To The Producer of the IAOCORE Apocalypse Show

To The Producer, Winter Solstice 2012


Joy to our world that the Show went on.  Thanks to the Producer
overseeing the Big Picture, listening to the Little Birds,
and thinking through the multiplicity of things most thoroughly:
neither turning from that wisdom youth mistakenly calls skill
nor ever turning toward the folly that by fearing bodes ill:
either way sustaining our creativity, our Will.

All of us fly into the light when we can; trusting tomorrow will justify
yesterday, trusting the sorrow and pain and the awful confusion will be by
righteousness vanquished, will be by
excellence transformed. Like the fruit a tree produces after laying dormant long
so my creative soul; so this perhaps clumsy song. 

Merry Christmas to the Producer, to her and her kin
every dream project she sponsored, without and within,
realized as perfectly as this new World we
ring in, with blessings, under her care: this brave new 
year that approaches with Opportunity rare.

Create the New World as you would
have it, as true as you know to, as honest and
right; make sure that Love has a central place
in it, see with the strength of Love's
sight.  (So she seemed to be saying, calling out my cold feet before I left for the show.)
The rest may approve, may disapprove 
may trick us, loose, or fast, but
as long as the engine is Love
survival -- success -- comes at last.

Ourselves We Do Not Owe

a revision

Ourselves, We Do Not Owe

Like a prophesy recursive, the present condition will frame future chance

with a dependence most sensitive upon the initial, same, unknowns

So my projected, misinterpreted, sometime wrong exquisite dance

may be damning me as surely as if I was Dylan's Mr. Jones --

--- at least he knew. Or didn't. The heart confident & loyal

may  all too human be, perverse, perfection find in such;

but: he damns himself who thinks it curst, yet watches water boil -- 

for watching changes nothing --- if, in fact, you watch.

"...Fate show thy force

Ourselves we do not owe

What is decreed will be

& be this so..."

William Shakespeare 

Twelfth Night, or, What You Will

Original subtitle, now academic:

On The Prospect Of Making The Virtual Real, 

or, A Formal Informal Pre-Introduction, 

In Which, Significance May Be Found 

Of That Subtext, Indeed, To Which Contexts Refer