I do some of my best writing at night. When the lights are out and the eyes are closed. Some of the best writing, done without paper. It is the middle of the night, that is when the brain awakens and the body crashes, when they are at odds with each other. Ah! The bones at rest while the mind travels the hills and valleys of time, past present and future all jumbled together dancing around the corners of the night trying to make sense. When the stillness has its chance to breathe, when the darkness weighs, blanketing the pallet in the softness that caresses the tree and hugs the nest. Ah! the mind unencumbered by its earthly coil winding every way, into the valleys and hills of thought, making sense and nonsense of images and words manipulating each into the tapestry of the day, real and unreal melded together. And then the mind turns the image asunder as it approaches slumber, and the thoughts fold together into the darkness of night.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Monday, June 11, 2012
Tennis again
And again the pigs are grunting, and the game loses it's aura, as the champions struggle to roar like lions sounding only, like stuffed pigs.
Is it, are they, the sign of the times, professionally unprofessional. Leaders?
If they are the best of the bunch, what does it look like at the bottom of the pile.
Will Nadal ever get pants that fit, or will doctors fix what is wrong behindhim.
Will maria hear herself.
Will the joker ever become a good sport.
If they are a reflection of us, we are in trouble.
Is it, are they, the sign of the times, professionally unprofessional. Leaders?
If they are the best of the bunch, what does it look like at the bottom of the pile.
Will Nadal ever get pants that fit, or will doctors fix what is wrong behindhim.
Will maria hear herself.
Will the joker ever become a good sport.
If they are a reflection of us, we are in trouble.
CRISIS
Life has a way of testing strength, and will. It has a way to interfere with the usual. It disrupts normal, the life routine, it is as uncontrollable as the weather. The test, it is the ultimate evaluation. Whether an individual prepares for a crisis is not the measure, it is whether or not the individual can withstand the pressures of the annomallies. Can one withstand the difference in the routine that disrupts the daily flow as well as the emotional strain of distress, such as, a dramatic family disruption as caused by a profound illness juggling the emotional distress along with altering routines of life. If an individual that has been in the same routine and environment is transported into a new residence, as in the case of someone moved to assisted living or nursing care, has the problem reestablishing habits for self care, reestablishing the route the brain must take to function. Persons are comfortable with routines they have honed for years, the place where the brain has links to stored things as when needed. It is simple to find the broom, that has been in the same closet for years. Or the brush that has always been on the shelf next to the comb that was bought on vacation years ago, and then the mind wanders to the holiday enjoyed those many years past. But now, the brush on the new shelf has no connection to the vacation long past, the mind has to reroute a link, rewire the site back into the memories. This, is not always possible, and the individual who functioned so well, who was so efficient, can no longer establish the link and therefore cannot make the connection with what to do with the brush, and has totally forgotten the holiday so long ago and so fondly revisited. The time is past, erased, no, disappeared in the furrows of the wiring of the mind and can no longer be recollected. And suddenly the spry senior has aged, withered into the shell of wrinkles and dry skin. The flicker of youth, it's glimmer of energy with the spark struck by the discoveries spent, the flames expired. And the little old person sits waiting for the mind to make a connection to the past, that has, and is stored, the lost years, missing, unremembered, the time spent, withered away like the minutes wasted. The body less agile, the strength waning, the abilities draining, gravity hanging, and the stories that warmed the wintry darkness sit in the closed book of the mind, while the old one waits, for the match to strike the spark of the past that has been carried carefully all these years, the treasured thoughts of yesterday. Together they sit, volumes gathering dust on the shelves of today, in a place with no warmth, no history, no link, no roots. Nothing there but the whisper of the breath slowly slipping into the cloud that drifts by. And the days pass. The images slowly disappear and the old one gets smaller and smaller as all the memories of yesterday dissolve on the air of today. The less remembered the less able, the less important. the less necessary, the less there is, then there is nomore. And the crisis passes to the next generation, not the same issues, no, new issues, their issues, their crisis of the present, as the past drifts by.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Hello Tanzania
Hello Tanzania. The stats say you are reading the post. What are you doing today. Can't figure how you found us. When I think of Africa I see dry plains of dark dirt with huts scattered close together. I see brush where herds of animals graze. I do not consider high speed internet part of the landscape. Just remembering Mr. Gates donating lots of computers, is that how you got here?
Africa, what does one do in Africa, the same as the rest of us, Food, clothing, shelter, everything necessary for health and well being. Work, a job for dollars, to pay the bills. Familly, to share the good times and the bad times.
Tanzania, I know so little about you it makes me ashamed. Of not knowing about peoples and their lives. Such a silly thought. Should I be responsible for knowing everything. Can life elsewhere exist without me knowing. The little child knows nothing exists except what is before their eyes. There is nothing else but the image before them.
I dream of far away places, the towns I will never see, the land I will never walk, the cultures I will never experience. You are out there, and yet to me you do not exist. Only what is before me do I know. What I can touch with my fingers, see with my eyes hear with my ears smell with my nose. My universe is before me.
