"Unto The Breach!" What the Fuck For?

"Let us speak in good frankness now
"the boundless blackness of man's soul;
"And in so nobly doing shine
"true inside this harrowing hole."

In the copper mines of Giba escape was an unknown word. There was only today, tomorrow and death. Enslaved by manmade chains pretending to be chains of nature, the miners' souls succumbed to the clawing dimness, having no place left to go. Like a man freefalling through the air, his arms wailing outward for something to hold onto only to find nothing before his final, inevitable doom, the lives of the men were an exercise in incremental, unstoppable terror.

Bottled rage vexed their sweaty brows having long forgotten the slightest hope of life's promise. Their unthinkable misery was unthought of by the world outside, unbearably inconvenient to those who benefited from their despairing labor. Perhaps it was all a grand conspiracy to prove no life has an inherent purpose after all - and thus no responsibility to it. Tormented Russians loved to put intellectuals, artists and others gifted into the salt mines in glorious mockery of a workers' utopia. Where ends the sadness and the madness?

Not soon enough for these forsaken miners of misery. When aching for softness comes the stinging lash of the overseer, expressing the life of his heart. Over him stood the servants of the coin of which had been doomed no man can live without. In Sisyphusian cycle, the copper for the coin needed the men of the mines as the men of the mines needed the coins of the copper. No way out was to be had until body gave way to decay finding rest in the ground even as the soul wandered still.

"Laughter yonder sings brightly of the moon -
"starry reflector of unseen sol in the night;
"For laughter like a willing wind
"carries the eye afar from shuttered fright."

Then a man of fraud calling himself a man of God ministered to the miners as one who seeks water in the desert. Like any blind to his own evil, the preaching man was ruthlessly driven to believe he knew The Way without ever walking its path. This servant of the world heard his call to duty errant: to succor the miners to their chains of metal while severing the pains to freedom. In practiced gentle touch, he rested his hand on each miner's shoulder, claiming in boiling blood, "God loves you."

"Jesus, mate! If this is love I'd hate to see hate!"

The preacher wanted to succumb to the miner's words, to throw off his own shackles and admit his god was not the God of love. But he knew the praise - and copper - that awaited him if could return a report of souls still slumbering. For the worldly man's Judas dreams of self betrayal were shared by many if not most. Any yearnings for life threatened to shatter their devil's deal of order without faith. Pangs of the conscience must be numbed and those who achieved this were rewarded as children of the worldly god.

Living a life as useless as the miners', the preaching man knew the words for which they longed, telling them they served a greater purpose, that even if their lives held no meaning their deaths certainly did. He spoke of how society could not function without their godly efforts and how the worldly structure would deadly collapse, plunging millions into chaos. Injustice, said this man of cloth, is not to be fought when lives are at stake. Inwardly he smiled, picturing his masters' approval to hear him spew.

But as his luck would have it, the canary in these mines was not dead yet.

"And when proud bursted dams built by
"man's infallible hands finally fail,
"peace is released to the longing land,
"bodies drowned and dead take their grail."

"No! No! You can't do this! This is an outrage!"

Slowly, ghoulish smiles of the miners lowered the priest into a deep, abandoned hole where no scream can escape to living light. Tethered by a coarse rope, the only light he could see was a glimmer from the unreachable top mocking his human hope. Like water reaching further inland with every wave, insanity eroded his mind in the relentless march of time. How can this even be happening? Who are these people? What kind of planet am I on?

When the high-pitched wailing and deep moaning echoed throughout the mines, the miners took heart in their enemy's plight as he gave voice to the terror of their daily lives. This soothed their savage souls. In rare anticipation of joy, the wounded workers gather round their prey to feed on his forlorn pleas.

"You can't do this to me! This is completely wrong!"

"Didn't we tells ya the good news? You's serving valuable purpose to our society. We feeling much better now!"

"You people are monsters! Can't you even see how wrong this is?"

The miners pretended to confer among themselves. "It's our consensus that you are displaying a poor and self-serving attitude based solely on your own plight while not considering the well-being of others, namely us. I'm afraid we cannot tolerate that sort of class warfare. We do this for the common good!"

"You're not fucking me for the common good. You're fucking me because you're assholes!"

"You ain't hearin' us, mate. Sees, human nature is just shit. We're, like, philosophical experts and such and we finds we needs to base our system on people being shit cuz, ya knows, ya just can't trust them to be anythin' else!"

