Our Great Union

OUR GREAT UNION

Alabama – From Obama To the Bahamas

Alaska - The “I’ll Ask Her” State

Arizona – Wide Open Arid Zones

Arkansas – Capital of Our Kansas

California – Even the Caliph Fornicates

Colorado – I Do, And So Can You

Connecticut – Connect the Dots

Delaware – Served With Silverware And Earthenware

Florida - Where You Go If Cuba Want To Get Ridda Ya

Georgia – Virginia’s Slutty Twin Sister

Hawaii -- No Man Is An Island

Idaho – You Da Pimp

Illinois - More Noise Than You Can Handle

Indiana -- In Memoriam of The Indians We Killed

Iowa – The Land of Milk And Honey

Kansas -- Not Pronounced “Ken’s Ass”

Kentucky – Getting’ Lucky In Kentucky

Louisiana – When Your Mouth Gets Too Lazy To Articulate

Maine – Might As Well Be Canada

Maryland – Where Everyone Is A Winner

Massachusetts – Chew Before You Swallow.

Michigan – Meshugana

Minnesota – Don’cha’no

Mississippi – Ms. I Pee-Pee Eye

Missouri – The Show-Me State

Montana – Forgot How To Spell “Mountain”

Nebraska – Home of The Bugle, Bagel, And Beagle

Nevada – Dirtier Than The Bed You Sleep On

New Hampshire – With A Name Bigger Than The State

New Jersey – The Anglo Nueva Yersey

New Mexico – The Best Vowel To End A Word With

New York – Better Than The Old York

North Carolina – Beauty And Brains

North Dakota – Like Salt To A Wound

Ohio – Japanese For: Good Morning

Oklahoma – There Is No Place Like Home’a

Oregon -- Going, Going, Gone

Pennsylvania – Pen Or Pencil Is It?

Rhode Island – Misleading Advertisement

South Carolina – Never Lose Your Car Keys Here

South Dakota – I’m Rushing To Mount More And More

Tennessee – Capital of Bookkeepers

Texas – And The Broken Hearts Brigade

Utah – An Emotional Desert

Vermont – Un Petit État

Virginia – Georgia’s Prude Twin Sister

Washington – Where the Sun Don’t Shine

West Virginia – Because One Virginia Was Not Enough

Wisconsin – Whose Cousin?

Wyoming – Back of The Bus, Bottom of The Barrel

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

My 3 Cats

MY 3 CATS

We have three cats in the apartment.

They are all house-cats.

Born inside.

Raised inside.

They will die inside.

They have never stepped a foot

out of doors.

Maybe if our apartment were bigger,

maybe if there were less of them,

maybe if being confined to the

space between four walls was natural,

this might be ok.

But, whenever I open the door for them --

believing that deep down,

some gene, some chromosome,

exists for the explicit reason

of craving freedom –

all they do is timidly

approach the threshold

and stare outside curiously.

Never once did they muster

the courage to place a paw on the front-steps,

never once did they get an impulse to run,

run forever and never come back.

Never once did their eyes glint

in such a way

as to hint at their instinctive desire

to see the world outside of home.

I bought a one-way ticket today,

and I’m not looking back.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

Rules Don't Exist, Just Their Broken Fragments

RULES DON'T EXIST, JUST THEIR BROKEN FRAGMENTS

Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool

I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life.

-Steve Jobs

Confidence, Legacy

Purity, Motivation

Courage, Knowledge

Wisdom, Calm

Happiness –

all attributes I constantly strive for –

seem to spring from one central Truth:

an Individual’s discovery

and pursuit

of their Purpose.

The gift of Uniqueness,

of the specificity of character

(of a mental and spiritual jigsaw puzzle

graced upon us from deep within the ether of the cosmos,

the interstices of photons),

that is not now, has never been, and will never be

duplicated, or exist concurrently,

appears to me the ultimate blessing of Life,

and the reason for it all.

Caesar, Napoleon, Alexander - Leaders.

Monet The Observer.

Hitler of Oration.

Don Juan and Casanova, inherent Understanding of Women.