Do you exist, are you there. where are you. In a town in a home in a safe place. In a happy place. I dream your whole existence, make your world as i want it to be, and I give to you what I want you to have, wealth, health and happiness. I dream your whole existence just because I saw a statistic that said you were here. Puff! You exist, you are now part of my world. Welcome.
Africa, what does one do in Africa, the same as the rest of us, Food, clothing, shelter, everything necessary for health and well being. Work, a job for dollars, to pay the bills. Familly, to share the good times and the bad times.
Tanzania, I know so little about you it makes me ashamed. Of not knowing about peoples and their lives. Such a silly thought. Should I be responsible for knowing everything. Can life elsewhere exist without me knowing. The little child knows nothing exists except what is before their eyes. There is nothing else but the image before them.
I dream of far away places, the towns I will never see, the land I will never walk, the cultures I will never experience. You are out there, and yet to me you do not exist. Only what is before me do I know. What I can touch with my fingers, see with my eyes hear with my ears smell with my nose. My universe is before me.
Do you exist, are you there. where are you. In a town in a home in a safe place. In a happy place. I dream your whole existence, make your world as i want it to be, and I give to you what I want you to have, wealth, health and happiness. I dream your whole existence just because I saw a statistic that said you were here. Puff! You exist, you are now part of my world. Welcome.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
the 500
Quiet, hear the silence, the air is still, nothing moves.
Quiet, the absence of noise, still.
Quiet, not a sound to be made, the birds are at rest, the sun warm. The leaves on the trees do not move, the branch bowing to the green it holds. The soil keeps in place, the ant asleep in its nest.
A day of stillness, with the energy elsewhere, Indianapolis, the noise of the engines thiry laps to go. The crowd enmassed in the heat. The roar of the engines, the pit crews efficient. The test. The spectators waiting, watching, rooting, cheering, focused on the race, ignoring what else. The cars speed by, the excitement mounting. Two hundred miles an hour, we try to imagine, the reflexes, the eyes watching, theirs and ours. Zoom, zoom. The fastest, the most efficient, the person with the skill, with the machine the best, the luckiest. 'Man' taking a test, to be called the best, and we watch and we cheer, all the energy we share. We want them all to win, we are impressed with them all, we dream it is us behind the wheel, and we know we could not do it and we cheer them, those who can. And we wish them well. The test of the best, the fastest, this weekend, the memorial event, the challenge, the test, . Everybody gets by,he spins out of control, circles, the car spins round, and they all miss the spinning machine. What a relief, the skill, the precision, the art. Wow that was great, nobody got hurt, fast thinking, good work, good skill, eighteen laps to go. A commercial breaks the tension, distracts the thought, stops the action.
Quiet, the absence of noise, still.
Quiet, not a sound to be made, the birds are at rest, the sun warm. The leaves on the trees do not move, the branch bowing to the green it holds. The soil keeps in place, the ant asleep in its nest.
A day of stillness, with the energy elsewhere, Indianapolis, the noise of the engines thiry laps to go. The crowd enmassed in the heat. The roar of the engines, the pit crews efficient. The test. The spectators waiting, watching, rooting, cheering, focused on the race, ignoring what else. The cars speed by, the excitement mounting. Two hundred miles an hour, we try to imagine, the reflexes, the eyes watching, theirs and ours. Zoom, zoom. The fastest, the most efficient, the person with the skill, with the machine the best, the luckiest. 'Man' taking a test, to be called the best, and we watch and we cheer, all the energy we share. We want them all to win, we are impressed with them all, we dream it is us behind the wheel, and we know we could not do it and we cheer them, those who can. And we wish them well. The test of the best, the fastest, this weekend, the memorial event, the challenge, the test, . Everybody gets by,he spins out of control, circles, the car spins round, and they all miss the spinning machine. What a relief, the skill, the precision, the art. Wow that was great, nobody got hurt, fast thinking, good work, good skill, eighteen laps to go. A commercial breaks the tension, distracts the thought, stops the action.
memorial
rtgwekig
code, maybe
code, no
gibberish, just the fingers fidgeting
there is nobody out there
we are all alone
it is just me sitting here
with my thoughts
memorial
remember those gone
remember those here
remember
learn from their mistakes
so the mistakes you make are less painful
life, learning to live with the choices we make
life, looking back at what was
life, looking forward, dreaming what might be
life, living in the now
here
the sadness of memorial
the faces gone
those close, now distant
the hugs can't be made
the faces of the past
the smiles of days gone by
the people disappeared
the one's that made things better
the people who brought cheer
are they no longer here?
Are the dead really dead,
are they alive because they are still in our head.
Faces dancing, relatives prancing.
When he is missed, just think, the face appears,
is it him or is it you, alas, he says nothing new.
Flash, a memory from the past, a face long gone by.
Memorial to him to her, to me, to yesterday
and what was to be, the reality of then and the
memory of now. The experience of the past, the way we saw it, changed to the way we want it to be.
Is that the past, or is it the present.
Living in yesterday today, putting them here, at our side. It is getting crowded, we all standing side by side.
The soldier, the sailor, the farmer, the banker the grandma, the cousin, the aunt the uncle. The pieces of our memory, that make us what we be. We needed all of them to come up to me. I would be different if it was not for....
