span></span><span class="CharAttribute1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> on the
PPI scale, often struggle with messy feelings. It usually takes a sensitive
mind to create good art. Now, remember, correlation does not necessarily mean
causation; a sensitive person may suffer from anxiety and/or depression, but
it's not the disorder that makes the person creative. On the contrary, whatever
greatness comes from a troubled mind develops </span></span><span class="CharAttribute2"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">in spite</span></span><span class="CharAttribute1"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> of these
damaging emotions. A personal crisis may be turned into a fruitful experience,
and out of such an experience beauty or greatness may grow in the form of a
painting, a poem, or a piece of music. Most of the time, however, little will
happen until after the crisis is over and the artist has regained some kind of
emotional control. Let's kill the myth.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
jon ravnenghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06965642745980189826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086098407079330220.post-41097618445345942742012-05-28T04:13:00.001-07:002012-05-28T04:13:43.906-07:00<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I Was Present When I Died<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
was present when I died<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
smelt their fear<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Their
anger and confusion,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Their
love, hate, and bewilderment<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
witnessed their panic,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Saw
their outstretched hands<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Toward
a God they never knew,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Reaching
out for redemption<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Till
time, itself, evaporated in their hands<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
was present when I died<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I’m
the doubt in the back of their minds<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">An
aching memory<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">A
shadow before their eyes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">My
name on their lips,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Whispered
with reverence<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Now
that I am gone<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Who
embraces the unknown?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Who
walks that path? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Who,
unless, treading carefully, he hopes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">To
avoid the traps time sets <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">For
the mortal soul?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
was present when I died<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Entering
larger spaces<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">But
their wailings brought me back <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">To
a reality that no longer was mine<o:p></o:p></span></div>jon ravnenghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06965642745980189826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086098407079330220.post-28520854931229385412012-01-12T20:20:00.001-08:002012-01-12T20:24:36.184-08:00Words Colliding<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 26pt; line-height: 115%;">A</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">merica</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> was born one Thursday evening when the </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">beat movement</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> collapsed under the weight of its </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">arrogance</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">, chewing on its own guts, believing it had reached the peak of </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">Western culture</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> as black clad </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">monks</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> tripped on mescaline and proclaimed answers to a </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">riddle</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">, the one the old </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Greeks</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">, in all their wisdom, expressed in </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">high-flying</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> utterances,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 26pt; line-height: 115%;">words colliding</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">some claimed to have discovered the </span><b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">First Principle</span></i></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">—the perfect, </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">un-embodied</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">unchanging</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">, and </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">atemporal</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">Truth</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">—only to have it </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">stolen</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> by the </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Church</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">, which changed it into an </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">impersonal</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.5in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">invisible</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">and </span><b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">UNAPPROACHABLE</span></i></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">God</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">—a God who<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">would never fit the strict </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">code</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> of morphine-shooting, heroin-snorting, and pot-smoking </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">hipsters</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> armed