Mozart with the Ear of an angel, and the Melody of heaven.

Hitchcock is Suspense.

da Vinci was history’s great Learner.

Jefferson knew Structure.

Here am I

sitting alone in my room,

not doing anything with my life

not moving forward

not taking risks and learning from them,

unaware of whatever my uniqueness is,

and afraid that I, like so many others,

may never find it –

or if so, may not have the courage, and the will-power

to follow and fight for it.

I will die another grain of sand on the beach.

For those who found their hidden treasure,

either by following a map born of the same womb,

or by simply stumbling upon it

during the mindless and empty romp

life otherwise feels to be,

their indelible mark is left on everyone

they touch, and remains visible –

like a rock protruding in a stream –

throughout history,

for all who care to look.

As for the rest of us,

the hunt in never over, that is,

so long as we never abandon it.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

One Moment Of God

ONE MOMENT OF GOD

As the sun rises, the fresh, crisp

streets are serenely empty,

asphalt of dew-soaked grass,

litter neatly packed and

grouped along the gutters

like small patches of flowers.

The air is alive with the bright blue of the sky.

The morning has a certain aura to it –

like the opening riffs of a

Paul Desmond melody

or a Robert Breer animation.

I stand on the corner,

waiting for the first bus,

my hands warm and cozy in coat pockets,

and look down toward Century City –

the tangerine and cherry-blossom streaks of the horizon

reflected in tall towers of glass.

The day has not yet donned its grit,

and the hours lie open as a blank slate

upon which anything

(acts of history, moments of clarity,

the wreckage of love, the elegance of defeat)

could be written.

Yet, standing here alone,

a smile sneaking steadfast upon me,

the pieces neatly aligned,

I know one moment of grace

one moment of God.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

The Pumping Of My Heart Goes Forward And Back, Not In And Out

THE PUMPING OF MY HEART GOES FORWARD AND BACK, NOT IN AND OUT

The cat had for so long

annoyed me.

She demanded attention,

nuzzled into me,

pushed her face

into mine –

demanded attention and that

I pet her.

If I was reading a book

She would swat at it,

believing she more important.

I could have killed her, then.

How dare she. Who does she think

she is?

But one night, I watched

another cat in the house

scratch her face, and

the girl ran back to

me.

That's when I understood:

Here is a living creature

who wants,

more than anything,

to be loved.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

My Turn To Fail

MY TURN TO FAIL

To be honest,

I never thought I’d have to see you again.

But then there you were:

We did.

I didn’t know how to play it:

cool?

oblivious?

you tell me.

So I stood there,

and thought about myself,

thought about me – my own actions,

while you thought about us.

I looked over,

and you were crying.

Because of something I did.

I couldn’t help it,

I couldn’t stop it,

but, oh, how it eats me up.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

These Dirty Streets

THESE DIRTY STREETS

Life isn’t about buying a house

getting married

and landing a secure job at a

secure firm,

because then whose dream are you living?

Since when is a stable life a desired life?

Life is about all the mistakes we make;

those punches to the face,

and the ones to morale too.

Life is about running away to find

what you’re looking for,

and realizing its not there either.

Life is about being born in one place

and dying in another.

Life is about heartbreak,

Surrender,

Defeat,

and the Courage

those lessons teach.

So often do we move through Life

pretending to be well-adjusted,

happy, comfortable –

yet, it is only ourselves we are fooling.

When that day on the Death-bed comes,

and an instant replay of the last years

reveals that nothing original,

nothing incredible,

nothing remotely uncharted

or risky was attempted,

what will have been the point?

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

The Distance of A to B

THE DISTANCE OF A TO B

You can read this introduction quick or slow

The same way you can read life.

Quick,

like an empty highway,

just You trying to get from point A to point B,

task to task,

goal to goal,

book to book,

without pausing to take in

a beautiful field,

purple mountains lining the distance,

clouds as fluffed and perfectly formed

as a new pillow.

Without unwinding to rest at a roadside café,

stretch your legs

and process the journey thus far.

