Most the of country is going to be remembering all those people who died in the World Trade Center, on United 93 in Pennsylvania, and at the Pentagon, 7 years ago today.

I’m choosing to think about something a little more joyous that happened 70 years ago.

Happy Birthday, Mom! I love you!

HEY ALLEN GINSBERG WHERE HAVE YOU GONE AND WHAT WOULD YOU THINK OF MY DRUGS?

A mouse went to see his mother. When his car broke down he bought a bike. When the bike wore out he bought skates. When the skates wore down he ran. He ran until his sneakers wore through. Then he walked. He walked and walked, almost walked his feet through so he bought new ones. His mother was happy to see him and said, “what nice new feet you have on.” —paraphrase of a story in Mouse Tails by Arnold Lobel

hey, listen, a bad thing happened to
my friend’s marriage, can’t tell you
only can tell my own story which
so far isn’t so bad:

“Dad” and I stay married. so far.
so good. so so.

But it felt undoable. This lucky life
every day, every day. every. day.

(all the poetry books the goddamn same
until one guys gets up and stuns the audience)

Then, Joe Wenderoth, not by a long shot
sober says, I promised my wife I wouldn’t fuck
anyone, to no one in particular and reads a poem
about how Jesus has no penis.

Meanwhile, the psychiatrist, attractive in a fatherly
way, says libido question mark.

And your libido?
like a father, but not like mine, or my sons’—

“fix it.”

My friend’s almost written
a good novel by which I mean finished
which means I’d like to light myself
on fire, on fire
with envy, this isn’t “desire”
not what the Dr. meant
by libido?
                         I hope—

not, it’s just chemical:
             jealousy. boredom. lethargy.

Books with prominent seraphs: their feet feet feet I am
marching to the same be—

other

than the neuronic slave I thought anxiety made me
do it, made me get up and carry forth, sally
the children to school the poems dragged
by little hands on their little seraphs
to the page my marriage sustained, remaining
energy: project #1, project #2, broken
fixtures, summer plans, demand met, request
granted, bunny noodles with and without cheesy
at the same time, and the night time I insomnia
these hours penning invisible letters—

             till it stopped.

doc said: it’s a syndrome.       you’ve got it,
                                     classic.

it’s chemical,
mental

circuitry we’ve got a fix for this
classic, I’m saying I can

make it better.

Everything was the same, then,
but better.

At night I slept.
In the morning got up.

Kids to school, husband still a fool—
hardy spirit makes
me pick a monday morning fight, snipe! I’ll pay for that
later I’m still a pain in the
elbow from writing prose those shift+hold+letter,
I’m still me less sleepy, crazy, I suppose
less crazy-jealous just
ha-ha now at Jesus’ no penis his
amazed at the other poet’s kickass
friend’s novel I dream instead about
the government makes me put stickers
on my driver’s license of family members
who are Jews, and mine all are. Can they get us
all? I escape with a beautiful light-haired man,
blue-eyed day trader, gentile.

gentle, gentle, mind encased in its
blood-brain barrier from the harsh skull
sleep, sleep and sleepy wake and want
to sleep and sleep a steep dosage—

             “—chemical?”

in my dreams now every man’s mine, no-
problem, perhaps my mind’s a little plastic,
malleable, not so fatal now

the dose is engineered like that new genetic watercress
to turn from green to red when planted over buried
mines, nitrogen dioxide makes for early autumn
red marks the spot where I must
watch my step, up one half-step-dose specific—

             The psychiatrist’s lived in NY so long
             he’s of ambiguous religious—
             everyone’s Jewish sometimes—
             writes: “up the dosage.”

now,
when I’m late I just shrug
it’s my new improved style
missed the train? I tug
the two boys single file

the platform a safe aisle
between disasters, blithely
I step, step, step-lively
carefully, wisely.

I sing silly ditties
play I spy something pretty
grey-brown-metal-filthy
for a little city fun.

Just one way to enjoy life’s
trials, mile after mile, lucky
to have such dependable feet.

you see,
the rodents don’t frighten I’m
calm as can be expected to recover left to my
one devivces I was twice as fast getting everywhere but
where did that get me but there, that inevitable location
more waiting, the rats there scurry, scurry, a furry

till the next train comes

“up the dosage.”