with an </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">exalted vocabulary</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> and a heavenly </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">language</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">, who gathered in smoke-filled clubs in </span><span style="font-family: 'Arial Rounded MT Bold', sans-serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">New York</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> and </span><b><span style="font-family: Castellar, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">San Francisco</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">, unaware of a movement that would soon shake the ground on which they stood; <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> a movement created by long haired kids who had little regard for their parent’s music—the smooth, cool backbeat rhythms of </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 24pt; line-height: 115%;">jazz</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">—that had been the symbol of </span><b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">rebellion</span></i></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> against a </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">society</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> that would never be hip to the </span><b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">cats</span></i></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> who hung out in venues that now were about to receive their own </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">sons</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> and </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">daughters</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> and electric guitars and </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">dreams</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> of </span><b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;">peace</span></i></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">; dreams triggered by an </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">unwinnable</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 24pt; line-height: 115%;">war</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> that took place in a jungle far from the clubs where beatniks still recited poetry<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> and snapped fingers<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> and looked </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">inward</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> and shot </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">up</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">and died of coolness… and heroin, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">blind</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> to the wave of bra-burning free loving teenagers in bell-bottoms, who had not yet been </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">numbed</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> by their father’s </span><b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">drugs</span></i></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> of choice, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> nor been confused by </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;">Dr. Leary</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">’s cosmic visions; the visions of a </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 8pt; line-height: 115%;">god</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> who demands nothing, except that thou <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> turneth </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">on</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> tuneth </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">in</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> and droppeth </span><b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">out</span></i></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> nor fueled by the opiate-clouded dreams of the Beats, but by smoke from burned </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">draft cards </span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">and flying </span><b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">freak flags</span></i></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">, which </span><b><span style="font-family: Castellar, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">confused</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> hipster parents who, in a not too far future, would embrace </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">Nixon</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> as he shook hands with <b><i>Chairman</i></b> </span><b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Mao</span></i></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> in a </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">photo-op</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> that was drenched in the </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 24pt; line-height: 115%;">blood</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> of </span><b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">thirty million</span></i></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Chinese </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">intellectuals</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> and </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">peasants</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> who had stood in the way as</span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;"> progress</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> created the </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">perfect society</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">—a PEOPLE’S <b>PARADISE</b> basking in the light of the </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;">rising Sun</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div>jon ravnenghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06965642745980189826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086098407079330220.post-39464947139802247722012-01-12T11:54:00.000-08:002012-01-12T11:54:23.640-08:00Deeper Water<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Deeper Water<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Diving into deeper water<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">An opaque