Quick, just to finish the trip,

scale the height,

move to the next one

without turning around

and enjoying the view

from its peak.

Slow,

if you take the jammed packed highway,

on purpose.

Packed with each vehicle picking up dust,

like a million individual thoughts racing

through synapses and axons – new connections forming

at every juncture.

Highways filled with thoughts heading from

their own A to their own B.

Roses smelled, and coffee savored.

Slow, if you want to enjoy the journey –

counting and analyzing each passing car,

each passing word --

unfazed by the ambiguous length,

and excited by the prospect of

a Point B to reveal itself

only further down the road.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

Stay In The Hot Magma Core

STAY IN THE HOT MAGMA CORE

Born on the edge of a millennium

living through our own dark ages

are we the Middle Children?

The Second Son?

Go down South to

that grassy knoll

and see where our country fell.

Is it living up in that

glass eye

so high

the secret to it all?

I blow my horn to the heavens

to herald a message. An invitation.

A challenge. A dare.

Why is it that when we die

we do not go on,

like the snail and the worm.

The bird with a nest of

brambly twigs, thin grass, and saliva.

The peak was reached by an earlier generation.

And now there is no room left to wonder.

We are a distant star

Tucked behind a back-door in the sky

scrambling to keep the pieces together

as they fall apart.

Our greatest leaders are dead.

Our mothers are too old,

Our teachers can’t remember.

Why write these lines

in a language no longer read,

for eyes of binary glue,

for hearts torn-up by the

heartbreak of others.

Our voices lost in the chaos,

in the diffidence.

A clarion call

to the breath of a circle,

to ears still pricked.

Pick off the magic from

the dust in your lives

and eat the hearts of

heaven and hell.

Passion is mute

without your

focused hands

and glinting eyes.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2010

From Blue Licks To The Perfume River

From Blue Licks To The Perfume River

The problem with our Generation

is that we have had no menacing,

all-engrossing War,

where everyone knows someone out

on the front-lines,

where win or lose

directly affects your life,

no looming conscription,

with daily lotteries and

midnight flees to Canada,

no dark period or national strife

where a loaf of bread cost more than

your non-existent paycheck,

nothing to purify us,

cleanse us of our

own selfish concerns,

and teach us a true lesson about life.

We have gone on far too long,

sucked in by the flickering tube,

by talk in text instead of

real human contact,

and allowed to ramble on about

the trivial, while those in power

shield us from the

growing tears

in our national fabric, and the

frightening reality of daily life,

turmoil, and poverty

in foreign (or neighboring) lands.

So, while it must seem

in some ways

perverse (and I agree),

I am somehow jealous of previous

Generations of Americans

for the hurdles they had to overcome

and the lessons they learned individually

and collectively.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

FALLING STARS LAND IN HOLLYWOOD

Two free foreskins.

The dead bread bred shoes to shoo any deed did or done.

A woodchuck can’t chuck wood, and why would he want to?

The sands of time are slipping through her hourglass figure

and this rollercoaster ride of a whirlwind tour

has made me lose my marbles in the mess of things.

I tried to wash my hands clean of this

after being caught red-handed green with envy –

I was feeling blue that day,

but looked white as a ghost.

The two of you stuffed in like a can of sardines is a barrel of laughs.

If the Count can count the chairs in their chairs with one hand he deserves a hand.

God is calling me – he’s on the other line.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

WHAT DREAMS OF YOU, WALT WHITMAN, BEFORE MY OLD JUKEBOX SOUL

It’s on nights I’m too tired to sleep

that I think with the jazz radio on

and attempt to collect dust

from the nebula of my mind.

What usually surfaces is how much I miss you,

or how hard it is to go on during

certain nights of the week –

usually Friday and Saturday –

with this lonely pitiful feeling,

making the case for worthlessness

and the inability to touch a finger to my nose

even if shown a diagram.

Sometimes it is death that clouds my mind,

but I still don’t know what that is.

I’ve only had vague encounters

with a cloaked baron

who poses as a shadow.