The smile she gave me, the hug from him, the stern look, the scold, the show. We watched their lives, we watched them live, we read the history, now is it us who live, are we pieces of them gathered here, or am I me with memories in me, of who they were and what they did. The stories I tell, the tales I talk, did they happen, or did I dream them. Are you really there, do you know what it is you hear. Do we read it as it was written or do we make our own rules. Do we translate correctly, what in fact is correctly. Things happen, we see them from the corner of our eye, are we color blind or is that the color it is. Nothing is real. We make it real, only because we believe it is real. We make believe it is real.
We make the memorial, we make the memory, we make it the way we want it. no matter what it was, we make it the way we want it.
Our memorial, the faces the way we want to see them, the faces we want to see, Only those that are treasures to you and to me. The rest we never see.
The other memory, yours, not me.
Someone special, someone important, our treasures we remember, those we keep as memory. Treasures we hold, lessons we learned. Hearts, we need, hearts we break. We remember what was important, we remember what we want to give back. We give back what we want others to remember, what was important to us.
How about the bad guy. Lets memorialize the bad guy, because without them there would be no good guy.
Those we celebrate, who are they, why do we celebrate them. Some we celebrate we can not exalt without their alter ego.
But no, not today. We think about them, those we cherish, in our minds eye we love and hug them, because they make us and they made us feel better, feel good. They gave to our lives that which we needed to feel better about ourselves, to feel good about ourselves. They have given to us and we celebrate their gift. Memorial, we remember receiving something special, something only they had to give, something we are counting, that has added to our lives. We celebrate what we receive because it has made us bigger and grander.
Usually not, do we receive, on this day we celebrate we laud we count, that which we got, and not what was taken. And we hope someone remembers to give and not receive, to touch us for the better, and not take, wanting to receive. We want for all to feel better, and it is them we remember, those who have given, from whom we did receive.
To them we are grateful, to them we salute, to them we wish, some day, some one will celebrate us in memorial.
code, maybe
code, no
gibberish, just the fingers fidgeting
there is nobody out there
we are all alone
it is just me sitting here
with my thoughts
memorial
remember those gone
remember those here
remember
learn from their mistakes
so the mistakes you make are less painful
life, learning to live with the choices we make
life, looking back at what was
life, looking forward, dreaming what might be
life, living in the now
here
the sadness of memorial
the faces gone
those close, now distant
the hugs can't be made
the faces of the past
the smiles of days gone by
the people disappeared
the one's that made things better
the people who brought cheer
are they no longer here?
Are the dead really dead,
are they alive because they are still in our head.
Faces dancing, relatives prancing.
When he is missed, just think, the face appears,
is it him or is it you, alas, he says nothing new.
Flash, a memory from the past, a face long gone by.
Memorial to him to her, to me, to yesterday
and what was to be, the reality of then and the
memory of now. The experience of the past, the way we saw it, changed to the way we want it to be.
Is that the past, or is it the present.
Living in yesterday today, putting them here, at our side. It is getting crowded, we all standing side by side.
The soldier, the sailor, the farmer, the banker the grandma, the cousin, the aunt the uncle. The pieces of our memory, that make us what we be. We needed all of them to come up to me. I would be different if it was not for....
The smile she gave me, the hug from him, the stern look, the scold, the show. We watched their lives, we watched them live, we read the history, now is it us who live, are we pieces of them gathered here, or am I me with memories in me, of who they were and what they did. The stories I tell, the tales I talk, did they happen, or did I dream them. Are you really there, do you know what it is you hear. Do we read it as it was written or do we make our own rules. Do we translate correctly, what in fact is correctly. Things happen, we see them from the corner of our eye, are we color blind or is that the color it is. Nothing is real. We make it real, only because we believe it is real. We make believe it is real.
We make the memorial, we make the memory, we make it the way we want it. no matter what it was, we make it the way we want it.
Our memorial, the faces the way we want to see them, the faces we want to see, Only those that are treasures to you and to me. The rest we never see.
The other memory, yours, not me.
Someone special, someone important, our treasures we remember, those we keep as memory. Treasures we hold, lessons we learned. Hearts, we need, hearts we break. We remember what was important, we remember what we want to give back. We give back what we want others to remember, what was important to us.
How about the bad guy. Lets memorialize the bad guy, because without them there would be no good guy.
Those we celebrate, who are they, why do we celebrate them. Some we celebrate we can not exalt without their alter ego.
But no, not today. We think about them, those we cherish, in our minds eye we love and hug them, because they make us and they made us feel better, feel good. They gave to our lives that which we needed to feel better about ourselves, to feel good about ourselves. They have given to us and we celebrate their gift. Memorial, we remember receiving something special, something only they had to give, something we are counting, that has added to our lives. We celebrate what we receive because it has made us bigger and grander.
Usually not, do we receive, on this day we celebrate we laud we count, that which we got, and not what was taken. And we hope someone remembers to give and not receive, to touch us for the better, and not take, wanting to receive. We want for all to feel better, and it is them we remember, those who have given, from whom we did receive.
To them we are grateful, to them we salute, to them we wish, some day, some one will celebrate us in memorial.