"That's bullshit! You could pull me up right now if you decided to."

"Oh, that's impossible! You need to learn personal responsibility and pull your own weight. It's simply not feasible to live your life dependent on others."

"Fuck you assholes!"

"That sort of hysterical anger clearly denotes a fringe element of thought."

"Since when is not fucking someone a fringe thought?"

"Jeez, pal. Where you been all yous life? Wit your head up yous arse?"

"Madness! I'm surrounded by madness! Don't tell me there's nothing you can do! You're driving me insane!"

"Unfeeling darkness swallows the truth,
"To undiscovered stars soars my dream.
"Why give forth a fine feast of reason
"To be vomited by men so vile and lean?"

Is This The Worst Disaster Ever?

So, it's possible the unthinkable is happening in the Great Tohoku-Kanto Earthquake and Nuclear Threat - as it's currently labeled by Japanese TV. Soon, the word ‘threat’ may be changed to ‘catastrophe’. Japan's Fukushima power plant very easily could become so radioactive it would be impossible to even get near it for any possible containment or further damage control. Jesus Christ, how can this happen? What sort of anger is it that drives us to see forethought as the enemy? Who is it that believes truth is optional?

The reactor at unit 4 was shut down at the time of the earthquake last Friday, meaning that crews had transferred all of the radioactive fuel from the reactor’s core to the pool. The building housing the pool was damaged when two nearby reactor buildings exploded Saturday and Monday.

"It’s unprecedented," said David Helwig, a retired nuclear engineer who spent 40 years working on boiling water nuclear reactors of the same design as those at Fukushima Daiichi. "That’s never happened before."

Left exposed to the air, the fuel rods will start to decay and release radioactivity into the air.

Severe structural damage is the only way the fuel pool could be emptied, Helwig said. The 50-foot-deep pools have no outlets at the bottom, thus preventing them from draining in case of an accident.

From what I'm understanding, we are reaching uncharted territory in terms of a nuclear crisis. No one knows exactly what will occur if the reactors have to be abandoned and are left to turn into a huge melting mass of a radioactive tumor infecting the Japanese coastline for decades.

The U.S. official says experts believe there is a rupture in two, maybe three of the six reactors at the Fukushima power plant, but as worrisome is the fact that spent fuel rods are now exposed to the air, which means that substances like cesium, which have a long half-life, could become airborne.

"That could be deadly for decades," the official said.

There is a growing concern around the world that a nuclear catastrophic disaster is in the works.

"There is talk of an apocalypse and I think the word is particularly well chosen," European Union's energy commissioner Günther Oettinger said today, according to various reports. "Practically everything is out of control. I cannot exclude the worst in the hours and days to come."

Apparently Japan can be as stupid and corrupt as the United States when it comes to dealing with corporations. It is a private utility calling the shots on the recovery operation instead of the government commandeering the situation and saying to hell with your corporate interests and ass covering - which is exactly the behavior the utility is exhibiting. Someone needs to be cracking skulls over there and I mean NOW!

The utility has a history of deception and one gets the feeling they have one leg trying to contain the reactors and one leg trying to contain culpability. Dropping water bombs from helicopters is a complete joke, even my ignorant ass knows that. We often praise blind faith as a human virtue but when it's not justified it is the most destructive of traits imaginable. Critical thinking won't kill you, folks. Only a lack of it will.

And I can see the corporate overlords here scrambling in reaction to this. But not to get their act together but rather in how to escape potential responsibility and deflect the spotlight away from their own crimes against humanity. Instead of pulling your child off the freeway you merely think up good excuses for why you left him out there for when he gets run over. The thinking is that is better than admitting a mistake in the first place and once tragedy strikes you'll be in no condition to be accused.

We could have a silver lining to this partially engineered-by-man tragedy and use it as a wake up call for nuclear plants around the world. But there's no money in the sanctity of human life.

Chinese pollution, no help from Mother Nature required

It's not God damning us, it's us damning us. Who would have pictured America as permanently economically crippled while bled to death by endless wars ten years ago? And who cannot foresee the food riots coming in the following decade as our ever shrinking pie leaves more and more to fend for themselves without recourse? Things are not going to get better without our choosing it happen despite all the wishful thinking of our daily propaganda of how wonderful we are.