reality<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">With Mother Nature’s favorite daughter<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She’s pure sensuality<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In an opaque reality<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Where all is right and nothing’s wrong<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She’s pure sensuality<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She’s been a goddess all along<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When all is right and nothing’s wrong<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">You find yourself diving deeper<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She’s been a goddess all along<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">You long to be your sister’s keeper<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">You find yourself diving deeper<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Into some forgotten dream<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">You long to be your sister’s keeper<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">While currents carry you downstream<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">You’re there, in some forgotten dream<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Embraced by Nature’s favorite daughter<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">While currents carry you downstream<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Into ever deeper water<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">© Ravneng 2011<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>jon ravnenghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06965642745980189826noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086098407079330220.post-16003644273089601262012-01-12T11:47:00.000-08:002012-01-12T11:56:09.572-08:00Lioness<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><b><span lang="NO-BOK" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Lioness</span></b><b><span lang="NO-BOK" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">00:57 <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">A man stands in the pouring rain; a single dark figure among shadows. He leans against a stone wall, his head bowed as if in prayer, but his lips don’t move. Partly obscured by majestic oak trees a house stands as a silhouette against the glow from the city. More than an hour has passed since the lights were turned off in the upstairs bedroom. Not that the man counts the hours; time has lost its meaning to him. One hour</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">…<i> A lifetime... He has walked twelve years in one direction and one day in another and the world he knew is gone. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He pulls out a flask and takes a couple of sips. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He never intended to spend the night under a dead lamppost, but here he is. His dark blue Armani clings to his body and his normally impeccable black hair hangs in limp strings over his forehead. No part of him is dry, and he stamps his feet in the mud to stay warm. Not many hours ago he had been David </span></i><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Lowenstein,</span></i><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> a handsome 36-year old professional with intense and sincere brown eyes and a self-confident aura about him. If someone saw him now, they would see a creature of the night. Not a predator but a shivering thing hiding in dark places. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">♦<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The trip had been on his agenda for several months. Travelling was part of what he did; as the regional manager of a Fortune 500 Corporation, his Gold Traveler card had more bonus miles on it than he could ever use. This trip was different, though. His division had been given the BBJ-2 corporate jet for a tour of Europe, and, depending on the outcome of the raid—for that’s what it was—a promotion to a corner office on the 27<sup>th</sup> floor would wait for him at his return. Not since he had closed his first deal as a young novice had he been this energized. Illyana, his wife of more than a decade, had packed four of his “power suits” and placed a black briefcase and a pair of shoes next to his bed. He was, however, too excited to sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Honey? Are you okay?” Illyana reached for her cell phone and squinted at the display. “It’s almost three o’clock, David…”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Without makeup and with her short blond hair in an un-harnessed mess, she looked like a girl. A 20-year younger Illyana who’d driven the boys of Prividza crazy simply by being herself. An Illyana he had not known then, but who had caught his eye on his first day at Stanford. She‘d sat in the shade, leaning against a tree. Next to her, a pile of chemistry and biology books were spread out on the lawn.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Um, excuse me,” he had said. “Could you tell me how to get to the bookstore?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">She’d looked up at him and just smiled. Even with no intention of flirting she had spellbound him with her eyes and the cute wrinkling of the nose. She had studied him for a few seconds, then nodded to the left. Less than 30 yards away he saw a huge display window filled with books. He’d felt embarrassed, and she had laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Almost 15 years had passed since that day. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I’m okay,” David whispered as he leaned over to her side of the bed and brushed some hair back from her eyes. “Don’t worry about me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Next evening, onboard the BBJ-2 David gathered the team for a last go-through of strategies. They were on a conquest, and in the horizon bonuses and promotions glittered in the sun. Men in suits clenched their fists and exchanged high-fives over contracts that had been looked over by at least a dozen corporate legal experts. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Liz, would you please hand me the Fallwell.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">David’s personal assistant, a petite dark haired woman, handed him a portfolio. She was pretty. Not stunning, but cute. Liz was twenty-eight, and she had ambitions. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Thanks,” he said. “Did they call back to confirm?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yup, late last night. I didn’t leave the office until after midnight so I really think I deserve a reward this time.” Liz leaned over and touched his nose with one finger. It was a teasing gesture, part of a little game she played. A game David had come to enjoy.