I feel alive
I feel alive within my element of style (harried, frenzied, dogged...) reading (a book titled The Knitting Circle authored by Ann Hood) inside me man cave with the portable heater cranking out British Thermal Units (a measurement of heat energy, whereby one Btu is the amount of heat required to raise one pound of water by one degree Fahrenheit, whence Btus per hour (Btuh) is the benchmark used to estimate the capacity of heating systems, such as gas furnaces) at a cozy seventy plus degrees fahrenheit (breadth, scope, width...) while the outside cool air, a crisp temperature, not quite ten degrees centigrade (an old fashioned name for Celsius, which freezing point of water for Celsius is 0°C, whereas the boiling point of water is 100°C abbreviated of Celsius is to °C, which temperature scale invented and named after Swedish scientist Anders Celsius (1701-1744) in 1742), whereby yours truly (me) salvages sanity within a webbed wide world on the heading toward brink of near anarchy come Tuesday, November 5, 2024, when the overstuffed ego freezer (sporting his trademark orange coiffure, which reminds one electorate named Matthew Scott Harris) of an oversized troll) rubs his bear size paws with sinister glee. Other than the dark shadows looming along the edge of night within the outer limit of the twilight, I feel glad to be stayin alive in Schwenksville at a safe distance from the melee will most likely erupt.
Mine heart doth go pit-a-pat at pleasant unexpected telephonic, fantastic, and electronic receipt of your message, however brief, though avidity, benignity, conviviality, docility, electricity, friendly gentility, humility, integrity, jocularity, knowledgeability, levity...zealotry about you teases my curiosity got woke within the bosom of me, an adventuristic, altruistic, (albeit spiritually) animalistic, anachronistic, atavistic, atheistic, copacetic, eccentric, existentialistic, fantastic, generic, linguistic, nihilistic, realistic... married sexagenarian.
This Pacifist bard of Perkiomen Valley regaled at Alpine Fellowship conclave regarding erosion of Democratic rights grave alarming usurpation of power - Republicans each and every one a nasty and brutish knave intent to pronounce decree sentencing every Homo sapien to pave (courtesy their lovely bones) back breaking laborious bloody path trumpeting, signaling and attesting slave versus master linkedin relationship essentially scuttling emancipation proclamation lifetime of human bondage forced to pledge flag of servitude amidst wreckage broken souls washed away courtesy totalitarian wave.
Foreclosure on purported inalienable rights life, liberty and pursuit of happiness though hard won freedoms crimped foregone conclusion demanding fealty and loyalty to sovereignty therefore necessitates electorate to stage coup d'état and overthrow autocrat ideally thru peaceful modus operandi.
Though aforementioned verses hypothetical, mine overactive imagination can easily envision governmental, née societal debacle witnessing yours truly, an extremely shy Norwegian bachelor wannabe gobbling up ample powder milk biscuits to acquire courage to protest (no matter the temperature seasonably cool today, and stand firm against one unnamed political party aiming to upend voting rights, thus disenfranchising most economically vulnerable people (predominantly) persons of color to cast their vote for representation.
Absolute zero chance for change unless even those risk averse (such as one garden variety wordsmith) to protest without resorting to violence and staking a claim to denounce opposition against exercising freedom for citizens to elect eligible candidate.
I too would join aspiring bravehearts (each of us participants tightly grasping an amulet), not looking for fame nor fortune, only martyrdom and sainthood ha, nevertheless able, eager, and ready to risk life and limb in an effort to preserve (even at expense getting into a jam) principle figurative bulwark buttressing buzzfeeding land of milk and honey myth.
Throughout American history many patriots as well as indigenous tribes bled, the latter viciously tracked down nsync with ominous dread, no matter how fast they fled taking refuge courtesy sympathetic abolitionists, who silently motioned at (hiding) in hogshead.
Outspoken voices helped spur Emancipation proclamation and subsequent manumission
diametrically opposed to bedrock attitudes, ideologies, prejudices... kept in check by scare tactics thus disallowing formerly shackled to experience full fledged freedom, whether enjoying opportunities available to the leisure class or exploring inherent potential to amass learning and become financially successful, which suppression of free will, (within parameters of self expression - artistic, literary, musical et alia) gives credence to notion of white privilege automatic guilt linkedin with skin color.
Each generation of oppressed, especially those who break the color barrier subjected with bigotry (ofttimes subtle mistreatment) challenging well earned freedom rightfully bequeathed from forebears labor.