Friday, May 18, 2012
"We never really die, we just change."
The title is a quote from the movie "The Bitter Tea of General Yen", (1933). A predictable love story about a Chinese general and an American Missionary, Barbara Stanwyck in a tender role which she plays with a gentleness uncharacteristic of roles cast later in her career.
Aside from the anomaly of Ms. Stanwycks character the film portrays the east/west misinterpretation or misrepresentation that is also true of western culture today, and the assumptions acted upon.
While a word of caution to cultures, as a clash in communication, needs, wants and sensibilities flavor the sets as well as the dialogue there is blossoming of art and nature budding throughout, coloring the black and white with the spring of existence. This film links the chains of DNA as one road everything travels.
Written by Edward E. Paramore Jr. and directed by Frank Capra with an international cast to compliment the theme of everything as one.
When confronting the finality of life a quote like, "We never really die, we just change" is a soothing tea to drink.
Monday, May 14, 2012
What we do
The terror of childhood is the thought of losing the anchor. That link with reality and security. The fear that the parents will die. It shapes the days and haunts the nights until adolescence, for at that time the wish is for the parents to die, for the young person to shed it's dependence and fly on it's own. It is the cry for freedom without the skill or knowledge to survive in the world, but the primal peak of puberty pushing for independence. When, then, the individual reaches adult and realizes that in fact the parents will die, and the mind begins to grapple with the inevitable.
As time passes, the individual then becomes aware of the ticking clock of his own mortality and chooses how to face the time. Choosing whether or not to ignore the inevitable or to prepare to put things in order or to leave a mess for someone else to clean up.
Decisions to be made, to clean up the circumstances of one's life, to put things in order, to sort through the years and the accumulation of unfinished business. The need to arrange for what is left behind.
The inevitable reflection on the years past and how they were played, the persons along the way that influenced the choices, and the choosing of choices whether helpful or unhelpful in living a life as one would have wished the life to be lived.
The dreams unfulfilled, the hearts broken, the legacy of a lifetime.
As the muscles sag, the hair thins, the wrinkles appear, the days lived are relived. without warning, the images coalesce into a past time, a different person, the same person. The visions of the drifting snow of memories snowball into days and years relived, and the decision to accept success or failure for those times. The judgement day we all hear about, but it is we who are the judge, we are the jury of our lives and how well we have lived them. We sit at the trial of our lives and pass judgement on ourselves and whether or not we have used our time wisely. For it is then, our time is up, and we have no more moments to rebuild repair or replay the days of our lives.
Friday, May 11, 2012
I
I am just a memory
a little bit of time
wrapped in a package
with a ribbon of days to remember.
The weave, stroked and coddled
by the edge of experience colored
with the threads of blue skies, white clouds
and misty nights.
I am just a memory
laces of laughter with drips of tears
then, more of the same.
A quilt of feelings wrap the surface
while warming the core.
I am just a memory
wrapped.
Stitched in place with patches of good and bad,
also colors of illusion and shades of reality.
Embroidered with a texture of damp musty visions
of the land, sea, stars and sunshine on a bed of
a little bit of time
wrapped in a package
with a ribbon of days to remember.
The weave, stroked and coddled
by the edge of experience colored
with the threads of blue skies, white clouds
and misty nights.
I am just a memory
laces of laughter with drips of tears
then, more of the same.
A quilt of feelings wrap the surface
while warming the core.
I am just a memory
wrapped.
Stitched in place with patches of good and bad,
also colors of illusion and shades of reality.
Embroidered with a texture of damp musty visions
of the land, sea, stars and sunshine on a bed of
reality near the chair of meaning.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
No is the worst word I have ever heard
No gets the wall erected immediately
No stops everything in it's tracks
No is what you do not want to hear
No to everything
No more
No less
No where
No how
No way
No thing
NO NO NO
If you do not ask
You will not hear
the dreaded word
the door close
the end of discussion
the end of thought
the end
How many times a day do you say
NO
Does it feel like the end of a link
Does it feel like a shut down, a door closing
and end, the end
Maybe the word should be outlawed
How many brainstorms were thwarted
How many great inventions died
How many cures undiscovered
because some jerk said NO
No gets the wall erected immediately
No stops everything in it's tracks
No is what you do not want to hear
No to everything
No more
No less
No where
No how
No way
No thing
NO NO NO
If you do not ask
You will not hear
the dreaded word
the door close
the end of discussion
the end of thought
the end
How many times a day do you say
NO
Does it feel like the end of a link
Does it feel like a shut down, a door closing
and end, the end
Maybe the word should be outlawed
How many brainstorms were thwarted
How many great inventions died
How many cures undiscovered
because some jerk said NO
Thursday, May 3, 2012
kindness
Being blunt is not necessarily what people want to hear when they are in the mood for pity and sympathy but when aging some of us are more inclined to be rudely honest or blunt. Our time is getting shorter and we find the fastest way to get the job done but we are not diplomats.
That is a fault of narccists. Me included. I have not learned the skill of selling. I have more importantly, important to myself of course, found the solution to a problem and relish that success. Not being able to convert the information to a sales pitch is a short coming.