Tonight I think of this:

The longer I spend alone

and the more distant

past relationships become

the more I feel incapable

of loving or being loved,

of maintain mature

Relationships.

My quirks have multiplied

from grains on a stalk

to grains on the beach.

My body has grown soft

and I have begun to notice deformities in my face.

Never before have I been so self-conscious about

so much,

and my confidence has suffered severely,

consequently.

I feel awkward at best in social settings,

retired to a shell of withered leaves

in a field of blossoming buds,

unable to conduct simple conversations

with the closest of friends,

let alone charm the pants off

the girl one table over.

How is it that I’ve become this?

How is it that You ever loved me?

That You ever found anything of interest

in this old shoebox from the attic?

If love is unexpected

It must be blind too.

And yet

I reserve hope:

I know one day

the ship will reach harbor,

and her tired crew will again

touch warm solid earth,

eat fresh ripened fruits

and live

peaceful and happy

upon a trove of once-buried treasure.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

Cigarettes Sleep On The Floor And The Moon Is Afraid To Stay Out Late

CIGARETTES SLEEP ON THE FLOOR AND THE MOON IS AFRAID TO STAY OUT LATE

A cigarette

lay on the floor next to the bed.

It was a memory of

the previous night’s revelry –

so was the vomit in the toilet,

and my splitting headache.

It was a hard night of drinking.

We met up with some friends

and strangers.

Sparks flew between some people,

and anger between others.

We were on the roof,

at a bar,

at a club,

an apartment,

a hot dog stand,

the streets,

and then back to an apartment.

We sent text messages to

people we should not have.

We talked about our problems,

our relationships,

each other.

No one talked quietly

or minced words.

We drank imports,

domestics,

hard liquor,

cider,

beer,

and water.

We peed in bathrooms,

on street corners,

off buildings.

When it was all

said-and-done,

the Sun had joined us –

the night had gone to sleep –

and soon,

we would too.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

Actors Are Divers

ACTORS ARE DIVERS

What is a Great Actor?

A great actor is a diver

who sinks far enough

below the water’s surface

that he is no longer visible.

A Celebrity

is a diver who stays along

the surface

and makes sure he is seen.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

SHADOWS PASSING THROUGH

The slow painful process of death

beginning at conception

Eternal life found in the idea

not in its realization

Like the drainage of love

seeping from the lips,

bleeding from every touch

The idea and longing for love

more precious

than the act itself

For whom among us

has never felt like a shadow

passing through:

Empty steps on a sideways path never-ending

Death is all around,

the death of the light bulb above my desk

the death of object through consumption

the death of consumption through completion

And, although we fear our own death,

we fear more that our life was never consumed

that our love never consummated

that our dreams were never exhausted.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

Remembering Paris

REMEMBERING PARIS

New calendar at the local bookshop:

Remembering Paris –

As if we had lost it,

As if it had disappeared,

As if the 150-year-old fingerprints

of Haussmann did not still cover the

Streets, Walls, and Parks.

Remembering Paris,

as if there was some uniform memory

12 black-and-white photos of the Eiffel Tower

were asking us to recall,

some magical moment

in the 2000 year history of the city

we all default to

when asked to remember.

Meanwhile,

the in-store radio was playing

a song popular when

I was in high school –

one that reminded me

of my first girlfriend before we were together,

of the garage band I played guitar for,

the days we skipped school to go to the beach.

Where is the calendar to Remember that?

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

The Strawberry Swing

THE STRAWBERRY SWING

I sat alone on the beach that night

my back on the sand

and looked up at the moon.

There, inside its cherubic white glow, was your face.

And then, the moon disappear,

instantly replaced by an

explosion of color:

a liquid ball of magenta

sapphire

golden yellow

electric green;

fiery fragments and shards of the old face

fell to earth with a brilliant orange glow –

all because I never told you

I love you.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

The Shadowed Side Of A Fallen Leaf

THE SHADOWED SIDE OF A FALLEN LEAF

I listened to a scientist speak on Public Radio

and discuss optimism versus pessimism.

She stated that pessimism is the default human response.

