Secularists of Ohio Unite!

The only thing secularists in Ohio have to lose is their isolation...

I'm writing this from the particularly conservative/christian suburbs that surround Cincinnati. It can be a lonely place for someone who doesn't fit into the area's ideological mold.

There are plenty of good secular groups in Ohio, yet there is still a general sense among those who are not actively engaged of there being a lack of community. That's something Camp Quest Ohio--for which I am a board member--plans to attempt to rectify.

Camp Quest is a wonderful thing for the area's secular families. It's a place where--two weeks out of every year--secular children can come together in community and complete acceptance and learn, laugh, play, and grow. The problem is that this is only two weeks out of every year.

What we are looking to do is to expand this sense of community and acceptance to a year round experience by creating meet ups, outings, and other cultural experiences that will bond our secular families and create a more cohesive community structure.

We are starting in earnest with a volunteer opportunity to serve a meal at the Drop Inn Center in Over the Rhine on May 9th, precipitated by a tour of Over the Rhine and a speech by a local homeless advocate.

Because there are things we can learn from our religious brothers and sisters too: Dietrich Bonhoeffer taught that a robust Christianity would blend into its social surroundings and participate in the most pressing issues facing a community, and that it would do so under the auspices of a common humanity, rather than under a particular religious banner. Who better to adopt this approach than a bunch of humanists? Not only do we have to build and strengthen our own community, we need to fuse with the wider community as a whole and have our impact felt.

We will do more activities like this. We will stage fun, bonding events for local Camp Quest families as well as more socially conscious activities like reaching out to local non profit organizations and seeing where we might plug some holes in a worthy yet flawed system. Your ideas are welcome, and you are certainly welcome as well. Contact me at spencertroxell@gmail.com if you'd like to participate in the May 9 event, and if you'd like to brainstorm some more activities. All we have in this world is each other, and it would be a shame for those connections to go untapped.

getting dressed

I am moulding a darkness around me
It will be my cape--I know you've always
Loved fancy pants, so the darkness
Will be my scarf. It will be my hat. It will
Be my cane, and I'll lean on it with my full
Weight, its body bowing out to the side
As I smoke in the shadows and exhale pregnant
Clouds, dark with things we wish we didn't know.

Folk Song

And I can't get better
No I just get harder
There is no mother
There is no father

And the earth awaits me
It spins so casually
Beneath my stumbling feet

Baby there is no water
The oven just gets hotter
Why do we even bother
Why do we even bother

And the earth awaits me
It lays there patiently
Beneath my stumbling feet

I dream of flying
Of mountains sighing
Of great releases
And honey kisses

But I can't get better
No it just gets harder
No wings for sister
No high for brother

And the earth awaits me
Waits to embrace me
Beneath my stumbling feet

Generators

A taking away.
A subtraction.
An outline as big as the sky.
A walking stick,
Leaned against the front door
Casts a shadow of its likeness
Bigger than the deep sun:
A swallowing.
A meeting of tastes.
God walks through these poems
As sure as death.
As certain as rain.

Inspiration

Another mediocre poet
Cracks his head on the dream table
Spits his nails at the fogged window
Puts on his bright blue
Suicide outlook
Pruning experience from his fingers
Forgiving god for his lateness
Shaking fists at a sky
Made slow by torrential rain
Held back by jello motion
Lifted up by shifting plates
Grinding against one another
In the unforgiving dirt.

The Planted Seed

There is a soul bright
Star shaped suicide
Fermenting inside of me
Brilliant angled sun lined
Solar spotted god dynamic
Tastes like sugar and
Unusual fruit
Someday I will be the man
I was always meant to be

Romance

Violently awake
I am larger than the room
That contains me.
My pulse rattles
The window panes
Curtains flutter
As I exhale
The thing inside me
That has made me bigger
Is a love
So animating
That for a moment I forget
To bite my nails.

Schopenhauer

Bite another nail.
A little too deep;
Blood beads at the corner.
I put my finger
In my mouth.
Suck on it.
Life is not subtle
About redirection.
Unfortunately,
Life is also not clear.
A madman waving
His arms in the air;
A baby being eaten
By a wild pack of dogs.
Life has its own designs,
Boy, better we get
To know them,
Or at least learn to jump
Off the rug when it starts
To furl.

The Gentle Type

I'm so goddamned sensitive.
Everything's the crusades with me.
And I don't even drink anymore!
Some guy says something bad
About the president--
I don't even like the president--
You'd think he insulted my mother.
Another guy wants to go in on me
About the welfare state;
You'd think he insulted the president's mother!
It's always a war with me.
I crave it.
Love to feel the meat
Jammed between my teeth.
And Caine slew Abel
And Germany invaded Poland
And there I am in my basement
In my underwear on the computer
Baiting the Internet trolls
Making them wish they had mothers
To cry to.