For example, someone disabled went to a wedding and was bummed out by discovering that another person with the same disability was at the wedding. Ruined the whole event for the person. My comment was that the person was simply changing the event to making it about themself, instead of en joying the event. A purely selfish move, also, a waste of a perfectly good time. Also, a mistake because in life there are more bad times than good times for disabled individuals so it was doubly wasted. What is the good of wasting a good time to feel bad. Save feeling bad for when you truly do feel bad. A wedding is a time to celebrate, it is a perfect excuse to celebrate. Celebrating is a time for the body to feel good. Like the song says, everybody, be happy. After the wedding you can feel as unhappy as you want. Besides the newly weds need all the good karma they can get, especially in these difficult times. Put yourself aside and share their joy.
That is a fault of narccists. Me included. I have not learned the skill of selling. I have more importantly, important to myself of course, found the solution to a problem and relish that success. Not being able to convert the information to a sales pitch is a short coming.
For example, someone disabled went to a wedding and was bummed out by discovering that another person with the same disability was at the wedding. Ruined the whole event for the person. My comment was that the person was simply changing the event to making it about themself, instead of en joying the event. A purely selfish move, also, a waste of a perfectly good time. Also, a mistake because in life there are more bad times than good times for disabled individuals so it was doubly wasted. What is the good of wasting a good time to feel bad. Save feeling bad for when you truly do feel bad. A wedding is a time to celebrate, it is a perfect excuse to celebrate. Celebrating is a time for the body to feel good. Like the song says, everybody, be happy. After the wedding you can feel as unhappy as you want. Besides the newly weds need all the good karma they can get, especially in these difficult times. Put yourself aside and share their joy.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Dumb
Watching track and field on tv is good. It is exciting to see the test their best. They focus on the goal and give it everything they've got, making us feel like we are there and that we are the entrants. As they run around the field we see their form, the way they hold their bodies moving their arms and legs smoothly. Leo Monzano, the smallest person on the track, beating legs, the other runners had twice or it seemed like twice the length of leg than he, and he, as he said, "it was a struggle".
When the race was completed, without giving the guy a chance to breathe, some announcer was in his face, expecting conversation. The guy, Leo(the lion) gasping for air, gasping between words. You see his chest heaving as his lungs grasped every breath to reguveniate his lungs and body with oxygen. The question is: Why must the news media force themselves on entrants at the end of a race or competition, and not give the athlete an opportunity to compose themselves. Why don't they interview them after a shower, when they are capable of communicating. Especially getting ready for olympic competition, these people should have the right to take care of themselves first, then, give more of their time, to their fans. Is it not enought to watch these people compete, stripped to the barest, and tested to the limit, then sweating, sucking in fuel to restore themselves, and then, with camera and interviewer stuck in their face. How about a little respect, or regard. Let them do their job, keeping themselves safe is part of their job, after competing give them some room, to ponder their performance, to get their breath.
Or, does the media want us to see how much of the individual has been spent in competition, do they want us to see the bodies struggle to repair and replace its self. To see the muscles expand and contract into normal mode. Like when the runner with a face that is poised to exhaustion with overhelming pain as the legs collapse and the runner drops to the floor crying in pain as the muscles become rigid. What do they want?
When the race was completed, without giving the guy a chance to breathe, some announcer was in his face, expecting conversation. The guy, Leo(the lion) gasping for air, gasping between words. You see his chest heaving as his lungs grasped every breath to reguveniate his lungs and body with oxygen. The question is: Why must the news media force themselves on entrants at the end of a race or competition, and not give the athlete an opportunity to compose themselves. Why don't they interview them after a shower, when they are capable of communicating. Especially getting ready for olympic competition, these people should have the right to take care of themselves first, then, give more of their time, to their fans. Is it not enought to watch these people compete, stripped to the barest, and tested to the limit, then sweating, sucking in fuel to restore themselves, and then, with camera and interviewer stuck in their face. How about a little respect, or regard. Let them do their job, keeping themselves safe is part of their job, after competing give them some room, to ponder their performance, to get their breath.
Or, does the media want us to see how much of the individual has been spent in competition, do they want us to see the bodies struggle to repair and replace its self. To see the muscles expand and contract into normal mode. Like when the runner with a face that is poised to exhaustion with overhelming pain as the legs collapse and the runner drops to the floor crying in pain as the muscles become rigid. What do they want?
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
wHY
Why do you not have pride in what you are doing?It's a dumb job.
Why don't you quit?
I need the money.
Then why don't you do a good job?
I just mow the dumb lawn.
But, why do you not take pride in what you are doing?
I want to do something else.
So why don't you do something else?
There are no other jobs, this is the only thing I could get.
Then why do you spend your time doing a mediocre job?
They don't pay me enough.
So you are doing a job you do not like, for less money than you think the job is worth, and you are doing a lousy job of it.
Yeah, so what of it?
Should you not be doing a good job of it, mowing the lawn.
Why?
Because you said you would.
No I didn't. I just said I would mow.
OK, then, why do you spend your time making garbage?
What do you mean garbage, I'm mowing the lawn.
Yeah, but you are missing plenty of spots.
So, what if I am.
So, how does that make you feel about yourself?