Brown a first-cut brisket in hot Dutch oven
after dusting with paprika. Remove. Sauté
thickly sliced onions and add wine. (Sweet
is better, lasts forever, never need a new bottle).
Put the meat on onions, cover with tomato-sauce-
onion-soup-mix mixture, cover. Back in a low
oven many hours.

The house smells like meat.
My hair smells like meat.

I’m a light unto the nation.

I’m trying
to get out of Egypt.
This year,
I’ll be better.

Joseph makes sense of the big man’s dreams, is saved,
saves his brothers those jealous boys who sold him
sold them all as slaves. Seven years of plenty. Seven
years of famine. He insomnias the nights counting up
grains, storing, planning, for what? They say throw
the small boys in the river (and mothers do so). Smite
the sons (and fathers do it.) God says take off your shoes,
this holy ground this pitiful, incombustible bush.

Is God chemical?
Enzymatic of our great need to chaos?

We’re unforgivable.
People of the salted
cheeks. Slap, turn, slap.

To be chosen
is to be
unforgiving/ unforgiv-
en, always chosen:
be better.

The Zuckers are a long line of obsessives.

This served them well in war time saw it
coming in time that unseeable thing they
hoarded they ferried, schemed, paced, got the hell
out figured out at night, insomnia, how to visa—

now, if it happens again, I won’t be
ready

I’m “better.”

The husband, a country club Jew from Denver, American
intelligentsia will have to carry me out and he’s no big
man and I’m not a small girl how fast

can the doctor switch the refugee gene back on?

How fast can I get worse? Smart again and worse?

Better to be alive than better.

             “…listen:” says the doctor, “sleeping isn’t death.
             All children unlearn this fear you got confused
             thought thinking was the same as spinning—”            
             Writes: “up the dosage.”
             don’t think. this refugee thing part
             of a syndrome fear of medication of being better…

Truth is, the anti-obsessional medicine works
wonders and drags me through life’s course…

About this time of year but years ago the priests spread
rumors of blood libel. Jews huddled in basements accused
of using Christian babes’ blood to make unleavened bread.

signs and wonders.
Christ rises.

Blood and body and babes.
Basements and briskets
and bread of afflictions.

I am calm now with my pounds of meat
made and frozen, my party schedule, my pills
of liberation, my gentile dream-boy, American
passport, my grey haired-psychiatrist, my blue-
eyed son, my brown-eyed son, my poems on their
pretty little fleet-feet, my big shot friends, olive-skinned
husband, my right elbow on fire: fire inside deep in the nerve
from too much carrying and word-mongering, smithery, bearing
and tensing choosing to be better to live this real life this better orbit this Jack

Kerouac never loved you like you wanted.
Blake.
Buddha.
Only Jesus and that’s his shtick,
he loves

everyone: smile! that’s it,
for the camera, blood pressure
normal, better, you’re a poster child
for signs and wonders what a little chemistry
does for the brain, blood, thought, hey,

did you know that Pharaoh actually wanted
to let them go? those multitude Jews
but God hardened Pharaoh’s heart against them [Jews]
to prove his prowess show his signs, wonders, outstretched
hand, until the dosage was a perfect ten and then
some, sea closing up around those little chariots
the men and horses while women on the far shore shook
their tambourines. And then what? Forty years to get the smell
of slavery off them.

Because of this. Bloody Nile. My story one of
the lucky. Escape hatch even from my own
obsess—

             I am here because of this.
Because of what my ancestors did for me to tell this
story of the outstretched hand what it did for me this
marked door and behind this red-marked door, around
a corner a blue-eyed boy waits to love me up with his
leavened bread, his slim body, professional detachment,
medical advancements, forgive me my father’s mother’s
father was the last in a long line of Rabbis—again! with this? This
rhapsody of affliction and escape, the mind bobbing along
in its watery safe. Be like everyone. Else. Indistinguishable but
better than the other nations but that’s what got us into this, Allen,
no one writes these long-ass poems anymore. Now we’re
better, all better. All Christian. Kind.

  — Rachel Zucker (b. 1971), American Poet, from Columbia Poetry Review #18, 2005.