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I know, Liz. I owe you, but if Europe goes the way I hope…”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">David had decided to bring his assistant with him to the 27<sup>th</sup> floor, even if it ruffled some VP feathers. He felt comfortable around Liz; she made him a better man. Well, maybe not better, but <i>bigger</i>. More powerful and attractive. Besides, Liz knew his game-plan as well as he did, and she definitely deserved the promotion. He hadn’t told her yet, but he would be adamant about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“All right, if there’s nothing else, let’s get some sleep.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">David </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Lowenstein, alpha male, gray-back, regional manager and soon-to-be VP of an international corporation pushed a button and with a buzzing sound his wide chair transformed to a comfortable bed. David knew that, unlike the night before, he would fall asleep within seconds; he was relaxed now that the waiting was over. He was in control, and it felt good to be in the big league!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">David was as close to heaven as he had ever been. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">♦<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">01:49 <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">A car drives slowly past the man and down the broad tree-lined street. In the wet asphalt he can see reflections of the car’s tail-lights, and music from its stereo mesh with the sound of splashing rain. He still feels confused after nearly two hours in the freezing downpour. He feels tempted to walk up to the house, use his keys and go to sleep in one of the guest rooms. He can feel he is about to catch a cold as he takes few more sips from the flask. Will he be able to look Illyana in the eye and explain? Explain what? That he had “made a mistake” and was sorry? He should have seen it coming. Of course he should have seen it coming! It had been coming for the last twenty-five years. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Scenes from his high school days pop up in his head; pictures that bring back feelings of humiliation and shame. His father had worked two jobs so they could live in an affluent neighborhood. He had insisted that David should attend good schools, so they moved into a duplex on the “right” side of town, and for the next eleven years it had been their home. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">David had not been rich enough to hang with the preppy crowd, and not robust enough to hang with the jocks. He was smart, that’s true, but smart boys didn’t date cheerleaders. At least not at Santa Cruz High. So David had spent most weekends alone with his books.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Then Janet Moore moved to town. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">David remembers how out of place she’d looked. Her pale face, the unhip clothes, her desperate attempt to blend in with the background. May had been overwhelmingly green and warm and he recalls how he’d walked over to her and introduced himself—rather clumsily—and offered to show her around campus. How grateful she’d been. And how she became his first love; the one he would never forget. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He also remembers Bruce Barrus.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Bruce was a walking cliché. He was on the football team, had larger muscles than brains, and he drove a car his father had given him for his sixteenth birthday. Bruce’s self-confidence was larger than his biceps and David grew to hate him. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">During the summer and fall David and Janet spent together Janet had changed from a centipede to a butterfly. The sun and salt water had tanned her skin and lightened her hair, and she’d tossed her drab clothes. She’d also discovered the jazz café in Capitola, and she soon became part of its clientele. David had never enjoyed jazz—it made him nervous and edgy—but he had quietly endured the syncopated torment just to be with Janet. They had spent hours on the beach almost every day during the break. Janet had especially loved the Big Dipper—the old rollercoaster at the Boardwalk—and insisted they’d go there as often as possible. Every single time they’d reached the top she’d been exited to see all the way to Monterey, and every time, on the way down, she’d laugh and squeeze David’s arm. He had been an honor student with a scholarship and a beautiful girlfriend. Life had been good.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">It was Vincent Barberi who’d told him about Janet and Bruce. He’d seen them together several times, often when David had thought she’d been studying with Miriam. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I hate to be the messenger of bad news” Vinnie had said,” but I can’t take it anymore! You’re the only one around here who don’t know…”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">David had been devastated. At first he’d refused to believe it; he’d even been angry at Vinnie, but the cold truth had finally crept up his spine and into his head, and when he’d confronted Janet, she had tearfully confirmed everything Vinnie had told him. David had then, emotionally, descended into a deep, black void, and that winter he’d spent more time with his books than ever. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Bruce and Janet lasted for two more weeks. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Illyana did not get pregnant. She and David had tried for years, and it had begun to take its toll on him. He felt pressured to perform on commando, not so much for Illyana as for <i>the cause</i>: getting pregnant. Slowly, he began to feel relief when he had to be out of town on business at certain dates. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">They—or, rather, Illyana— had explored all options. Nothing seemed to be physically wrong with either of them. One doctor claimed the problem was their attitude; if they were only willing to develop a “higher level of trust…” Illyana never understood what trust had to do with it. Ovulation + sperm = baby. Who needed trust, the <i>egg</i> or the <i>sperm</i>? So, when another physician placed a pamphlet in her hand titled “Tantric Techniques to Pregnancy,” Illyana decided to talk seriously with David about adopting. They could easily afford it on David’s income so she could stay home with the child. David agreed, and together they went through a rigorous research. He’d signed checks, visited hospitals, and at last David and Illyana decided on an agency that had connections in Indochina. The necessary forms were signed, and a rather large amount of money was handed over to a woman who claimed she cared about childless couples. If things went according to plan, they would fly to Vietnam on short notice within the next three months. After all the barren years Illyana began to plan their future as a real family.