Fine, how else should I feel about myself?
Cheap for one.
Who you calling cheap?
I didn't call you cheap, I just said you should feel cheap because you are not doing your best.
How do you know I am not doing my best?
You do not look like you feel good about yourself.
Me? I feel fine.
Oh, you like wasting your time doing less than your best, letting people see how little you think of yourself by not doing your very best all the time. If you always spend your time doing less than your best you get into the habit of doing less than your best and become sloppy all the time.
Says who?
Look in the mirror, see your hair is a mess and your shirt has stains on it.
I am mowing the lawn, I get dirty mowing the lawn.
If you say so.
Hey, what is it to you anyway?
I don't like to see a lawn that is not kept well, it offends my sense of art and beauty.
You're crazy.
If you say so. But, I do not have the look on my face that you have. And I can look everyone in the eye. You have not looked me in the eye. You can not look me in the eye. You must be hiding something or are ashamed. I am at peace with myself, I feel good about myself and I do my best all that time. I have no regrets about my day, and am pleased about how I spend the little time I have. If you think about it, all you have is time, and how you spend the time you have, is all you have to feel good about yourself. If you do less than your best you are cheating yourself.
What are you talking about?
Time is all you have. As the days go by and the time you have had begins to add up you look back on the years and ask yourself, what have I done with the time I have had. Have I made the most of my days, have I done my best, can I say I have done every thing I wanted to do? Have I done everything I could do? Can I look myself in the eye and say I have not wasted any of my time and with what I have been given I have done as much as I could have done. Without all the ifs; if I had a better education, if I had money, if i was better looking etc.
With eveytHing I have I have done the most and the best I can do. Maybe for some it is not good enough, but for me, I have done my very best all the time, and that is all I can ever do.
You're CRAZY!
Why don't you quit?
I need the money.
Then why don't you do a good job?
I just mow the dumb lawn.
But, why do you not take pride in what you are doing?
I want to do something else.
So why don't you do something else?
There are no other jobs, this is the only thing I could get.
Then why do you spend your time doing a mediocre job?
They don't pay me enough.
So you are doing a job you do not like, for less money than you think the job is worth, and you are doing a lousy job of it.
Yeah, so what of it?
Should you not be doing a good job of it, mowing the lawn.
Why?
Because you said you would.
No I didn't. I just said I would mow.
OK, then, why do you spend your time making garbage?
What do you mean garbage, I'm mowing the lawn.
Yeah, but you are missing plenty of spots.
So, what if I am.
So, how does that make you feel about yourself?
Fine, how else should I feel about myself?
Cheap for one.
Who you calling cheap?
I didn't call you cheap, I just said you should feel cheap because you are not doing your best.
How do you know I am not doing my best?
You do not look like you feel good about yourself.
Me? I feel fine.
Oh, you like wasting your time doing less than your best, letting people see how little you think of yourself by not doing your very best all the time. If you always spend your time doing less than your best you get into the habit of doing less than your best and become sloppy all the time.
Says who?
Look in the mirror, see your hair is a mess and your shirt has stains on it.
I am mowing the lawn, I get dirty mowing the lawn.
If you say so.
Hey, what is it to you anyway?
I don't like to see a lawn that is not kept well, it offends my sense of art and beauty.
You're crazy.
If you say so. But, I do not have the look on my face that you have. And I can look everyone in the eye. You have not looked me in the eye. You can not look me in the eye. You must be hiding something or are ashamed. I am at peace with myself, I feel good about myself and I do my best all that time. I have no regrets about my day, and am pleased about how I spend the little time I have. If you think about it, all you have is time, and how you spend the time you have, is all you have to feel good about yourself. If you do less than your best you are cheating yourself.
What are you talking about?
Time is all you have. As the days go by and the time you have had begins to add up you look back on the years and ask yourself, what have I done with the time I have had. Have I made the most of my days, have I done my best, can I say I have done every thing I wanted to do? Have I done everything I could do? Can I look myself in the eye and say I have not wasted any of my time and with what I have been given I have done as much as I could have done. Without all the ifs; if I had a better education, if I had money, if i was better looking etc.
With eveytHing I have I have done the most and the best I can do. Maybe for some it is not good enough, but for me, I have done my very best all the time, and that is all I can ever do.
You're CRAZY!
Monday, April 23, 2012
gone
Gone are the days of investment. The days when corporations sunk dollars into research and development, when discovery was the goal of every board. Derivatives, the tool advertised on wall street to skim money from the investment arena has changed the weather in the world. No one saves for a rainy day or tomorrow or the new toaster given away by the savings bank. When was the last time you heard of a savings bank, 1950? Yes, no one has any money to save, the cost of everything has skyrocketed to the moon, maybe that is why Mr Gingrich wants to go there. Information technology has advanced and fallen backwards, television is no longer king, it has fallen by the wayside, it has wasted it's arena on trite dribble aimed at the vapid empty heads. It is a shame, it was the perfect venue to educate and amuse the masses, now all it does is give headaches. Noise is its song.