The ghosts of Africans who suffered pre colonial rule (namely European exploitation) robbed of their national identity will forever haunt the offspring, whose forefathers/mothers brutally desecrated haven housing rightful autochthonous men, women and children livingsocial within their own Lake Wobegone.
Fly Off
Sometimes emoting is hard. Burnout sags my bones like leaded weights worn while on the surface of planet Jupiter. I could fall asleep under a blanket of innui and kids' crying reminds me of the buzzer to an air raid siren. Isn't working retail wonderful? Worst part is? When someone told me go with the flow. You might as well tell someone suffering from clinical depression to smile.
I go to take care of someone important on the other side of the business. They yell at me or where the dotted line of me used to be. I don't know exactly what the entitled woman said. She yelled so badly spit splattered the cashier's face. I didn't want to deal with the skittle haired punk.
"HEY YOU!" yelled the manager of Human Resources.
That particular anti-capitalist, skittle-haired bleeding heart who yelled at flying monkeys for stealing jobs from . . . What type of minority again? I can't tell. I didn't have the heart to tell Skittles, the Anti-capitalist that the reason people started hiring flying monkeys was because no one could tell the truth without insulting everybody at the same time. Monkey was a slur used against the Irish, Asians, blacks, and various other races ever since Twitter pointed out what our ancient ancestor Lucy looked like and activists got freaked out about dungeons and dragons taking out simian fantasy races. I don't know.
The entitled customer at the cashier's stand started to climb the desk.
Today, I was too sleep deprived to give a darn. Yet, I didn't
want to leave the cashier hanging. Where was that dude again? Well, our resident flying monkey, Simon Simian looked similar to the practical effects found on The Wizard of Oz and Planet of the Apes except his features were sharper due to having lighter, almost elvish bones. His wings were dappled like wood bark on the back and looked like a cloudy sky in the front. His face ended in a hairless cat muzzle. Tousled brown hair pulled into a manbun. Digitigrade bird feet ended in simian toes around retractable talons poking out of rolled up Chinos. They couldn't fit into any shoes so I had to listen for his talons tapping across the floor.
I flagged him down. His polyester vest had slits cut out for the wings.
"Hey Simon!" I called out.
Slit pupiled, green and blue eyes rounded in pupils then shrunk as his prehensile tail twitched at the tip.
"We have a customer at the cashier stand to see ya." I said.
Simon's pointy ear twitched.
"I heard," he rumbled, "Why aren't you going to help out."
"Skittles is defending the customer against our cashier again for being white," I said, "If I tried to help, I couldn't shut them up like you can."
Simon nodded.
"Would you set up the Dee's Nuts display in the healthcare section of the store?" He asked.
"Sure," I said and felt a chill down my spine as he walked past me with a grin. Two inch long fangs snaked across his jaw.
I could always work on the display later but Simon had me curious because he never smiles. I think some videos on YouTube told that some apes used smiles as a threat display instead of a greeting like humans do. Simon also stocked shelves instead of cashiered because he sucked at emoting feelings. Then he started jumping from rafter to rafter like a Great Tit in the gardening section of the store.
What was he up to?
The cashier looked ready to melt into her own tears like a squonk melting away under its own warts by the time I got there.
"I have a coupon! I deserve this! I am a hard working-EEK!"
The ladies rant got cut off by a blur. The revolving doors spun the ladies goods were left at the checkout stand as Simon Simian kidnapped the entitled customer off into the sunset.
Skittles screamed bloody murder. The whole thing happened in five seconds but felt like five minutes.
"HELP!" cried Skittles, "That monkey kidnapped Karen."
People put their hands up in surrender and backed away slowly. I was worried but went back to set up the Dee's Nuts display in the Healthcare section next to the condoms. We didn't have to worry for long. Simon and Karen came back.
Karen wrung her hands as she came back and apologized to everyone like a completely different person? Who was this woman and what the hell did Simon do?
Simon told me later, as was custom of him.
"It turns out Karen was having a bad day," he shrugged, his face was monotone but his pupils dialated. "She got treated like shit and ignored at her other job and I guess the bad mood carried over there."
He pointed outside. Part of me screamed in horror on the inside. He took a customer high into the sky. He literally kidnapped a woman. Dear gosh the lawsuit coming. I played it cool.
"Did you have a nice talk?" I asked.
I thought he was going to be pissed. Instead he confirmed my fears.
"Nah I was going to drop her, from ten stories high," Simon said without joking.
. . . Oh dear . . .
"I didn't expect her to spill her life's story after . . . You know," Simon said. His hands made like bird's wings. He flapped them and whistled like a dropped bomb.