Our brain is wired and routed in such a way

that our thoughts choose the negative What-Ifs first.

It’s no wonder, then

that poets, writers, and artists alike

who spend so much time sending so many thoughts

down the wires and routes of their minds,

prefer the shadowed side

of a fallen leaf.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

Simplicity Always Wins

SIMPLICITY ALWAYS WINS

I have defeated the Wind

and out-smarted that swinging door

outside my bedroom window.

With a small piece of rope

to bind a latch missing its lock,

I have proven that simplicity always wins.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

Spoiled Road

SPOILED ROAD

Who is the man

that drives the

fire-truck?

Horns and sirens

blaring,

streets are cleared

wherever he goes.

He can run

Red lights

and drive

on the wrong side.

No one cuts him

off

or stops him speeding.

How does he feel

back in his car

late for work?

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

Requirements For Good Breath

REQUIREMENTS FOR GOOD BREATH

Requirements for good breath:

1. Understanding of the French language

2. Lawn-mower with at least 8 horsepower

3. 4 plain white t-shirts, 5 pairs clean socks, 2 black trousers

4. The need for speed

5. A visit to the Indian subcontinent within the last 6 months

6. Verisimilitude

7. The love of a Brunette

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009

Discipline's Tale

DISCIPLINE'S TALE

8:32 am. Tuesday.

Eyes open

A few scattered thoughts

Then: “When was the last time I ran?”

“I have to run this morning, or else I lose all discipline”

Out of bed

Dress up

Bowl of cereal

Then: “Are you going to run today?”

Answered by: “Yeah, I need to”

TV turns on

9:15 am. Wednesday.

Eyes open

A few scattered thoughts

Then: “Ok, I didn’t run yesterday, today I must”

“What time is it?”

Cell phone opens

Then: “9:17. I need to run now before it gets too hot”

“Alright man, get out of bed, lets do this”

Bed sheets are warm

10:06 am.

Then: “Ok, I could run later in the evening when it cools down, I don’t have to run right now”

8:22 am. Thursday.

Eyes open

A few scattered thoughts

Then: “I’ve been telling myself to run for two days now. How can I run a marathon if I can’t even do 3 miles?”
“Ok, today is it. I’m doing it today”

10:12

Showerhead turns on

Water runs over skin

Then: “Well, at least I could go to the gym later if I don’t want to run”

10:15 am. Friday.

Eyes open

A few scattered thoughts

Focus

“This is ridiculous”

“I WILL run today. I will. There is no question that I will get out of bed, and just go.”

Pause

10:23

“Well, I’m a bit tired, and there is no real rush, so let me just sleep another half an hour or so.”

11:11

“Alright, am I gonna run or not?!”

11:20

Bowl of cereal

Newspaper

8:30 am. Saturday.

Eyes open

A few scattered thoughts

Then: “Ok, lets go.”

Run shorts are pulled up.

Tee-shirt is pulled down over.

Shoes are put on.

Stretches are done.

8:47 am.

Running.

9:13 am.

Cool down.

Then: “About 25 minutes for 2.5 miles, not bad.”

“That’s about 10 minutes a mile.”

Door opens.

Sweat drips across chest and down forehead.

Then: “Man, that did not feel good.”

Roommate at the table studying. Looks up.

Then: “How was your run?”

Answer: “I did about 10 minutes a mile.”

Comment: “Good.”

9:47 am. Sunday.

Eyes open.

A few scattered thoughts.

Then: “I need to run again today.”

10:03 am. Monday.

Cell phone rings

Hop out of bed.

Dazed: “Hello?”

Listening

Then: “No. No. I needed to wake up anyway.”

Listening

Then: “Yeah.”

Listening

Then: “Nothing. I just woke up, so no plans yet. Why, what did you want to do?”

Listening

Then: “Ok, yeah, sure. Let me just take a shower and stuff, and then I’ll come over.”

Listening

Then: “Alright, I’ll see you soon.”

Listening

Then: “Bye.”

9:18 am. Tuesday.

Eyes open.

A few scattered thoughts.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2009