age before brilliance?

a mind is a terrible thing to waste.
so is a life.

but which is worse: a wasted mind or wasted life?

would you rather live shorter and be more productive than visa versa?

if you could be the next rembrandt, the next beethoven, the next einstein, would you make do with a decreased life span?
or, is the gift of life so precious, so precious it defies personal accomplishment.
does the means justify the ends?

not quite finished....

hee hee hee.
hope you kept the receipt for the headstone...

welcome friends and family to the miraculous rebirth of my little bit of the internet.

believe me, it's really been too long....

p.s.- new rhymes very soon

something like family (?)

i thought i had friends
in high places
i thought the flat smiles
on flat faces
were a good sign

but the flat teeth bit
at the hand that pet it
i now nothing more than
flat out regret it
seeing they just want me to flat line

and i'm so struck in amazement
don't know where to begin
eyeing all the black widows
and the bullshit they spin

'cause the webs snare at me
tellin me i'm bad and unwell
as i take interviews from
the foreman of hell

and he shouts
and i hear
and he scares
and i fear
as he openly condemns all my crimes

but i've learned
to keep clear
utilize
both my ears
and with time

re-alized
that i won't dance with the devil
for even all of his dimes
and that only cells of sticks and stones
will be repressive

don't feed me all your crap
you're about as open minded
as a beartrap
in the corner the meek's
about to turn agressive

we briefly return to our main topic which so quickly became our second topic. (not that i'm complaining by ANY means.............

it's been a long time since i wrote of Israel.....

what a weird place. period.

three major cultures fraction into thousands of offshoots and branches; each distinct and unique, will still -slightly- borrowing concepts from their neighbors.
from the white kippaed rock-throwing chareidim to the russian orthodox monks in their black robes.
the skunk haired arsnim street punks sidestepping the mir student with his black borsolino.
and the american 'exchange' students-weaving through with the chienese tour group wearing the 'jesus saves' tshirts (acquired from the scandinavian scientolgy messiah deluge) on their way to see the dome of the rock.
all being half suspiciously inspected by the 19 year old idf private and the 75 year old ragtag beggar alike.

burning trash; graffiti; sounds of shouting talmud and obscenities- it's all here.

but you got to love it.
like that dysfunctional eclectic member of your family.
you love 'em. no questions asked.

(although they do occasionally piss the hell outta you.)

THE HAPPIEST MAN IN THE WORLD

just wanted to share this teeny bit of news with my extended web family:

I [soapmaker] HAVE ASKED THE HAND OF FLOR [aka bigtoe] IN THE HOLY UNION OF MATRIMONY.....
... AND SHE SAID YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

with thanks to God and love to you all, i sign off
-THE HAPPIEST MAN IN THE WORLD [aka soapmaker]

zzz- whuzzat?

whoa.
revelation.
woke up today (notice how i did NOT say 'this morning'...) and said 'thanks God' when it hit me:
i should be thanking Him for the ability to thank Him.
not only that, but it dawned upon me that as a person grows through the many stages of life, an enormous factor is their gradual ability to 'wean' themselves from their parents' ever-present hand.
though not so between man and his celestial father.
in fact, the more 'mature' (ouch that hurt my brain and palatte) we get, the more dependant we're supposed to be (any objections people?) on our maker.
and even though there are things that we may do that there's-nothing-wrong-with-doing or we aren't taking full advantage of the ability to earn reward (i.e. follow everything that's written in the good book) or even just getting a little 'away time', we/i-'ve always got to remember- 'yes, but is it the right thing?'
is it easier now for me to put on tefillin and learn all day? no. ....maybe-a-drop; but it's definitely gonna get me to think more...(as if i don't do enough of that already)

off the shore of the sea there's a village
whereby fishery's mainly its trade
and though most of its faces are rough and uncut
to the last one- each man makes the grade

not for riches is anyone wanting
though not one has seen gold in his life
but he's thankful for all he pulls of the the sea
and for health in his children and wife

but you might ask 'now how is it possible
'for a town of such like-minded men?
where even the simplest one of the lot
'pared with gentry is worth at least ten?'

it's a treasure they've found in the pale sunburnt sand
where the waterline dashes its curls
it's a sparkling gem that they manage to share
which is free but is worth more than pearls

it's a small little thing called compassion
and its's fueled by a kinship and care
it's a current abound in this small coastal town
and it sweetens the salt in the air

not a soul there is caught in the ratrace
for they know of no family named 'jones'
but the concept of 'what's mine is yours' is a term
that's netted deep down in their bones

it's a beacon of life force that permeates
through the veil of thin mist and thick foam
it's a light that beams through, calloused skin dyed with blue
it's the reason i call the place 'home'