Another Day In Front Of the Firing Squad

Yesterday they killed me with kindness.
The day before it was an atom bomb.
What will it be today?
AIDS? Bird flu? A slip on the ice?
Each day I am born.
I rise like a baby
And become a man by noon.
Each night I die.
I fold myself into my blankets
And kiss my loved ones goodbye.
Today I am born again.
I will not die for your sins,
But I will wonder how it will end
And who has the bullet
Already in the chamber?

Taxes

You're falling apart, you know.
Some hair left behind
In the brush
Some particles of blood
Out with the cough;
Fingernails. Phlegm. Tears.
You're leaving bits of yourself
Everywhere you go,
And that is how we die;
Not in radical explosions
Or eaten by escaped zoo animals,
But with the application
Of a creeping pressure
Gradually splitting one
Small seam
At a time.

Burns

Life is a pain.
It's always work, cancer,
Some weasel
Trying to put the moves
On your woman...
Who has time
For butterflies
When you're always
Reaching your hand
Into the fire
To get something back
That you lost.

People Shouldn't Have To Work To Live

 Co-Written by David Troxell

The other day I tuned into Rush Limbaugh's show and heard him opining--paraphrase--'the liberal attempt to make work unnecessary for the lower classes'.

This complaint arrives at a central disagreement between myself and the modern American right wing.

Places Rush and I agree: Work builds character. We should be proud of the fruits of our labor. Hard work leads to innovation and prosperity.

Places Rush and I disagree: I don't think a person should have to work to live. Rush does. I think a person should be provided with the basic necessities of life, and that the goal of a person's life and work should be to self actualize, and to contribute back to society from that state of self actualization.

I have to rephrase a previous statement. Rush does not actually believe a person should have to work to live. He believes a POOR person should have to work to live. The 1% in this country do not have to work, and he doesn't seem to have a problem with that, nor does he seem to have any doubts about their ability to contribute to society in a meaningful way. It is us ugly proletariat that he feels require the old stick and carrot (the carrot, by the way, never gets unloosed from the stick. It will never actually come into our possession).

Something Rush does not understand: Man craves work. By our very nature, we are restless creatures. We do our best--and are our healthiest--when we are comfortable and productive. When a person suffers from want, they are not focused, and their creativity is taxed. When a person has the freedom to pursue their own creative strengths free from fear or want, they are more inclined to create something instilled with that same freedom. Building from a position of personal strength is the best way to build.

Rush betrays a personal distrust and misunderstanding of the proletariat. He believes that we are lesser beings who must be steered like farm animals.

There is a belief that humanity is driven by greed. Some have a notion of humans being entirely individualistic, their only motivation is for the greater benefit of that individual. The idea is unquestionable to those who believe it, it is human nature. It’s the only way we as a species could survive. This is what drives the belief that humans need to be hard working members of the society in order for them to be entitled their basic needs. If they are fed, housed, healthy, and unconditionally taken care of, they will have no reason to contribute. We’re a product of our evolution and you only survive in nature by putting in minimal work for maximum gain. This idea is a simplistic view of humanity. Humans didn’t survive as individuals. We have a complicated relationship between looking out for our personal best interest and looking out for the welfare of the group. In a society where everyone’s needs are guaranteed to be taken care of, it will never be socially acceptable for those who can contribute in a meaningful way to not do so. We are social animals and we will (as a general rule) comply to the expectations of our social groups. For this reason we, as a caring and capable group of humans, should not ask others to sacrifice their freedom and humanity in order to provide for their basic necessities.

Getting to a place in our society where we are not forced to work to provide ourselves with basic necessities is not a situation to opine; it is a scenario to rejoice. The great American experiment was supposed to be a government of free people for free people; until we are at the point where the least among us no longer have to work for basic needs, this dream will be unrealized. Until we’ve reached this place, we will not live in a free society. The lower and middle class is forced to submit their lives to those who happen to be born into a higher station in life. There is the notion that we can move from our station but there is a vicious cycle in place that prevents this from happening. It is hard to find any money to invest in any kind of venture while you’re struggling to find money to pay for food, medical care, and housing. This is not a question of these people not being hard working, the hardest working people I know are stuck in this situation. This is a question of whether anyone should, by birthright, be taken care of and valued more than anyone else. It seems like the exact opposite of the ideas that this country was founded on.

Show Biz

Life is a series
Of rehearsals for death;
Try out long enough
And eventually
You'll get the part.

It starts off as a cavity--
A little black spot in your eye--
And ends up a cancer;
Yawning, gaping, hungry
In the center of your chest.

Love between try outs
If you can;
Drive your car
Down country roads
In the Fall;
Dare god
To take you with
A magnificent lightening bolt
Over cigarettes,
And dance like you know
What you're doing
When no one is looking--

Because no one is looking.
Not ever.
This life is a one man show
And you
Have got
The part.