Radio was king for a very long time, then the radio stations and its advertisers stopped spending money on its listeners. Stories on the radio was the greatest venue for the mind. The Shadow was a radio program that was fascinating. That was in the day when people listened with their ears. They would hear the sound effects and be transported into the world of imagination, The minds eye would paint the picture from the words. It was a very personal experience, every minds eye would imagine the scenery the players and the story. Children in their beds would listen quietly to every creak of a footstep or door, they would imagine the weight of the foot or the shoe as it landed on each step and they would design the door that closed, designed even the doorknob that turned. Now on the radio ...
Maybe it is simply, there is no longer an investment in beauty, it is only grab what you can while you can. Maybe it has to do with overpopulation, people being less important because there are now so many of us, we are down to the utility of it all, back to basics even though the markets are flooded with everything imaginable to entertain and amuse us, we no longer amuse ourselves. Fewer people whistle or play the harmonica, tap dancing is becoming a lost art. Storytelling is mostly written books or kindle.
Ed Sullivan was a great entertainer. He gave us a little bit of everything, dancing, singing, acrobatics, clowns, comedians, animal acts, musicians, variety. He educated us all to the charms of the rest of the world. Now on tv it is fragmented, programs are twenty minutes of advertising and forty minutes of the same thing. Except the news, the news never shows us what is going on in the world they tell us what is going on, from an editorial point of view. They do the thinking for us and tell us how to feel about the story they are reporting. Some of their favorite adjectives are: scary, terrible, horrible, frightening.
Yes, there is no longer any investment in the future. No one has given us any tools to learn how to imagine a future, one that we might want to live in, and we have not any idea how to design one for ourselves, so we are grabbing what we can, before it is all gone.
Radio was king for a very long time, then the radio stations and its advertisers stopped spending money on its listeners. Stories on the radio was the greatest venue for the mind. The Shadow was a radio program that was fascinating. That was in the day when people listened with their ears. They would hear the sound effects and be transported into the world of imagination, The minds eye would paint the picture from the words. It was a very personal experience, every minds eye would imagine the scenery the players and the story. Children in their beds would listen quietly to every creak of a footstep or door, they would imagine the weight of the foot or the shoe as it landed on each step and they would design the door that closed, designed even the doorknob that turned. Now on the radio ...
Maybe it is simply, there is no longer an investment in beauty, it is only grab what you can while you can. Maybe it has to do with overpopulation, people being less important because there are now so many of us, we are down to the utility of it all, back to basics even though the markets are flooded with everything imaginable to entertain and amuse us, we no longer amuse ourselves. Fewer people whistle or play the harmonica, tap dancing is becoming a lost art. Storytelling is mostly written books or kindle.
Ed Sullivan was a great entertainer. He gave us a little bit of everything, dancing, singing, acrobatics, clowns, comedians, animal acts, musicians, variety. He educated us all to the charms of the rest of the world. Now on tv it is fragmented, programs are twenty minutes of advertising and forty minutes of the same thing. Except the news, the news never shows us what is going on in the world they tell us what is going on, from an editorial point of view. They do the thinking for us and tell us how to feel about the story they are reporting. Some of their favorite adjectives are: scary, terrible, horrible, frightening.
Yes, there is no longer any investment in the future. No one has given us any tools to learn how to imagine a future, one that we might want to live in, and we have not any idea how to design one for ourselves, so we are grabbing what we can, before it is all gone.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
eyes
If you look into my eyes you will see my soul.
Not the soul I was born with, but the one that has been wrought by many years of tears. You will see the hurt caused by injustice or malice. There is also the scar of abuse and the wounds of neglect. And the bruises from dominance and repression. Then there are the marks made by the whips of jealousy from the peers who thought my life was better than theirs.
Look closely and the sea of troubles roars to the shore washing away the youth leaving behind the age of wisdom preferring ignorance to the harms. The sea is gone but the waves have eroded every instance of whimsy and humor. The jokes laughed at are the sarcasms of the dungeon of despair, the days and nights left to the shell of who I was. There is no more to look forward to, there is no night in shining armour to rescue me, the battle has been fought, the war ended , the bruises healed, the wounds disappeared, the life lived, the last of the life left to live, the time growing short. Days they are numbered, little more to do, little left to do it with. Life has been here, has trampled the path, worn ruts into the road wasting away the foundation, the sparkle the glitter, the enthusiasm. Little is left, but to watch the time go by, sit in the chair and remember, and forget, the life that was here, now going there.
Not the soul I was born with, but the one that has been wrought by many years of tears. You will see the hurt caused by injustice or malice. There is also the scar of abuse and the wounds of neglect. And the bruises from dominance and repression. Then there are the marks made by the whips of jealousy from the peers who thought my life was better than theirs.
Look closely and the sea of troubles roars to the shore washing away the youth leaving behind the age of wisdom preferring ignorance to the harms. The sea is gone but the waves have eroded every instance of whimsy and humor. The jokes laughed at are the sarcasms of the dungeon of despair, the days and nights left to the shell of who I was. There is no more to look forward to, there is no night in shining armour to rescue me, the battle has been fought, the war ended , the bruises healed, the wounds disappeared, the life lived, the last of the life left to live, the time growing short. Days they are numbered, little more to do, little left to do it with. Life has been here, has trampled the path, worn ruts into the road wasting away the foundation, the sparkle the glitter, the enthusiasm. Little is left, but to watch the time go by, sit in the chair and remember, and forget, the life that was here, now going there.