STREET DOGS - FINAL TRANSMISSION

He had just turned nineteen yesterday
Wanted to be a school teacher someday
Came from a small and modest town
Had never before traveled abroad

He signed on the promise of a college fund
Pop and Mom begged him to stay at home
The last time they saw him was at an airport
He hugged his distraught mother a final time

He went abroad to serve when he was only nineteen
Reality caught up with him, stole a heart full of dreams

He’s never gonna get a chance to chase all those hopes
Lost them all amidst this war and smoke
Can you hear the sound of youth negated?
Watch on TV names are taken
Mother, Mother
My final transmission

Parris Island was plain hell on earth
Got gunny yelling at him, “better prove your worth”
Moved on to Baghdad about six months on
Caught an IED today, now he is gone

He went abroad to serve when he was only nineteen
Reality caught up with him, stole a heart full of dreams

He’s never gonna get a chance to chase all those hopes
Lost them all amidst this war and smoke
Can you hear the sound of youth negated?
Watch on TV names are taken
Mother, Mother
My final transmission

Dad and Mom, I am your only loving son
Hid a written final transmission under my helmet
Love you both in heart and mind
A better set of parents no boy could ever find
Weep for me and say thy prayers
Remember me through all your years
Only got to serve for six months on and
If you’re reading this I have passed and gone

So I harbor my final request
A letter in my memory please send
Off to the President and all his men
Begging him with others to bring the troops back home!

He’s never gonna get a chance to chase all those hopes
Lost them all amidst the war and smoke
Can you hear the sound of youth negated?
Watch on TV names are taken

He’s never gonna get a chance to chase all those hopes
Lost them all amidst this war and smoke
Can you hear the sound of youth negated?
Why are all those young lives taken?
Mother, Mother
My final transmission

My mother sent me more mom-spam yesterday, this one being a purported re-write of the Preamble of the Constitution, accompanied by a series of articles. Some of the articles are basic pleas to common sense. But one in particular really got my goat.

ARTICLE XI: You do not have the right to change our country’s history or heritage. This country was founded on the belief in one true God. And yet, you are given the freedom to believe in any religion, any faith, or no faith at all; with no fear of persecution. The phrase IN GOD WE TRUST is part of our heritage and history, and if you are uncomfortable with it, TOUGH!!!! GET OVER IT!!!

The problem is that this nation was NOT founded on the belief in one true God. Far from it; when asked about it, Alexander Hamilton once flippantly responded that the United States was not in need of “foreign aid.”

Please show me, in the original Constitution, where it makes mention of God. Please!

Unfortunately, you can’t, because the word does not appear once in the entire document.

The word God did not appear on US money until the Civil War, and did not appear in the Pledge of Allegiance until 1954, as a reaction to the McCarthy-driven hysteria.

Oh, sure, there are two brief mentions in the Declaration of Independence (cf. the phrases, “Laws of Nature, and Nature’s God” and “endowed by their Creator”), but the Declaration of Independence is not the document on which our nation is based … the Constitution, which was drafted 11 years later, holds that estimable position.  

Heck … most people think that George Washington was the first President, too … but he wasn’t.

There were several Presidents of the United States prior to George Washington. Under the Articles of Confederation (drafted in 1777 and ratified in 1781), the following men served as President of the United States in Congress Assembled:

• Samuel Huntington (March 1, 1781 – July 9, 1781)
• Thomas McKean (July 10, 1781 – November 4, 1781)
• John Hanson (November 5, 1781 – November 3, 1782) — the first to serve a full one-year term, and the first selected after the surrender of the British Army … but not the first.
• Elias Boudinot (November 4, 1782 – November 2, 1783)
• Thomas Mifflin (November 3, 1783 – October 31, 1784)
• Richard Henry Lee (November 30, 1784 – November 6, 1785)
• John Hancock (November 23, 1785 – June 5, 1786)
• Nathaniel Gorham (June 6, 1786 – November 5, 1786)
• Arthur St. Clair (February 2, 1787 – November 4, 1787)
• Cyrus Griffin (January 22, 1788 – March 4, 1789)

By the way … the word “God” isn’t mentioned in the Articles of Confederation, either.