Don't turn your nose up at Japanese misery you blind fools with your foot in a bear trap ready to spring. I'm not seeing anyone exempt from the madness. The idea we even have to consider a decades long nuclear nightmare blowing radioactivity over Japan and her beloved island is beyond human reason. And this happened for what? They used a poorly designed reactor and containment system to enhance corporate profits? Really?

Ask yourself this: which would you rather have: mythical profits that exist only in your mind or your actual fucking life? Because that's the choice we're facing and I'm all out of sympathy.

Which is more important? This...

or this worthless paper:

Time will come when the madness we deny exists today will be exposed forever and history will curse our names without reserve.

Happy Sam Is A Dreamer

Happy Sam should never have been homeless. I only wish I had the descriptive powers to relate the vibes he exudes that just naturally make you want to root for him. He has this classy, soothing air of good feeling about him that makes everyone be on his side. He never complains about his situation, not even silently. (Don't confuse "unheard" with "unknown", folks). I admit I'm in awe of the guy in that respect as there's no way I can make it through a day without some serious bitching. It's a bile most of us need to puke up on a daily basis.

Everyone bitches differently. Some say, "It's not so bad at the bottom", hoping to appease the gods of misfortune. But they are merely keeping the bile inside and when the time comes for the inevitable fucking life brings the poor, they explode. Others swing the other way, bitching about everything because they have no say in anything. That kind of anger can rot your gut. Most of us are a mixture of the two with hopefully a little Happy Sam thrown in.

You see, Sam has none of that; being neither resigned nor destructive. His inner peace is truly a marvel to behold, like an eye of a hurricane. Just being in his sphere of influence makes the claws of anger drop from your soul, giving this sort of lighter than air feeling that if I could bottle would save mankind even from itself. No one can resist it, like an elixir for life! All this without causing a single spark of jealousy to boot.

So my curiosity was piqued when I saw my secret role model (my public stance is: "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!") sitting off by himself in reflective pose over by the I-45 overlook of our clusterfuck mixmaster here in downtown Dallas. It may not have been obvious to most but I could tell something was wrong. His body language was different - not "down" but just somehow off. Was he a mere mortal after all?

I sat down beside him on the hillside grass in silence feeling the rush of my defenses dropping, knowing I wouldn't know what to say until I was in the moment. I surprised even myself with my unguarded frankness.

"So what's wrong?" I queried, hoping I wasn't merely painting him with my usual negativity.

He didn't answer right away and he knew I didn't need an answer right away. Even his silence rocks! I took that time to relish Sam's natural elegance and how I might copy it. I laughed to myself remembering Sheila's line of how "dirt just moves around him". He could look better in a slept-in ruffled suit than I ever could in a finely pressed one. Sam proved the old axiom false: it really is the man who makes the clothes. I put "get inner peace so I can look cool" on my life's to-do list.

"I'm just waiting," murmured Sam.

Aw, hell, here's where I gotta pretend I know what the fuck he's talking about so he thinks I'm as cool as he is. "Know what ya mean...," I ventured, hoping not to put a question mark at the end of it. I mean, I guess all our lives are on hold in one sense or another - at least when you're moneyfucked anyway. Or maybe he meant something completely different. After all, he's not an asshole like I am.

"I'm just waiting for God to care about the truth."

OK, so it was something completely different. But then I pained myself - which I always know is the wrong thing to do but do anyway when feeling pressed - to make what I thought was a relevant comment. "Maybe God's waiting for us to care about the truth."

Sam's flashed a sharp look towards me. "But of course," he said as one bothered at having to express the obvious. Clearly, I had missed his point. I felt like such a failure, afraid to show my true reaction.

Happy Sam never shows this side of him. He never gets caught up in philosophical discussions or how The Man is fucking us (He is, dammit!) or any other debates of reality. But logically, to have the kind of peace and goodwill he did he had to have a side that cared deeply with unshakable convictions. Yet I was a tad floored when he let me in like that. It meant an admission of trust in me and I squirmed not knowing how to repay that priceless honor.

It's true, truth has gone down the toilet, washed away by seas of lies, shouted down, slandered and vilified in malicious mania. But Sam is a true dreamer and by staying true to his dreams saw the world as it could be - as it should be. Or, as I think Sam was telling me now, as it will be.