Force of habit got me grabbing a couple drinks to pay at the self-checkout. Self-conciousness held me up as I ran up one root beer and one banana milk. Bananas are associated with monkeys. I feared insulting the flying monkey.
"Hey!" He cheered, "Can I have the banana milk?"
I tossed him the bottle. He bit into the bottom of it and slurped the contents. Then I remembered this was Simon we were talking about. I don't know much about a race different from me. I at least know a little about my co-workers.
Simon ate the bottle after sucking out the milk.
Well I found out a little more about Simon than I thought.
Sugar Coated Spectre
There is a ghost that occasionally haunts my mind and it has done so today. It's barley one thread among my tapestry nay my crazy quilt of memories. It does not visit me often but it's done so today and still is even now. The phantom in question just refuses to be excorcised.
This memory though small and briefe can still be painful. So one minute I'm minding my business and the next I remember it, the birthday cake.
It was large and rectangular and dang delicious. My sister had painstakingly frosted the top of that celebratory pastry as was tradition in those sweet juvenile days when I'd have themed birthdays!
All of this has come to my mind all day long. I also remember my birthday that year was the only time I got to eat it.
The cake was massive and there were plenty of leftovers. Unfortunately this all occurred when my mom went on some half crazed health kick that even drove a wedge between her and my father( over pizza). I still carry those ghosts in my mind's graveyard they pop out to haunt me now and again as they are today, right now!
My mom tossed out those left over slices of cake. Never again did I feast on them. She asked me first and I told her what I knew she wanted to hear. No I wasn't actually fine with it. IT MY BIRTHDAY CAKE!
I don't normally condemn people to the Abyss but if I had too it would be all those television doctors my mom watched I blame them for setting this in motion.
That's how a birthday cake can leave a scar burned into the psyche. That's how a scar festers and the mind becomes a haunt for a ghost of the past. The memory will pass but for now I must bare it!
Excerpt from my journal 3/27/2024
First, let me say that I am hesitant to post this because I am aware of how it sounds. However, I am doing it because as you will read below, we all have choices. No worries if it is not for you. The who, this is meant for is not my concern. I'm just here to share a message, do with that what you will. I am posting it here because posting it here is what I'm guided to do.
"...A few days ago something was revealed to me. A "new" spiritual element I’ll call it was presented to me for learning. I have heard of the quantum realm in terms of quantum mechanics and studied it on a very superficial and novice level. I am familiar with the wave and the particular and the double slit experiment, and the multiverse, but I had not explored this regarding timelines.
We are all jumping timelines all the time on both a collective and individual basis Timelines are choices. Most of the timeline jumping we do are small variations. Going back to the multiverse for a second, a universe exists where I never wrote this journal entry at all. Maybe in that one, I ignored the call to write and went to the gym or decided to work today. There is a universe for every decision I can make. Small free-will decisions are small jumps. Quantum jumps happen when creating big shifts by making big choices. My decision to stop doing massage and close my shop that day in 2017 was a quantum leap. I believe that will in some way connect me to the solar eclipse happening on April 8th, based on the astrology of seven years ago and today. One cycle is ending and this is the beginning of another.
Presently I, and presumably the collective, are standing at a crossroads of timelines. The crossroad is a major opportunity to make a quantum leap. Anyone can take advantage of this opportunity to make whatever change is desired! We have the next 15 days to plant the seeds!
The solar eclipse is happening at 12:40 and 53 seconds. 1+5 =6. 1+2+4+0+5+3=15, (and 1+5=6)! The Google machine had this to say about angel number 6: “…balance, duty – putting in the work and remembering what is important…”
I believe today that I am being called to do this (or these very things). Today I am being called not to my daily routine, but to re-evaluate what I do for my daily routine, my daily life in every way and to share this information with anyone that may be called to it. Could I be crazy? Sure, anything is possible, but I’d rather not take the risk of over-simplifying whatever I am feeling today by calling it crazy… so here I am, and here it is.
The question is what do we want, collective? What do I want? Where is my soul calling me to go? Where am I being led? Now is the spiritual spring! Now is the time for planting everything you want to grow, not just in the short term but big picture thinking, I’m talking months, and years down the line! This is the opportunity to quantum leap!
We have entered a portal that is open until the solar eclipse on April 8th. This is where fate and free will dovetail and magic happens. I wish I could express the magnitude of the energy I am feeling at this moment, but all the words I know are insufficient. I know, I know I sound melodramatic and rambly (not even a word, but that’s what I mean – the words I know are insufficient). Take it or leave, but I must go now and plant some seeds."