And because some people weren’t clear on the concept, the first 10 words of the First Amendment to the Constitution specifically state: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion.”

If God isn’t an establishment of religion, I don’t know what is.

Furthermore, in the Treaty of Tripoli, ratified in 1797 in one of the Senate’s only unanimous votes, Article 11 famously states:

As the government of the United States of America is not in any sense founded on the Christian Religion,-as it has in itself no character of enmity against the laws, religion or tranquility of Musselmen,-and as the said States never have entered into any war or act of hostility against any Mehomitan nation, it is declared by the parties that no pretext arising from religious opinions shall ever produce an interruption of the harmony existing between the two countries.

In 1802, Thomas Jefferson wrote in a letter to the Danbury Baptist Association:

Believing with you that religion is a matter which lies solely between man & his god, that he owes account to none other for his faith or his worship, that the legitimate powers of government reach actions only, and not opinions, I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole American people which declared that their legislature should make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof, thus building a wall of separation between church and state.

Note that Jefferson did not even capitalize the name of God in his letter. He, along with Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Paine were not Christian, although they were Deists … they believed in one Supreme Being, however, but rejected many elements of the Christian church. James Madison, primary author of the Constitution once wrote on Christianity:

What have been its fruits? More or less in all places, pride and indolence in the Clergy, ignorance and servility in the laity, in both, superstition, bigotry, and persecution.

For what it’s worth, I do believe in God, or rather that there is a higher power within all of us, Christian, Jew, Muslim, Buddhist alike … even in the fuckwit currently inhabiting the White House. I guess that makes me a Deist, like Jefferson, et al.

But God, in whatever form, has NO place in official government.  

On the bike, however, is a different story all together … when I’m on the bike, I’m constantly praying … if only to make it to the top of the next rise without my lungs exploding. And I wear my Madonna del Ghisallo … now without a rash, since I finally got a nickel-free chain.

In Arid-Zona for the weekend visiting my mom and stepdad … since I won’t be able to visit for Christmas, this is an off weekend for the UTCX series, and there’s no snow to speak of in the canyons (and since I had a free ticket), I decided to fly down.

So, we’re doing a big birthday celebration for my step-dad, step-brother, step-sister, and assorted kids (although I have no idea which kids), this evening, then I fly back tomorrow afternoon in time to do some quick laundry and go back to work on Monday.

Still trying to figure out what I’m going to do for Thanksgiving … probably pizza and football, unless we get a major dump this upcoming week, in which case I’ll be up one of the canyons.

Much luck to those racing CX in Pokie-ID this weekend. Wake up, kick ass, repeat (as Train would say).

CZT’s mom passed away this evening … send good thoughts her way.

I’m not the most religious person in the world, but I do consider myself to be a person of some faith and spirituality; and I firmly believe that just because someone close passes away, it doesn’t mean that they are no longer with you.

I still ask my grandmother and great uncle for advice sometimes, and look to them to be a guiding light of sorts. I ask myself what they would do; or (more importantly) how they would react to something I’ve done or am thinking about doing. People who had that sort of impact on a person’s life when they were alive will always be a core part of one’s being, one’s self, even after they are gone.

Mama T, even though I don’t know you that well as of yet, I do know how hard this must be for you, and I just want you to know that you’re in my thoughts.

And so, I leave you with these words …

Today is my mom’s 69th birthday … which I guess is fabulous in some ways, and downright sucks in other ways; my mom’s birthday will forever have connotations of terrorism.

But at least my mom is relatively healthy, unlike some of my friends’ parents; Train’s mom had a rough time early this year, but seems to be doing better, and the Newb’s mom is not doing well.

I guess I should be grateful, my life is actually pretty good right now, but I’m finding myself falling back into a pretty deep funk.  I guess I’m probably not ready to start weening myself off the happy pills, and I wonder if I need to talk to my crazy doctor about increasing the dose again … if I can get an appointment to see her anytime soon.

I missed my last appointment because the signing of my title/mortgage documents took much longer than expected.

Note … my mortgage has now been corrected back to my new condo, and not to the Sandy parking lot.  I’m not sure if I should happy about that …