Making Widows Wince

‘I look to you and I see nothing I look to you to see the truth…’ ‘Some kind of night into your darkness Colors your eyes with what's not there. ’ Mazzy Star Sometimes the battle is getting others seeing the truth of you, no matter how forceful you say it, or what the documentation you bring to the argument. Sometimes it’s not enough to be clear even though you could not be more clear. I have used the start of the following song for years as a meditative device. I sing it under my breath over and over. It’s my go to chant that’s worked for decades. It's a Door’s song about Otis Redding -- but I substitute the word god for the word Otis and have found it makes all the difference. It’s my religion. “Poor Otis dead and gone Left me here to sing his song. “Pretty little girl with a red dress on.” Poor Otis dead and gone” God is dead, but I’m not – My purpose is to sing about life, while lamenting the loss of the father -- Unders

‘I don’t write fiction, I write lies about the truth.’ About last words These are not my last words, they may very well not even be the last words I will write about last words. But then again, who knows, it really seems like most people just pop off or get rubbed out in a willy-nilly fashion with barely anytime to blow a kiss or squeak an outraged farewell. At my age the thought of death colors my thinking – everything I say out loud or in writing has to be both pithy and profound, though perhaps a pre-post life copy editor could provide the appropriate corrections – ‘What he meant to say by that was…’ Perhaps hell begins by someone formally educated, yet clueless, correcting you with a verbal boot as your ass flies out the doorway between the known and the unknown, fingernails clawing for a chance at rebuttal. My last words have been left everywhere— sometimes in things said, sometimes in words written. Last words are what you find in re