Greetings fellow earthling
Thank you for gracing me with your amazing presence or merely chancing reading message sent into cyberspace, whose aura, charisma, enigma, gramma...persona, et cetera delivers measure for measure a figurative dollop of blessed delight.
Impossible mission to jump/kickstart a lifelong friendship/relationship, especially since an immediate impression cast simply gleaning notions about me, an articulate bipedal hominid, introspective jesting married, mindful, nonconformist opportunistic, poetic, quirky rational thinker, unpretentious, vocal wordsmith.
Inordinate amount of leisure time might help explain how fruit full this harmless poetic brute, (a June MCMLXXVII Methacton School of hard knocks grad), who sports astute demeanor with ample brew netted locks, vaguely androgynously cute, his trademark signature hirsute unstyled wavy hair tell tale characteristic, not that I care if anyone gives rats ass and/or hoot bummer attire acceptable since long unemployed and recipient with meager loot receiving social security disability to boot, nonetheless can while away unlimited numbers of wee hours into morning yea ideally best time to sleep, but also most optimal, while the missus thrashes in bed thankfully mute unless ya don't count flatulence she doth toot disrupting and derailing train of thought courtesy trumpeting glute.
An unexpected whistling unlike Christopher Robin hi ho... hi ho the derry-o the Norwegian bachelor farmer in the dell exiting their wooded den (think Snow White and her seven dwarf men) off to work they go to earn cents (unbeknownst conversion into) yen boot just enough to undergo gastric bypass surgery to shrink abdomen, plus grueling boot camp regimen guaranteeing bullseye hit courtesy artillerymen nsync with honing sharp eyed acumen joining (rather leading) civilians carrying out coup d’etat putsch ching aside feeble, inept and lame president to step up and augment penultimate last ditch effort to halt climate change to stave turning planet Earth into self destructive oven.
This hunger artist cannot read volumes of printed material fast enough to satiate an immense appetite and unquenchable thirst to acquire learning from the millenniums gushing fount of cumulative chance revelations, (or deliberate intent to validate a premise vis a vis via private investigative research), thus unwittingly setting alight an intense inquisitiveness sans this curious George primate experiencing the equivalent of mental non fallacious figurative enthusiasm analogous to: patriotism, phototropism, priapism...), whose every waking hour, (when not tending toward the basic needs for survival as a seeming foreigner - journey ying in this helter skelter, madcap, slaphappy, whirled wide web) expended to enrich the yawping immeasurable volume mine fist size housed cerebellum buzzfeeds shrouded within skull and cross lovely bones, a vast scope of innumerable chunks of fascinating, fortifying, and fulfilling various subject matters, that when pursued to an approximate logical conclusion yields abundant esoteric information.
All joking aside horrific, née apocalyptic crisis doth loom perhaps even unleashing mushroom, clouds (horse - thrown in for good measure) encompassing entire planet assuredly spelling doom, where liquidation and fire sale at all brick and mortar stores will bloom, (just ash at the front desk) charcoal burnt offering skeleton crew pointing blackened decker index finger pointedly warning kaboom about to be heard exploding lemon meringue pie literally across every black curtained window intimating solemnity within house of the rising sun worshipping Friday, Saturday, Sunday... until every tomb morrow until end of time.
While sitting on me keister (ass, backside, behind, bottom, bum, buns, butt, buttocks, can, derriere, fanny, fundament, hind end, hindquarters, nates, posterior, prat, rear, rear end, rump, seat, stern, tail, tail end, tooshie, tush, et cetera) on a cold and rainy twenty third of March 2024, I figuratively drop plumb line then courtesy grunt labor lyft unexpected find hoisted deep jamming lookout, noggin perched, roiling thinking uber wayfaring zealot, drills legendary phalanx.
Writer's block afflicts Das scribe, who whiz now stricken supine adept dull livery sub par excellence his gold standard worse, thus another day to slog thru arduous process crafting admirable verse wrestling behemoth loosed sniper dodging enfilade broadcast sos terse.
Ne'er easy chore to fashion acceptable word worth poem to whit staring at flickering accursed cursor doth blank stare visit flash flooding warning saturated gray matter fist sized unit groundswell burgeoning leveed banks barging signals transmit urgent army corps of engineers to reroute via sluice, sans surfeit apprentice longshoreman doth double duty as grammarian sought to retrofit arduous struggle ensues, where drowning affects consummation strong temptation quit ditch ching progress made, thus far in hot pursuit mind comfortably numb stream of consciousness submerges concentration entrenched deep posit craftiness sentenced to punctuate disequilibrium doth outwit venerably beaded trademark Scottish matted flair abandoned unfinished prosaic piece left forever stranded orbit zero escape velocity zinging, unsprung, pinging mindscape nonprofit able endeavor reflecting zeitgeist bombarding Messerschmitt undermining, strafing, disabling cutting crew rescue outer limit faint feint blinking in the twilight zone.
