Rest In peace, Paul Newman
Paul Newman made his transition over the weekend. He was 83. When a legend passes, I’m sure it leaves many people who've followed their careers a bit sad or reflective. I feel some of that, but not knowing Mr. Newman personally, and having real loved ones pass in my family, it doesn’t feel quite the same on the human heart.
Paul Newman is dead, but his films will live on to inspire and entertain for many years to come. I remember watching his movies as a kid. A program called Million Dollar Movie played in the afternoons after school, and not being a kid who lived for cartoons, I’d view those old films. Newman starred in many of them. He soon became an iconic presence in my mind. He was lanky and cool, surly and smooth, and sometimes even a little rough around the edges. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Hud, The Hustler, these and others became staples in my filmic memory.
My personal favorite of all his films would have to be Cool Hand Luke. It was the essential Newman part, the classically handsome rogue, the smart-ass, authority-bucking anti-hero who becomes a real hero by displaying the size of his spirit and determination. But the end of the film, damn near every macho prisoner, and a couple of the guards nursed man-crushes on him and that “Luke smile.”
Yeah, Paul Newman made many great films and memorable, no doubt. Maybe that’s what most people will remember about him. But his biggest contribution to the world was not his features, his fabled blue eyes (which apparently were colorblind), or the fact that he raced cars when he was well into his early 80s.
Paul Newman had a wonderful heart. He used his fame beautifully. He understood the importance of capturing the world’s attention wasn’t purely about self-garnishment. He didn’t do the Hollywood thing. He lived modestly (only owned one suit) and remained with the same woman, the equally talented Joanne Woodward, for fifty years. He used his mind beautifully. Real Life always took priority over his career. At the height of his fame, when it could have jeopardized his career, he marched with Dr. King. He was a liberal and a proud one. He used his political savvy to show that he cared about the world around him. He used his wealth beautifully. His greatest achievement was in founding the organization called The Hole In The Wall Camps, and making his own products of Lemonade, Popcorn, Dressings and raised, to date, 250 million dollars for kids with cancer and other life-threatening diseases.
That’s huge. That’s bigger than any movie. He used his life as a true and shining example of what one man can accomplish with his time here.
So those who are old enough or aware enough to know who and what he was, you can grieve his passing if you must. But, I’m just glad such a man lived.
Rest In peace, Paul Newman.
One Love.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
About Motherfuckas, And Why They Are So Necessary
Recently, I experienced a great and profound disappointment in my life. Boo-hoo. Woe is me. Being a human being, I’m not exactly a newbie in the field of disappointment.
This particular one, it hurt me so much, I felt it down deep in my soul. When the soul hurts, it’s serious business.
Without going into great detail, I will say, I’d lost my trust in man, and in all humankind. I'd forgotten to Trust Only in God, as a rule. Man is full of bones, heart and bullshit parts, and thus, man is bound to bullshit you, and disappoint you, and lie to you, and smile in your face and stab you in the back with such cunning and swift precision, you won’t even feel the blade coming.
When someone does this to you, whether they be a man or a woman, it’s a Motherfucker’s Move.
In life, we need to be aware of the Motherfuckers. They are everywhere, yo! You can’t and you won’t always spot them right away. Why? Because Motherfuckers are shape-shifters, damn it! Act like you know! They can wear the face of a friend or your boss, your family, or even your lover. What makes them Motherfuckers is that they won’t really care enough about you to support you when you’re down, or have your back when that back is against the wall. When you’re hurt, when you’re struggling, when you’re trying to keep your head above water, that’s when the Motherfuckers will show you their True Face.
That’s when a Motherfucker will rise from the dens of their wretched Motherfucked-ness.
So, upon the Great Disappointment in my life, caused by another kind of Motherfucker entirely, I sought friendship, instead of stress. I sought understanding, instead of madness. I sought empathy, instead of selfishness. And I sought love from those who claimed to love me.
When you love someone, and they require space... you give them space.
When you love someone, and they ask for peace… you give them peace.
When you love someone, and they need to be alone… you give them their alone time.
But a Motherfucker won’t care about any of that shit.
A Motherfucker has his or her own agenda.
A Motherfucker will make demands upon you.
A Motherfucker will make erroneous accusations about you.
A Motherfucker will not give a shit about you or your feelings.
A Motherfucker will always find some new shit to bitch about.
A Motherfucker will say some shit with no other objective than to Piss. You. Off.
And yes, a Motherfucker is chronically insecure.
A Motherfucker will secretly smile at your misfortune.
A Motherfucker doesn’t care if there’s a death in your family.
A Motherfucker will only crave more attention.
A Motherfucker will drain you of your last once of energy.
And then that Motherfucker will still ask for more.
A Motherfucker can’t stand it when you tell them NO!
A Motherfucker truly believes they are the planet’s most important person.
And yet, that same Motherfucker needs constant emotional reinforcement.
A Motherfucker will try to make you doubt your own abilities.
A Motherfucker is truly a miserable human being.
But I want to give all The Real Motherfuckers their rightful due.
You Motherfuckers inspire me to be the best that I can be.
You Motherfuckers give me new confidence in myself.
You Motherfuckers make me realize the hero within me.
You Motherfuckers make something in me rise higher.
You Motherfuckers stoke my creativity’s fire.