Happy Sam wants to build a home in this world but he knows the destroyers will undo every stone he puts down. Yet he knows the time will come for his home if not in this life then the next. And I can imagine his house as one full of love and life where I would fear my soul to tread but ache to do so. And that's when I found myself smiling on a dying planet watching jam-packed cars honk at one another in trapped torment as their fumes shorten our global lifespan.

Sam suspected my thoughts and looked over at me with a twinkle in his eye, reading me like an open book. I actually blushed as self-revelation is not my way. For a few moments I felt the peace too and wanted to stay rooted in that world forever. Then Sam got up and walked away as I reverted back to my normal self, picking up a rock and launching it at a Hummer driver.

"Republican fucker!"

-----------------------

How to have such class?

The Japans And Her Earthquakes

On September 1, 1923 came the Great Kantō earthquake. A 13 year old boy experiences the quake firsthand, recounting it later:

At that point I heard a rumbling sound from beneath the ground. I was wearing my high wooden clogs, and in order to hit the cow [I was returning] I was moving my body, so I didn't feel the earth move. What I noticed was that my friend who had been squatting next to me suddenly stood bolt upright. As I looked up at him, I saw that behind him the wall of the storehouse was crumbling and falling - toward us. I stood up in a hurry too.

Because I was wearing high clogs I couldn't keep my balance on the rippling ground, so I took them off and carried one in each hand. Like someone on a boat in heavy seas, I lurched and ran to where my friend stood with arms wrapped around a telephone pole for dear life. I did likewise. The pole was waving around crazily, too. In fact, it was snapping its wires into thousands of little pieces.

Then, before our eyes, the two storehouses belonging to the pawnshop started shedding their skins. They shuddered and shook off their roof tiles and then let go of their thick walls. In an instant they were skeletons of wood frame. It wasn't just the storehouses that were doing this either. The roof tiles of all the houses, as if they were being put through a sieve, suddenly danced and shook and slipped off. In the thick dust the roof beams lay revealed.

Isn't it remarkable how well Japanese houses are built? In this situation the roof becomes light and house doesn't collapse. I remember thinking these thoughts as I stood clinging to the violently shuddering telephone pole. But this doesn't mean I was calm and collected, human beings are funny creatures - if they are too severely startled, one part of the brain is often left out entirely and remains strangle composed, thinking about something completely unrelated. But my poor brain, which in this moment contemplated Japanese domestic architecture and its capacity to withstand earthquakes, in the next moment became feverish with concern over my family. I set out at a breakneck run for my house.

The front gate had lost half of its roof, but it stood solidly without even a list to one side. But the stone walk from the gate to the front entrance of my house was blocked by a mountain of roof tiles that had fallen from the buildings on either side. I could hardly see the front door. My family must be all dead.

Strangely enough, the feeling that came over me at that moment was not one of grief, but rather a deep resignation. The next thing that occurred to me was I was all alone in the world. Looking around me and wondering what to do, I saw the friend I had left holding on the telephone pole come bursting out of his house with all the members of his family. They stood in a group in the middle of the street. Thinking there was not much else I could do under the circumstances, I decided to stay with my friend, and I started walking towards them.

As I approached, my friend’s father started to say something to me, but then stopped suddenly. He walked past me and stared at the front of my house. Following his gaze, I turned and looked back. There were all the members of my family coming out of the front gate. I ran like one possessed. Those I had thought dead were not only safe, but appeared to have been worried about me. As I ran to them, they welcomed me with relief visible on their faces.

You would think I would have burst into tears as I ran to them. But I didn't cry. In fact, I could cry. It was impossible for me to cry because my [older] brother began to scold me with a vengeance. "Akira! What's the meaning of this spectacle? Walking around barefoot - what slovenliness!" Looking at them, I saw that my father, mother, sister and brother all had their clogs on. I hastened to put my high clogs back on, and I felt terribly ashamed. Of all the members of my family, I was the only one who had conducted himself in a disorderly fashion. To my eyes it looked as if my father, mother and sister were not in the least perturbed. As for my brother, he was not only calm in the face of the Great Kanto Earthquake, but appeared to be having a wonderful time.
-Legendary filmmaker Akira Kurosawa, from "Something Like an Autobiography"

This, I feel, is a very Japanese reaction to earthquakes since their history is littered with disastrous quakes followed by quick and industrious rebuilding. They do not seek to escape the cracking of the earth but rather to face it best as possible realizing it will always be their constant companion.