I experience delight at effortlessness to reciprocate
I experience delight at your effort to reciprocate, and recognize an opportunity to express my sentiments to be understood with ease lest writing with might come across as crassly arrogant, bombastic, dramatic, enigmatic, fantastic, grammatic, heterochromatic wavelengths more apropos to philosophizing about existential nihilism as applies to yours truly (me) in a futile attempt to cope with the cares and concerns of an uncertain webbed wide world fraying at the figurative edges, and accepting impossible mission to escape inevitable fate of Republican presidential accession and possible reign of totalitarianism if the candidate referred to jokingly as don (key, the elephant man) clinches the nomination.
Not that you asked, nevertheless idyllic reverie during break of day offers smidgen respite from gloomy thought that American freedoms maybe swept into the dustbin of history after the results of the November fifth two thousand twenty four presidential election get tabulated, thus news sense (nuisance) already asphyxiates this wordsmith (who like Socrates) wrote no earthshaking tome (nor plans to author any New York Times bestseller), but merely lets his stubby fingers (minus proof of marriage around ring finger) glide across the keyboard likened to stream of consciousness bubbling along with nary a handy dandy blues clues will materialize as the last trace of night evaporates analogous to milky hue, whereat a dreamy state pervades thy being from tropical delight as approach of Dawn highlights morning landscape Gaia drew ah, a paradise in pristine majestic light arced, bathed, chiseled displayed described, elongated, fingered gilt heraldic imagery joyfully kindling luminosity markedly novel picture quintessentially resplendent sedating this ubiquitous voyager waking xing vision yawning zealot acquiesces bounteous chimerical dalliance betwixt Goddess delivering break of day against defeated quotidian celestial vault, where Mithras dethroned the capriciously finicky inky beleaguered darkly crest etched fading faux French Gendarmes into humongous jagged lances endowing amplitude modulations nudging raiment donned by trumpeting, quiescent pronouncement obliging new morning laminating, kneading, and jettisoning remnant shreds twilight understood voicing willingness Xerxes yeomen paid tribute as did preceding and subsequent captivating Earthlinked fighting Harlem globetrotters doppelgangers held hostage upon thee third rock from the sun straddling an invisible saddle, which oblate spheroid forfeited, manacled, and pitched tarry sky (vis a vis feathery touch) as one more ordinary day wrested, tussled, and quickened nocturnal nod toward solar (brittle) spears betook the reluctant wrap of blackest night soundlessly forcing transient domination (overruling the cerulean skies) until dark shadows prefacing the edge of night once again admirably, willingly, and unequivocally surrendered a fair pact to take solace whence the morrow allowed, enabled and provided a ray of shining hope (every now and again eclipsed) via the Lunar trajectory coinciding with axis when spatial relations commandeered thru cosmic consciousness dictating gambit heft forging atypical sliver of night before cosmological laissez faire retreated into the background, a universal choreographer envisioning, insinuating, maintaining quirkiness until recapitulation sans astronomers predicted future trio of heavenly bodies would be aligned bedazzling Primates access to espy Corona of the black hole sun.