You Motherfuckers are soooooo damn necessary.
You Motherfuckers make me stronger than I ever knew I could be.
You Motherfuckers force me to make a LIAR out of you.
So, thank you, Motherfuckers.
Even if you don’t know you’re a Motherfucker.
I know it now. I hope... No. I'm sure others recognize your Motherfucked-ness, too.
One.
This particular one, it hurt me so much, I felt it down deep in my soul. When the soul hurts, it’s serious business.
Without going into great detail, I will say, I’d lost my trust in man, and in all humankind. I'd forgotten to Trust Only in God, as a rule. Man is full of bones, heart and bullshit parts, and thus, man is bound to bullshit you, and disappoint you, and lie to you, and smile in your face and stab you in the back with such cunning and swift precision, you won’t even feel the blade coming.
When someone does this to you, whether they be a man or a woman, it’s a Motherfucker’s Move.
In life, we need to be aware of the Motherfuckers. They are everywhere, yo! You can’t and you won’t always spot them right away. Why? Because Motherfuckers are shape-shifters, damn it! Act like you know! They can wear the face of a friend or your boss, your family, or even your lover. What makes them Motherfuckers is that they won’t really care enough about you to support you when you’re down, or have your back when that back is against the wall. When you’re hurt, when you’re struggling, when you’re trying to keep your head above water, that’s when the Motherfuckers will show you their True Face.
That’s when a Motherfucker will rise from the dens of their wretched Motherfucked-ness.
So, upon the Great Disappointment in my life, caused by another kind of Motherfucker entirely, I sought friendship, instead of stress. I sought understanding, instead of madness. I sought empathy, instead of selfishness. And I sought love from those who claimed to love me.
When you love someone, and they require space... you give them space.
When you love someone, and they ask for peace… you give them peace.
When you love someone, and they need to be alone… you give them their alone time.
But a Motherfucker won’t care about any of that shit.
A Motherfucker has his or her own agenda.
A Motherfucker will make demands upon you.
A Motherfucker will make erroneous accusations about you.
A Motherfucker will not give a shit about you or your feelings.
A Motherfucker will always find some new shit to bitch about.
A Motherfucker will say some shit with no other objective than to Piss. You. Off.
And yes, a Motherfucker is chronically insecure.
A Motherfucker will secretly smile at your misfortune.
A Motherfucker doesn’t care if there’s a death in your family.
A Motherfucker will only crave more attention.
A Motherfucker will drain you of your last once of energy.
And then that Motherfucker will still ask for more.
A Motherfucker can’t stand it when you tell them NO!
A Motherfucker truly believes they are the planet’s most important person.
And yet, that same Motherfucker needs constant emotional reinforcement.
A Motherfucker will try to make you doubt your own abilities.
A Motherfucker is truly a miserable human being.
But I want to give all The Real Motherfuckers their rightful due.
You Motherfuckers inspire me to be the best that I can be.
You Motherfuckers give me new confidence in myself.
You Motherfuckers make me realize the hero within me.
You Motherfuckers make something in me rise higher.
You Motherfuckers stoke my creativity’s fire.
You Motherfuckers are soooooo damn necessary.
You Motherfuckers make me stronger than I ever knew I could be.
You Motherfuckers force me to make a LIAR out of you.
So, thank you, Motherfuckers.
Even if you don’t know you’re a Motherfucker.
I know it now. I hope... No. I'm sure others recognize your Motherfucked-ness, too.
One.
Labels:
fakery,
keeping the faith,
motherfuckas,
overcoming the odds,
struggle
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Your Sensuality
The size and
Degree of your
Sensuality
It sometimes almost
Frightens me. I feel
Unworthy
Unqualified
Unequipped
To know
This wealth
To receive
This gift
This prick of
Your nipples...
Like two pin-lights
Inside a cosmos
Of skin
As taut, tender, and
Tight as stars.
My God!
Your sensuality
Can almost
Frighten me.
Make me feel
Hard as Diamond
And Yet,
Minute
In The Universe
Of its Largeness…
It’s as if
Your legs
Would stretch
Into a chasm
Deep and Wide
And swallow
My secrets and
Swallow my
Pride...
And gorge my
Insecurities
Whole.
And I
Believe
That sex with
The Soul
Manifests and
Flows into
A slow and
Enduring song.
I believe
Sex
With the skin
Is a physical act
But sex within
The intimacy
Of the soul, unfolds
And floats upon
Erotic sheets of
Poetry… It’s all
Nin & Whitman
Maya & Kerouac and
Zane, Barrett-Browning
Shakespeare and shit!
But I am finally
Ready
To dip
My pen inside
Your whipping
Erotic tide.
But will I
Only drown
When I’m supposed to
Flow?
I never learned
To perfect
That arc
In my dive. Never learned
To swim freely
Against
A rushing tide.
Never learned the righteous
Way to go
Insane, and lose
My mind
Inside of you…
But I am
Ready
To embrace
This newfound
Lunacy...
To close my eyes
And ride
Your wave
To wherever place
It leads…
And so
I go down
With grace
And I go down
Willingly...
Even though
The size and degree
Of your sensuality…
It sometimes
Almost…
Frightens me.
One.
By L.M. Ross
Labels:
confessional poetry,
fear,
grace,
love,
sensuality
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