Sleep

Brain buzzes with murder
Right before bed
Have to drug myself
To even sleep
When will it stop
The ceaseless circuitry popping
Who will unhook
The elephants from the treetops?
Time is an enemy
To man.
Time conspires with sleep
To create the illusion
Of escape.
But it is always
These walls.
This pillow.
These pills.
Every night.

Collaboration

The demons are fearful
Of close scrutiny
Of shambolic light
Of chamomile tea.
The demons dread
A kind word
An hour unmolested
The Blue Mask
By Lou Reed.
The demons poke
They stretch skin
Disfigure memory
Invent tragedy.
The demons harvest
Dreams
They locate crimes
Instigating trials.
I hate the demons.
I hate their tails.
I hate their eyes.
But they are
The ones
With the typewriter
So I never raise
The rent.

If You Love God, Let Him Go

We can never really know each other. Our views of our friends, neighbors, lovers, enemies, and even ourselves, have to ultimately be mere fragments of what is actually the case.

This is because there is so much hidden from us. So much of our view of others is based not only upon scant evidence, but also is infused so irreparably with our own experiences and biases. Our perceptions of others are only shells--crude mockeries--of their true and dynamic selves.

If this is so when dealing with other human beings, how much more must it be the case when dealing with a potential creator being? What makes approaching a potential deity even harder is that you can ask me about your perception of me. You and I can sit down and talk about you or me and hash out some of our misconceptions about who you and me are--and thus maybe get a little closer to the truth--but there is no sitting down for coffee with Jesus, Mohamed, Zoroaster, or Thor. We can approach these characters from a mytho-historic perspective, but that doesn't bring us into personal contact with said proposed beings. Ultimately our views of possible gods are fated to be projections of our own goals and ideals or the deification of the goals and ideas of other people.

Every God we solidify our mind around is thus bound to be a false idol. Only by giving up belief in gods altogether could we possibly remain open to such a complicated, enormous being...and only then in the smallest and most humble of ways.

By abandoning belief in gods you clear your mind of preconceptions of what that being is made of, motivated by, and desiring of. You allow your brain to appreciate its unpreparedness for the task at hand, and encourage it to embrace humility. The word 'god' is so crowded with preconceptions...there is practically a different god for each believer in the world; each god fashioned after that believer's own image (or desired image). To abandon belief is to admit that any potential god is too large and incomprehensible for the human mind. It is to cease trying to catch the wind in a net.

We are all agnostics. None of us know whether there are gods or not. What I am advocating is not agnosticism, but a practical atheism that says 'I do not believe in god, because that word could not even begin to comprehend what it tries to articulate'. Paradoxically, the atheist may be in a much better place to fully appreciate any possible supreme being because of their lack of belief--they have already busted down the false idols constructed by themselves and others, and stand ready--blank--in the eventuality of contact with such a being as a god.

So not only does reason advocate the acquisition of an atheistic stance, so does humility. So does any desire to fully appreciate the sheer bigness of this life and what it potentially entails. If you already don't believe in god, good. If you do believe in God, reconsider; it is probable that you are investing your energy in self created illusion. If God loves you, let him show you. If you love God, let him go.

Steps

Amid the tall walls
Of possible failures,
And the brambles
Of self set traps--
The possibility of a road
Emerges--
Amongst the cobbles
Of ruined cities.
Man has been building
Ships and gods
And skyscrapers
For years now;
Some are still there.
Some aren't.
I see a humble road--
But it is a road--
And imagine tools fit
To build a house
Big enough for me,
Big enough for my family,
And maybe a garden too;
If only I can navigate
These first small steps.

Do My Time

Reading Allen Ginsberg meditations
On death and meaning, thinking
'Easy for you to say, buddy! You're dead!'
I hope you found
Your perfect Buddha peace
But I've still got to huff it--out here,
Down in the quagmire of life
Traversing composite cities
Stitched of the tears of countless people
Gone before, some poets, some not
Envious of Ginsberg, done with this charade
How nice it must be
To yip through that void
And leave behind faulty colon
Bad brain wiring
And receding hairline
From eyebrows
To asshole.

Acclimate

Abandon me to the dirt
To the sweat to the
Aching calves straining
Biceps and pectorals
To the hamstring to the
Cough abandon me
To the worms fucking
In my yard to the birds
Singing in my tree
To the cherries on my salad
To the mighty fork
To the blue cheese
Abandon me to the heart
That never knows what it wants
To the god that refuses
To exist to the dogs asleep
On my lap
To the brutal snow to the burying rain
To the children digging
In the earth
The same earth that pulls me in
The same earth I am destined to be
Swallowed by and made into
Something new my carbon
Eaten away rearranged sold off
To the highest bidder
There are no false notes
In heaven.