Thanks you (more than words can describe) giving me reason to write mish mashed gobbledygook written few years ago preceding breakup of first born offspring and her then Puerto Rican born beau, when existence of averred progeny did flow smooth and minimally disrupted she exhibited countenance with radiant glow recalling family feast of yore before onset of COVID-19 wreaked havoc and tore fabric of civilization global impact great as third world war. this own lee brother of yours dashed analogously graced on par how a marathon runner raced to Macbook Pro laptop computer post haste soon as he got back to his domicile nestled and encased in the bucolic, democratic, and fantastic spit (tune) of land marginally defaced woodland partially hydrogenated oils baste surrounding Highland Manor Apartment our aced in the hole, whence he i.e. mice elf (Matty Mouse) with threads of gratitude laced within a feeble attempt to burble, cobble, fiddle, easy as gravy, an inscrutable letter placed in the output queue soon as all the typo O graphical errors erased and, though struggle to convey love for such an endearing older sister, which digitally squawking, aye did not cut and paste boot doth admit to allowing, a saucy bit of small potatoes sayest in ma trademark (truemark) stuffing of fluffernutter (that taste) G---R---R---E---E---A---A---T (courtesy of flaky Tony the corny tiger), which gibberish aims to waste juiced spare moments, and tubby direct, ernest and frank lemme communicate without resorting to caginess, but NON GMO, gluten free roaming thoughts to thank ye (Amelie Beth), and Rich McGeehan for welcoming a small group of family and friends to your Woodbury, New Jersey abode, somewhat near Redbank to relish the salad days of times gone by, when as kids residing in Audubon or Collegeville, Pennsylvania, we tricked each other with a harmless prank such as hiding a fuzzy wuzzy wonky Willie, or scaring the pants off each other with the molded Creepy People that doth rank as laughably innocent, these topsy turvy times, when faith no more eroded (Iron Maiden) camaraderie among village people unity withal fellow Americans did tank especially as the world wide web iz going necessitate thee to fill in the BLANK, thus moments to share a tasty repast did help me to crank out this artichokes gibberish, which when placed atop pyramid of cranberries sank as didst this heart of darkness within soul asylum of papa and momma genes to two beautiful young women re: daughters, whose absence felt as gloomy fiends similar to the Ogre encountered, when goose that laid golden egg stolen by Jack and beanstalk of story book fame as a cash cow means.
A bookish bound man obsessed for knowledge
This hunger artist cannot read volumes of printed material fast enough to satiate an immense appetite and unquenchable thirst to acquire learning from the millenniums gushing fount of cumulative chance revelations (or deliberate intent to validate a premise vis a vis via investigative research), thus unwittingly setting alight an intense inquisitiveness; subsequently this curious George primate experienced the equivalent of mental priapism), whose every waking hour, (when not tending toward the basic needs for survival as a seemingly foreigner anonymous survivor, (a johnny come lately jimmied, fortified, and buffeted nasty short, and brutish brute - courtesy earth, wind and fire) in this helter skelter, madcap, slaphappy, whirled wide web) expended to enrich the yawping immeasurable volume constituting his fist size sixty plus shades of gray matter shrouded within skull and lovely cross bones, a vast scope of innumerable chunks of fascinating, fortifying, and fulfilling various subject matters, that when pursued to an approximate logical conclusion leaves unabated feverish frenzy for learning, but said Pavlovian predilection toward purchasing by propensity avidly, eagerly, and ineluctably turn pages of one book after another.
These sundry shiny, salutary nuggets of wisdom send a surge within this white knight of orgasmic sensations coursing throughout each neuron and axon of this gourmand famished for (imagine if you will) overflowing platters full of juicy, fruity, and bounty tea full volumes of incredible edible raw bit size cerebral goody goody gum drops affording thy upper dentures to function most satisfactorily with byte size tidbits of savory, tasty, ultimately vaunted mouth watering treats teasing me to such fancyfeast (as one godaddy) heightening inexplicable joie de vivre keen longing making tongue lick lips in anticipation to partake from smorgasbord of expansive culinary cuisines.
Though nada lick of evidence concluded that hair color plays a role, (especially plait tin ham), I chose an arbitrary (without arbitration, deliberation, or genuflection) hair raising experiment to be blonde courtesy of hydrogen peroxide as a last ditch effort to increase the rate my noggin can absorb page after page of sought after printed information, less to impress anybody, but more so to satisfy an incessantly voracious yen to understand, which (as a minor side effect) increases the weight of thine sixty plus shades of gray cerebral matter.
Thee correlation asper whether a lighter tinted non natural tone of genetically decreed follicles (sprouting within Ziegfeld Follies like tender sic brownian movement growth thread wide spindles in the case of myself), I certainly experienced, invited, and measured quantifiable uptick in incidents involving being queried as a schnorrer in a city where the streets lack any names) adorning straggly strands striving superiorly (regaling this uber ville wondrous tourist, who benefits from a prosaic lyft) with crackling, popping, and snapping electrical charges, which (as a side note) allow, enable and provide a pronounced ability, whereby contests of pages gets vacuumed within a blink of an eye to imbibe without any adverse reaction of heady inebriation jeopardizing body, mind or sprit of Brexit ting away from eye Yankee doo dill confounding basic auburn zillions of tough proteins called keratin.
Hopefully this answers a question addressed from thine youngest of two twisted sisters, (who questioned the harried schema and wondered if the decision to apply a healthy dose of hydrogen peroxide upon tippy top of this egghead, which some obvious non-permanent lighter tinged mop top, may know what prodded this peculiar hair brained notion.