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">02:33<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">It has become impossible for him to concentrate. The rain drives him crazy, cold and relentless like Chinese water torture. His flask is half empty.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“So, I’ll tell the truth,” he thinks. “She will look at me, unable to grasp the meaning of it all. Then there will be anger. And tears.” <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He could probably take her anger, but not her tears. Or, worst of all: indifference. After the tears have dried and the anger cooled off she will end up like so many of his friend’s former wives— hard and distant. From his safe place next to Illyana he has witnessed families break up. He has watched men go to pieces before his eyes, and he’s seen the transformation that takes place in their wives. A black and sticky fog fills his head. This has to be a nightmare; it can’t happen to him. It is simply too surreal. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He leans against the wall and throws up.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Liz brought David breakfast. There was a crew onboard who served food and drinks, but Liz enjoyed doing little things like this for her boss. He had slept for more than five hours, almost six, and they were soon to begin the descent to Geneva International Airport. Down and to his left he saw the lake with the Alps in the background. He tried to figure out which was Mont Blanc, but from above it was hard to tell them apart. The rising sun spread its rays over the snow-covered peaks, which created an almost supernatural effect; it was as if light radiated from Earth itself. Faded lines of poetry came to life in David’s head, and he whispered:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 1.5in; margin-top: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“<span class="apple-style-span">Thus thou, Ravine of Arve—dark, deep Ravine, thou many-colored, many-voicéd vale,</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">over whose pines, and crags, and caverns sail. Fast cloud—shadows and sunbeams: awful scene, </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down From the ice-gulfs that gird his secret throne,</span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">bursting through these dark mountains like the flame</span>”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Shelley,” said Liz. “I love that poem! I didn’t know you were into the Romantics.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Neither did I, for some reason I remembered that one from school.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">In order to get a view of the scenery Liz leaned over David. She was so close that her hair brushed against his face, and he became aware of a discreet scent of dark and spicy perfume. He froze. Over the years he had gotten used to Illyana’s flowery cologne, the same she had worn since the day they met. This was different. This was exotic and… <i>exciting</i>. Liz did not smell like a wife; she smelled of danger! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Three cars waited for them as they arrived. From the airport they took the scenic route along Lake Geneva. Probably inspired by the Alps across the lake </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Walker and Harris began to discuss mountaineering, while Byrne, obviously hung-over from the day before—something that irritated David; Byrne <i>knew</i> that heavy drinking was unacceptable on trips like these—sat with his eyes closed, oblivious to whatever Switzerland had to offer of natural beauty. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Liz pulled a document from her briefcase. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Le Chateau d’Ouchy,” she said. “Brad recommended it, and it looks quite amazing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">She handed David a brochure with pictures of what looked like an old castle.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Not bad,” he said. “I believe I could get used to that. Do we have lake view?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Not all our rooms,” Liz answered. “But yours have, I fixed that.” She patted him on the knee. “The boss gets what he wants, you know…” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">03:15<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The rain seems to lighten, but David doesn’t notice. Twice he has started up the driveway meaning to wake up Illyana and tell her everything. He’s wanted to throw himself at her mercy and take whatever came his way. And twice he has returned to the spot by the wall, devastated by his own cowardice. He holds the flask in his hand; no reason to put it back just to pull it out again. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Illyana calls his cell phone several times, and when he doesn’t answer she begins to leave worried messages. He listens to the first few and ignores the rest. Then Walker calls. And Byrne. He ignores them as well. The one number that so far hasn’t shown up on the display is Liz’s. Good! He’d asked her not to call. He turns off the phone. By now he’s grown quite disillusioned. Feelings of defeat leave him almost paralyzed, and when it starts to rain again, harder than ever, he doesn’t even try to seek shelter against the wall. He looks up at the clouds and lets water fill his mouth and eyes. He wonders if he will drown if he stands like this long enough. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Le Chateau d’Ouchy was just as impressive as the brochure had claimed. Part of the hotel was actually a 12<sup>th</sup> century castle, complete with Romanesque towers and ghosts of Shakespearian lovers restlessly wandering the halls. It was situated on the lake, and from his balcony David looked down on the marina. His room was huge with green and mahogany walls. The low, curved windows revealed Lake Geneva, which stretched toward the horizon until it disappeared in the mist. Above the clouds Alpine ridges floated on thin air. David sat down on the largest bed he had ever seen. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“This thing is too big for one person,” he thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The meetings went well. Better than anyone had dared to hope. David performed with a king’s authority, and the Suisse gave in to his demands, one by one. The whole process took less than six intense hours, and back at the Chateau David made a few calculations; this single deal was worth at least 90 million dollars. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">One down—Barcelona, Copenhagen and Oslo to go!” he told himself with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">That night the team celebrated. They had one day off before Barcelona, so David permitted drinks, even though he knew Byrne would get useless right away. David, Liz, </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Walker, Harris, Byrne, and a few others </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">warmed up in the hotel bar before they continued at Restaurant du Leman, a <i>very</i> exclusive place a short taxi ride north of Lausanne. Byrne had managed to invite Angelique, a plump blonde he’d met at the hotel, and she came along as well. The food was excellent, the wine expensive, and the smiles were wide. Again and again crystal glasses were raised; they toasted each other’s performance, and especially David’s. A little before midnight Byrne had fallen asleep in Angelique’s lap. He had gone through the entire list of behavior one would expect from a 42-year-old single semi-alcoholic, and David decided it was time to head back to Lausanne. David usually didn’t touch alcohol, but tonight he’d had plenty of reasons to refill his glass, and he felt a bit inebriated as they waited for the taxi.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I know what you’re thinking,” he said to Liz who had taken his arm on the way out. “You think I’m drunk, don’t you? But I’m not.” His speech was a little slurred.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You don’t know what I think,” she answered. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">David sighed.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“No, I guess not… I never know what you think. You’re the mystery woman! Are you a witch? I believe you’re a witch.” He laughed and pulled her close. She let him do it. “I want you to put a spell on those guys in Barcelona. You can do that, can’t you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Liz smiled. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Sure,” she said and leaned her head against his shoulder. “That’s what witches do.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">03:50<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The flask is empty and lies on the ground. He feels sick, but not from the whiskey. Well, that too, perhaps, but mostly from the sticky fog that has spread from his stomach and now fills his brain. It prohibits him from thinking or acting. He sees his life through a tunnel; tiny people move around at the end of it, but they are out of reach. When he tries to shout he only hears the distant echo of his own voice. When he tries to move his muscles won’t obey. David is trapped in his head and he cannot see a way out. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“That damned Bruce,” someone says. David recognizes his own voice. “He stole Janet. He has done everything he can to ruin my life for almost twenty years!” <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Bruce’s laughing face floats before David’s unfocused eyes. Rich Bruce. Handsome Bruce. He then sees Janet on the beach. Tanned and smiling she runs toward him, but before she gets close she transforms into Liz. Janet and Liz… Liz and Janet… Ilyana.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Raindrops slap him in the face and the tunnel disappears. On rubber legs he walks toward the house.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Liz and David were in David’s room at the Grand Hotel in Oslo. His “power jacket” lay on the floor while he leaned against the window, staring blindly into the night. Down below the streets were full of people hurrying back and forth in the light snow. If he leaned far enough out and looked to the right David would have seen the illuminated castle of the king. Across the street to his left the parliament building appeared like a multi-headed giant; the house where decisions were made in this remote country… However, David saw none of this. His thoughts were elsewhere.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Harris had joined them for a last drink and he slumped in one of the brown leather chairs. Barcelona and Copenhagen had gone well. Tomorrow afternoon they were to fight the last battle. The last hostile corporate take-over. David’s was a success story; he’d made his company’s stock holders amazingly rich. And as soon as they returned to the US he would be rich as well. And more powerful than ever. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“How come your room is so large?” Harris asked. Harris with the tiny eyes and receding hairline. He would never make it to the 27<sup>th</sup> floor. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“We could all camp out here—there would be plenty of room.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Neither David nor Liz took notice of Harris and after ten minutes and a couple more drinks he mumbled something about a boring party, said good night, and left. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Over by the window David thought about Illyana. Of the markings on her calendar: little red hearts at certain dates. David filled his glass. Drained it. Liz had picked up one of the many complimentary magazines that lay on the mahogany table, a National Geographic. David thought about the times he had been too tired to perform. Of the disappointing tone in Illyana’s voice when he rolled over with a “sorry.” He thought of how he began to feel less of a man. How he’d spent more and more time at the office. David filled his glass again. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I <i>love</i> lions,” Liz suddenly said, looking up from her magazine. “Do you? I swear I want to be reborn as a lion!” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Do I love lions..? I don’t know. I don’t <i>hate</i> lions.” David realized he had never given it a thought. “You wanna be a lion? I thought you were a witch?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Liz told him that she had been to Africa with her parents when she was 14. She’d seen lions in the wild, and ever since she’d wished she’d been a lion.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">David came over to where Liz sat on the floor and placed himself next to her. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Lions are not afraid of anything.” she said. “Except people, of course. They have to stay away from people! My father was not a hunter, you know. He was a photographer for a magazine.” She smiled. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Little hearts on a calendar… Janet on a rollercoaster… David felt tired in spite of being a corporate soldier who was about to take over a Norwegian pharmaceutical company with the stroke of his green Mont Blanc fountain pen. His sword. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I have a huge pile of magazines with my father’s pictures at home.” Liz continued.” “Lots of lions; they were <i>his</i> favorite too. You know what I think? I think those lions—the ones in the pictures, I mean—are the luckiest lions ever! My dad caught them at a happy moment when they were strong and free and beautiful, and they will stay that way forever as long as nobody burns those magazines. They’ll live on in my house. And in many other houses as well, I’m sure. Don’t you think they are lucky lions, David?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Pretty lucky lions.” he said, and emptied the glass. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Do you see the savannah?” Liz pointed at some undefined point in front of them. “Listen! The lions are playing. They are close, I can sense it!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">David sensed it too. He closed his eyes and he sat in the sun surrounded by wildlife. But he wasn’t afraid since he was with a lion. Lions don’t kill lions; he was pretty sure about that.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yeah, I can sense it,” he said. “And I feel the sun. You really are a witch, aren’t you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“No, I’m a lioness,” she answered and clawed him gently on his arm. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Thirty minutes later, as he came out of the shower, she sat on the bed with her legs tucked under her. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“So small,” he thought, “so fragile.” This Liz was not a lion but a sparrow. Her skin was pale; her body a piece of art. A Michelangelo. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“So,” she said, “are you afraid to approach the lion’s den?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">She looked at him with a predator’s eyes . <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You ought to be a little afraid, you know!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">His heart beat hard. His blood boiled, and as he moved carefully toward the lioness it leaped forward, pushed him down and climbed on top of him. The sparrow was gone; here was the carnivore, and he was her prey. With the intensity of a hungry feline she chewed on his neck and clawed his chest. The sounds of the savannah grew faint, and all he could do was to accept his fate; he was about to be devoured. The lioness took her time. The lioness whimpered and snarled. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The lioness roared as the equatorial sun blinded his eyes and he died. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">04:10<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He stands on the porch and digs into his pocket with cold, stiff fingers. He pulls out his keys. For a few seconds he lets the yellow light from the porch-lamp play with the metallic “L” on the key chain. He sits down. The street is empty. The night is dark. He is a lone man in the universe, a man beyond the grasp of time. Far in the distance a door opens. He hears steps. Someone sits down next to him. Illyana… it’s his wife. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I’ve been worried, David. You have no idea…”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He is wet, cold, and guilty. He is the lowest of the low. He is a beast, crawling in the mud, and he has chosen it for himself.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Do you want to tell me about it?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He hears Illyana’s voice. No, it’s not her! It is the voice of God—the God he’d left behind long ago. But is it the vengeful God of old or the loving Father he has looked for but never found? <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Harris called,” the voice says. “Please, David, come inside. Let us talk. I need you to tell me! I’ll have to hear it from you.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Illyana touches his arm, and David implodes. Cascades of emotions demand to get out, and he tosses himself into her lap and sobs. His body shakes uncontrollably, and he clings to her waist in order not to be swallowed by the tsunami that washes over him.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I’m sorry… sorry… so sorry… Oh God, I’m sooo sorry!” <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">His words are little more than grunts and yowls, the sounds a wounded animal lets out, but it’s the best he can manage. He buries his face in his wife’s lap and holds on for dear life. In the torrential rain the two sits. The porch light shines on Illyana, and her messy blond hair reflects it like a halo. In her lap, her husband lies; a shadow. He trembles. Illyana places a hand on his forehead and whispers:<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Let’s go indoors, David. We’ll talk tomorrow. Come, I have made a bed for you in the guest room. You’ll die if you stay here…”</span></i><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">© Ravneng 2011</span></div>jon ravnenghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06965642745980189826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086098407079330220.post-3593637940772770012011-12-17T16:51:00.000-08:002011-12-17T16:51:38.210-08:00Here We Go... AgainSo, I'm a bad blogger. Bad, because I always forget to follow up on my writing. And because I forget passwords. Nevertheless, since I also am a hardcore optimist I keep trying... I even have a Twitter account somewhere. Go figure.<br />
<br />
These days my mind is preoccupied with a bunch of brand new depresleys songs. Not the "new" songs you might have heard of; the ones that we've titled "2013." These songs I've bundled under the title "2014..." Duh! More comments on war, lost love, politics=stupid people, and--if I manage--happy love. Today I've worked on a tune about the painter Vincent Van Gogh; working title "Letter to Theo." Love the guy, his art, and his story! Hope the song will do him justice.<br />
<br />
My plan is to upload lyrics and stuff here (did I hear "yeah, sure!"?) Well, just wait and see--I might surprise, even myself ; )<br />
<br />
Peace, love, and music,<br />
jon:)jon ravnenghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06965642745980189826noreply@blogger.com0