Over 1,300 years old

Before March 11, Japan had suffered 33 recorded earthquakes rated 6.5 or higher on the Richter scale. But long ago the Japanese became artists in surviving. Some are amazed that wooden structures have survived hundreds of years through these rumblings. That's because early on engineers designed pagodas and other tall structures with a heavy log hanging down from the center of the building. As the building flexes one direction during a tremor, the log inevitably swings in the opposite direction as a perfect counterbalance. The principle is still used in modern Japanese skyscrapers today.

Even so, the human psyche can handle only so much. Kurosawa writes of the aftermath:

What is frightening is the ability of fear to drive people off the course of human behavior. By the time the fires downtown had subsided, everyone had used up all the household candles and the world was plunged into the real darkness of night. People who felt threatened by this darkness became the prey of the most horrifying demagogues and engaged in the most incredibly reckless, lawless acts. It's impossible to even imagine the magnitude of terror brought by total darkness to people who have never experienced it before - it is a terror that destroys all reason. When a person can't see anything to the left or the right, he becomes thoroughly demoralized and confused. And, as the old saying goes, "Fear peoples the darkness with monsters."

The massacre of the Korean residents of Tokyo took place on the heels of the Great Kanto Earthquake was brought on by demagogues who deftly exploited people's fear of the darkness. With my own eyes I saw a mob of adults with contorted faces rushing like an avalanche in confusion, yelling, "This way!" "No, that way!" They were chasing a bearded man, thinking someone with so much facial hair could not be Japanese.

A lesson still relevant today. About 6,600 Koreans were murdered with the army having to step in to counter the vigilantes.

The Japanese archipelago is located in an area where several continental and oceanic plates meet. This is the cause of frequent earthquakes and the presence of many volcanoes and hot springs across Japan. If earthquakes occur below or close to the ocean, they may trigger tidal waves (tsunami).

A visitor to ancient Japan asked why they did not build their houses of stone instead of mere wood. He was told it's much easier to rebuild with wood. Japan is in a permanent rebuilding frame of mind. She is resilient and tough and these scars helped form part of her character.

Later, Kurosawa's brother Hiego forced him to walk through the ruins and face the death and devastation rotting around them. Kurosawa thought to himself, "This must be the end of the world."

I failed to understand my brother's intentions and could only resent his forcing me to look at these awful sights. The worst was when we stood on the bank of the red-dyed Sumidagawa River and gaze at the throngs of corpses pressed against it shores. I felt my knees give way as I started to faint, but my brother grabbed me by the collar and propped me up again. He repeated, "Look carefully, Akira."

I resigned myself to gritting my teeth and looking. Even if I tried to close my eyes, that scene had imprinted itself permanently on the back of my eyelids. In this way, convincing myself it was inescapable, I felt a little calmer. But there is no way for me to describe adequately the horror I saw. I remember thinking that the lake of blood they say exists in Buddhist hell couldn't possibly be as bad as this.

I wrote that the Sumidagawa River was dyed red, but it wasn't a blood red. It was the same kind of light brownish red as the rest of the landscape, a red muddied with white like the eye of a rotten fish. The corpses floating in the river were all swollen to the bursting point, and all had their anuses open like big fish mouths. Even babies still tied on their mothers' backs looked like this. And all of them moved softly in unison on the waves of the river.

...The night we returned from the horrifying excursion I was fully prepared to be unable to sleep, or to have terrible nightmares if I did. But no sooner had I laid my head on the pillow than it was morning. I had slept like a log, and I couldn't remember anything frightening from my dreams. That seemed so strange to me I asked my brother how it could have come about. "If you shut your eyes to a frightening thing, you end up being frightened. If you look at everything straight on, there is nothing to be afraid of." Looking back on that excursion now, I realize it must have been horrifying for my brother too. It had been an exposition to conquer fear.

This same quality was transferred to Kurosawa's films in later life.

The death toll was estimated from 105,000 to 142,000. Over 570,000 homes were destroyed leaving 1.9 million homeless. 57 aftershocks were counted. Like today, it was hell on earth, only without 24/7 news coverage.

Nothing, of course, can make the pain of loss any easier. There is no "preparing" for that moment no matter how hard one tries. But Japan will lick her wounds and go on just as she has done for hundreds of years. In Japan it is said, "Life is only a dream" but the dreams of Japan are not over yet.

The wind has stopped
The current of the mountain stream
With only a windrow
Of red maple leafs.