A head strong likelihood, she will still puzzle over a quasi-understandable rash motive, and deduce this sole hard boiled brother, as being a bit fried, scrambled, or poached.
This never ending ongoing ever-quest for amassing as much valuable dollops of knowledge (carnal and otherwise) only guesses that a seed spore got planted when this Homo Sapien a whippersnapper and germinated over the ensuing decades – then (at time of this writing) almost LXIV in Roman numerals – never to abate, but increasing in intensity from birth til this very instant.
A postulate could be stated (without being matter of factly proven asper my weight in dandruff flakes, nor simulated), that this sudden impulsive whim to sprinkle and daub here and there indiscriminate areas along my asthmatically butchered, cropped, dreaded self scissored topiary.
The resultant micro-environmental impact (asper this minuscule oblate spheroid papa's putty filled thinker) interestingly enough seems to evince an infinitesimal marked-up, quickened, torqued, and undeniable value whereat X-rays reveal more vibrant encased hemispheric hotbed humming with what (experts studying spongiform material) vouchsafe as a most definite smidgen spike, where the art of literary creativity concerned.
Who knows what might happen if this catatonic, dogmatic, energetic, generic, idiotic, kinetic Medtronic, sponsored endeavor if this opportunistic, quixotic, sophmoric, an universalistic Dharma bum, (albeit harmless, nameless, and senseless) might choose a glow in the dark hot pink hue as stimulating the literary goal of yours truly to experience increased sparks of literary output.
Now that this atypical, dew eyed decimal (with digit of increased value anchors the tens place finds me then edging, jetting, opposing, teetering and zipping toward sixty four January thirteenths (comb two thousand and twenty three) seems to dabble in harmless, meaningless, rudderless oar a tour rick hull whatsapp pro pre yet to him, other family members, friends, strangers, et cetera) might make a mental note (by Jeeves) to keep their distance lest me erratic, frenetic, kinetic lunatic quirkiness could be contagious, which reclusive quality pleases me.
This disengagement with the human population at large, or one fool on the hill, lonely hearts club bandy legged music-minded Beatle browed cretin with diametrically opposed tenets to the status quo translates into increased hours to whittle Wordsworth vacuous, vapid vernacular verses, especially ideal for any rabbit brrr reader to spend without contributing to his/her purpose driven life, thence YES this bit of yik yak paddy whack give snoop doggy dog a bone a near perfectly splashed valueless hacking burst of baloney.
Mayan lee ripple lye would be that some itty bitty teensy weensy cognitive entertainment galvanized internal kickstarter making occular quest striving to vacuum up measly, wordy, windy...woeful demonstration of ineptitude here to avoid reading any subsequent material birthed via this author.
Much more blather could be spun forth on par with total fluff er nutter filler, this word wrangler could find himself a New York Times best seller at the expense of dying his wavy locks an off beat color of red, white and blue to be excoriated, lambasted and vilified, yet proud to be an American!
This tender as tinder, twittering thought provoking, tumblr (from the instagramming, shutter-flying, snapchatting chattering chap), tries to accrue a treasure trove of thoroughly mind bending, flexing, and nattering, mental fodder all.
Upon said food for thought aperitif, I scrupulously scrutinize, catalyze, analyze (until I self paralyze), et cetera any unfamiliar piece de la resistance information.
Such novel discovery of datum (acquired thru never tiring exercise of reading, or perchance overheard mentioned by another) undergoes rigorous mortise and tenon vetting process before being welcomed aboard my subatomic size mini Leviathan, where a trial period of observation elapses before this alien bric a brac subsumed under the auspices of the designated driver who unloads the contents.
Mourning Myself
I feel an innate energy when someone notices me from across the room. I like to soak up that energy, let it seep through my brain until these made-up scenarios feel like memories. It’s a dangerous game to mourn the smell of a person you’ll never meet.
I like to imagine what they wear to bed, how the fabric feels over the flesh they usually keep to themselves. What would it feel like to run my tongue along the cinched cotton around their waist? I play this game with myself. My own version of classic people watching. What are they having for supper tonight? Are they married, or a man-whore? Then the boring questions. What are their hopes and dreams? Do they have kids? Are they holding hands out of habit?
I want to know that other people get the shitty end of the stick, too. Either way, we’re all meat sacks seeping our shit onto the planet. To an extent, it’s true that we hold little to no power. I'm not prone to argue about the power we have, or the societal fuckery that we’ve had to survive. I’d rather bask in the sunlight we don’t pay for.
For a long time, I was painted with guilt by the immeasurable pressure to do better than my childhood. I would play this game with myself as the main character. My raw soul clung to happily never-afters. Envisioning futures all the way down to the gritty details. I found myself obsessed with the mundane activities of a life I could never reach. Balancing the beliefs I feel others have about me. If I obsess over the inner thoughts I’ve put on others, will I ever really be my own version of happy? Can I stop asking these questions long enough for reality to hit?
I've crawled my way out to a point where I see who I really am. The fantasies fade, and life just is. My hair is a brownish red, not 'cymbidium petals landing on my shoulders'. Eyes, just green, not 'admirable serpentines'. I don’t know if I like this person. The egregious energy I wasted has recharged into a woman I'm just getting to know. If I'm admitting this is who I am, how do I stop judging her? If someone spoke their genuine thoughts, what would they say?
"You're pretentious, and egotistical one day; humbled with self-hatred the next. You walk the earth with outward empathy, but we all know how you really feel. We know you question every move, and overanalyze each situation. We know you don’t let yourself trip up. You contemplate your worth when old guilt creeps up. If you make one mistake, we’ll see it on your face forever. Better be careful."
When I reached my peak, I likened myself to a Magellan of the arts. The first discoverer of Chinua Achebe. A radar for jazz, and sad people in need of unsolicited advice. This unnecessary jargon worked like a charm. I became a person others sought out in need of inspiration. Making the most of life, making the most of even the boring parts of life. I accepted our existence for what it is. I’ve admitted I am happy. That energy brought forth everlasting love. I'm too happy.
My dad died after cutting contact for four years.
And when anxiety found me this time, my guard was down, and I didn’t deserve all I'd worked so hard for. They’d changed their minds about me. They screamed the opposite. My words are those of growth and happiness. My thoughts are those of agony, and imposter syndrome. How dare —
The Perils of Indifference
"...And, therefore, indifference is always the friend of the enemy, for it benefits the aggressor—never his victim, whose pain is magnified when he or she feels forgotten. ..."
This is a quote from Elie Wiesel's speech The Perils of Indifference from 1999. In it, he speaks on the horrors of the Holocaust that came with the indifference of the world and that as they welcomed the new millennium, the world should learn. That we should act should this happen again. He spoke optimistically that we would be less insensitive to the plight of victims.
And how I wish I could say he was right. Unfortunately, it isn't the case. Not completely. There are people helping. There are people speaking out. But the world lets it continue.
So have we learned?
So have we gotten better?
I don't know. I don't think anyone does.
But we need to try. Indifference has let this happen, and if we want to make progress, we need to kill indifference. There is no neutrality in this. Neutrality in a situation like this says: "We are complicit. We do not care." But we should care. If genocide happens to them, what will keep it from happening to us?
Remember that when you claim "indifference."
Hatred does not stop.
End the genocide.
Step by Step
What the hell did I step in? And barefoot!
I was stepping spryly from footfall to the next, using my feet to only mobilize. But ambulation requires watching where one steps so spryly. It requires proprioception, knowing when the joints above the feet go awry.
But this lesson was learned much too late. I stepped in it.
It was messy and squishy, oozing between my toes. It smelled. The most malodorous wafts of offensive reality entered my nose to stamp their biochemical signatures onto the olfactory bulbs of my brain.
Who could have left something so foul and rancid? What had transpired to deposit this offensive splotchure splatter, so disgustingly sick, on my personal itinerary?
I needed to know. I had no intentions of ever stepping into this squalid dollop of dastardly disgust again!
I must retrace my steps.
Yes! That's how I will learn the truth. Retrace where I went wrong; where this fetid disproportionate darkness arose.
I went back to the beginning, from the very moment I awoke, sat up, and pivoted on my ischial tuberosities to land my feet — my pristine, clean, well-pedicured, immaculate feet — squarely on the floor.
I resat on my bed. Yes, this is the way to discover the truth, for I could smell the stench from this very spot. How had I missed it the first time?
I arose and perambulated the very path I had taken. Along the way, I discovered the tell-tale piecemeal disrobings of garments unshackled and fallen, en route. Much of it was not even my own! Nor even my own gender's!
What had I done? How had it come to this: the strange trail of a stranger's strange strangeness?
Was I this stranger? Unto myself. When I retraced my own footsteps, I could easily see where I had gone wrong, emblematic of my whole life. My travels' travails left reminders of what I had been at this or that very step. A trail of tears, indeed.
Of course!
That horrible spot, initiating my inquiry, was of my own making. I'd be damned if I would be dealing with it myself! No. I shall leave it for someone else to clean up.