-Harumichi No Tsuraki

Open Letter To God: Leave Alone The Japans!

OK, God, I can understand Your being pissed at us an all. Mankind's track record has been less than stellar to say the least. We have betrayed the trust that was put in us and squandered our gifts like spoiled children who never have enough. I fear to imagine Your frustration with us!

We are at war with the nature You have given us, loving it on one hand while destroying it with the other. But that duality has its time then it has time no more. Only Love is real and the Order of the Universe will preside in the End. Thank God!

We have sought "glory" in death even as we learned more and more of its futility. We claim the Age of Reason even as we reject reason as unreasonable. What is a warlord in the eyes of God? What will we cherish when there's war no more?

And yet, even amidst all our chaos and pain and ruin lay the beauty of nature, surrounding us, enveloping our tears and granting another chance to our madness. But though we may visit this earth many times, there's only one life to be had and nature can give only so much. Then madness becomes self-consuming.

So is it from ourselves we seek solace? To become one with that which exists outside of time? To realize the infinity of space and the infinity of a blooming flower? We seek, therefore we ask. But one shall not receive that to which one is not open.

Our beloved Japans once locked away her heart even though she was unique in all the world, carrying both East and West in her heart. A small island in land mass, a great presence in the world. But I do not ask You to save it because its people are either good or bad. No there is only one reason I ask You to save it...

I ask You to save it because it's the Japans!

The Stage Of Souls

It was cold outside, the wind unfriendly and wary, pushing me to shelter wanted or not. Sliding through the back door I found myself backstage of a lively community theater, surrounded by braided costumes, wafting perfume, stale sweat and an electric current crackling in the air. In the distant voices I could hear the wide eyes of fear, the soaring songs, and everything in between. Dear God, what an intoxicating sound! Lives exploding in every direction - this I had to see for myself.

I turned to hear the approaching bony-handed loud claps of a Grumpy Grandma admonishing a group of frisky frolickers gathered in spirited debate over the best beer in the bar down the road. "Acting! Acting!" she scolded in her stilted Austrian accent. "This place is for acting! Talk acting, not your irrelevant lives!" But the agitated faces cared not to debate and her agenda was confounded as her grumpiness scurried to find other lives to interrupt.

In the far corner glowed the adoration of the magi where a Confident Con smirked with authority, dispensing wisdom on all things acting and even the art of life. In his hands were the sacred scrolls that contained unseen formulas for happiness. His faithful followers imbibed his words to beseechingly sate their frustrated folly, congratulating their stubbornness as a sign of The Way. But I had seen the scrolls already and knew them to be blank.

Cotton Candy Gal pranced in with her popularity smilingly intact, passing out her treats in breezy bribery. She read her script of life with words sure to sell, never threatening honesty. Candy Gal played her role both on and off stage just happy to be in the spotlight regardless of reason. Then a toothache took her presents away.

In the dressing rooms I heard the hammer of Monument Man who collected and posted every positive word ever said about him on a wall to stand as the Sphinx of ancient Egypt. In this temple he prayed and fed his wooden idol as savior. "I have found enlightenment!" he cheered, safe among his words of praise. Then he hit his thumb with his holy hammer and threw the "goddam fucker" right through the monumental wall.

Slowly a Small Boy Who Knew Nothing walked onstage, oblivious to the fears and frets and the dreams and delights swirling around him. He shared his beating heart for his ears were filled with its sound only. Like a ripple descending from a rock's splash a hush spread out across the stage and onto the theater as a whole. It was no longer just a community theater at that point, but a point of light that shone as bright as any in the universe and we its lucky witnesses. Eat your heart out, Broadway. But never was the Boy able to recreate that moment - yet never did we forget the power that could come through anyone at any given moment, every soul born a genius.

Egos bent in the darkness tangled to and fro as each argued the worth of its existence. A Lovely Lady - no one like her in all the world! - lost her spirit, leaving to wander outside in search of another stage where she could find rebirth - and have to face herself all over again. Round and round spins the wheel but no soul can ever be replaced. Much blood spilled on that fateful floor by the haste of hopelessness, leaving some who stayed as crippled whispers in makeup, their smiles painted on in mocking disguise.

Then a cat purred onstage and all but the foulest tempers applauded her feline mystique.

Off stage I saw a Rounded Man with his portly belly eating an éclair with feet frozen to the floor. I never saw him move as his eyes looked longingly to the centered spotlight. He watched and stared and pretended to place the performer's heart into his body until finally he uttered, "A practical man knows when to let go of his dreams." But he was as a boulder in a stream where the water had learned to rush around him, and a bouncy ballerina brushed by him on her cue responding in passing: "What's practical about giving up your dreams?"

And the ballerina dazzled all watchers as a Glittery Girl with Broadway on her mind, breathing in the rarified air of hope, fueling both jealousy and inspiration. But did being a star of this stage make her a star on the Stage Of Stars? They all dared to think so as she carried a little piece of every performer and maybe just maybe their own acts weren't so meaningless after all.

In the aisle of the audience I saw a Mockingbird Boy. He mimicked the steps of the Glittery Girl - and of all the actors - seeing if he could do what they do. It was as if an unseen gun was pointed to his head demanding his talent to match theirs. But never did he want to perform with others, he just wanted to know for himself while never taking the stage, living a star's life in his mind.

Veterans of Broadways past intermingled in parental pose amid this motley crew of acting wannabes, jokers of the world, seekers of art, the disdainfully vain, the spontaneous laughers, the seethingly caged, the dramatically suicidal, those sensitive to the light, fingers snapping in rhythmic joy and beings just happy to be there. Some asked who were the real actors and some asked not. The battle for the spotlight endured like a stalemated tug-of-war. Some decried the ugly faces the struggle brought to light - as if truth can ever be kept down. But I saw all these things as the looks of love.

As for me I wanted out of there to find my own spot, my life lost, unknown to the stars. But to step out that door was to step back into the inhospitable cold of a homeless night. Where to go but the Stage Of Souls?

---------------------------

Cars! Cars! Cars!

I love cars. I've loved them all my life and am fascinated by them as sometimes works of art. But I love the fact it's not just the beauty but the innovation of engineering that can be incorporated into a car that summons all kinds of original thinking. It's a full team effort to create a classic automobile.

1935 Packard Super 8. Beast cost $9,000 new!

I've been starved for years in the Dallas area to find a decent automotive museum. The Pate Museum has shut down and though it wasn't the finest of places it did have some great examples. But now, suddenly out of the sky drops in the Texas Museum of Automotive History stationed in Fair Park east of downtown Dallas. But they ain't just dumping cars in a showroom and leaving it at that. It's a living, breathing thing.

Yes, the streets of Dallas held their own
Formula 1 race back in the day

I talked with general manager Wilbert Grinsven and he told me how they host events, are looking to have a tie-in with the Formula 1 race in Austin next year and their general philosophy behind the museum. He said he wanted "something for everybody" and I'd say he's on the right track for that. Right now there are only 85 cars but in two years they'll be moving to a larger building that can hold 320. Wilbert plans on using that capacity.

More on this bad boy later

The museum is working with collectors to share their cars and to also rotate the ones on display so a visitor can have a unique experience on each visit. These people are genuine enthusiasts and it's contagious for anyone who visits. That is vital for something like this to truly succeed. The collection so far is eclectic with intelligent and high quality examples selected. I have a good feeling about this place and I can't wait to go back!

1909 Buick Model 10. 22 horsepower!


This handsome devil is 1929 Packard Roadster.
"Ask the man who owns one" was the company motto.


1948 Lincoln Continental given by Ford to Babe Ruth
the same year he died. Last car he ever owned.


Interior shot


1960s Formula cars are my favorites of all racers.
This 1967 Lotus SCCA Grand prix champ is a beaut!


1970 Plymouth Superbird. A car you don't forget!
These cars were so dominate on NASCAR they were banned.


Fully restored with lots of orange


I didn't see info for this Imperial
but it looks governmental.


Now that's a busy man!


Someday I'm going to run blocker for bootleg beer!
Eastbound and down!


2002 Dodge Viper with Spiderman paint job


Puff the Magic Dragster, 0-300 in 5 seconds


1948 Cadillac. I think it could run over a tank.


A Bentley from the Golden Globes ceremony.
Signed by...everybody!


A classic 1966 Ferrari 275 GTB, one of the all-time great Ferraris.
It's snarling V12 snuggled into the elongated nose along with
the gorgeous Pininfarina body combine to make this a very
collectible car.

Below is a small video. Be sure to come on by now, ya hear!



You can view the full set here