Monday, April 16, 2012
History Channel Titanic at 100
So they call this a documentary and mix in fantasy. Most of the ten minutes I saw was not the Titanic but the people who did the work, the problems they had and the obstacles. False advertising personified, sensational erroneous work. If they had made a different title for the program, say, working towards Titanic, or the men who went for the Titanic.But instead they show make believe and call it documentary. They mention passengers and make up stories about what these people might have done. Then they show holographic design pieces of what these pieces look like and where they belong. If they say they are going to show us the Titanic, then , show us the Titanic. Lies don't work. They have garnered more ill will with their misrepresentation. Roger Mudd would not approve. The music also added to the tension. They turned me off so I turned them off.
The mystique of the Titanic, those persons perishing into the frozen waters all washed away by the History Channel and the insulting performance they attempted to pass among the people. If you are not angry you should be. You should be sick and tired of all the hoaxes trying to be perpetrated upon us. Too bad package deals are made for the channels, it, the History Channel, deserves to be dropped for this program. Misrepresentation is the same as lies. Ginger and MaryAnn made stars with fake representations of what might have been. Someone should be fired, without pay, and History Channel you should be ashamed, you have lost your credibility.
The mystique of the Titanic, those persons perishing into the frozen waters all washed away by the History Channel and the insulting performance they attempted to pass among the people. If you are not angry you should be. You should be sick and tired of all the hoaxes trying to be perpetrated upon us. Too bad package deals are made for the channels, it, the History Channel, deserves to be dropped for this program. Misrepresentation is the same as lies. Ginger and MaryAnn made stars with fake representations of what might have been. Someone should be fired, without pay, and History Channel you should be ashamed, you have lost your credibility.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
LIES
Politicians lie all the time, they make promises they can not deliver and no one holds them accountable except to not elect them. They say that when they are elected they will do this and they will do that. And when they get into office they find out the reality of the job, the en bedded cronies that run the machines of government that tell them what they can and can not do, or who has to be paid to get what. Or whose palm has to be brushed to get something.
And we the public know this, yet we elect candidates based upon the lies we prefer to hear. I will fix this or I will fix that or i will eliminate that. Seldom do we hear the truth. The government of the United States is based upon a system of compromise. A politician will vote for another politician's bill if the other politician will do something for the other politician in return. They are all making deals for their constituents, as well as for themselves. It is at scandal proportion now, the wealth en massed by the politicians in office, while the infrastructure of America is failing and the populace is in the throes of poverty, with millions unemployed, and more millions underemployed, and more mouths hungry leads us to nightmares.
America is more a third world country, brought to it's knees by greed and fear. Politicians robbing the populace and external forces scaring them to ignorance and fantasy. There are more people praying for salvation that there are thinking people. They are praying for solutions instead of educating themselves. They are burying themselves in the dark ages of hocus pocus magic. It is no longer the land of the free and the brave. We have become slaves to ignorance and fear controlled by greed and want. A perfect potion for danger and volatile weather.
Let's blame. Let's blame anyone, instead of taking responsibility for ourselves and our environment. It is easy that way. It is not my fault. It is your fault. And that will solve everything. And then we will be back to when this was a land of plenty of opportunity. Helpful isn't it, the pass the buck mentality to solving the ills of the world.
Everybody is right, nobody is wrong and yet nothing is getting better. The world is more populated , as opposed to saying that the world is getting smaller. All these people have different ideas and wants and dreams, and some of us will have our dreams come true, and the illusion is that we have the right to pursue our happiness. Without the tools there is no road to utopia. Lies don't work, and when politicians and people realize that, things will be a little better for all of us.
We are grown ups who can handle the truth and would much prefer truth, like Hal in "2001 A Space Odyssey" lies don't work.
And we the public know this, yet we elect candidates based upon the lies we prefer to hear. I will fix this or I will fix that or i will eliminate that. Seldom do we hear the truth. The government of the United States is based upon a system of compromise. A politician will vote for another politician's bill if the other politician will do something for the other politician in return. They are all making deals for their constituents, as well as for themselves. It is at scandal proportion now, the wealth en massed by the politicians in office, while the infrastructure of America is failing and the populace is in the throes of poverty, with millions unemployed, and more millions underemployed, and more mouths hungry leads us to nightmares.
America is more a third world country, brought to it's knees by greed and fear. Politicians robbing the populace and external forces scaring them to ignorance and fantasy. There are more people praying for salvation that there are thinking people. They are praying for solutions instead of educating themselves. They are burying themselves in the dark ages of hocus pocus magic. It is no longer the land of the free and the brave. We have become slaves to ignorance and fear controlled by greed and want. A perfect potion for danger and volatile weather.
Let's blame. Let's blame anyone, instead of taking responsibility for ourselves and our environment. It is easy that way. It is not my fault. It is your fault. And that will solve everything. And then we will be back to when this was a land of plenty of opportunity. Helpful isn't it, the pass the buck mentality to solving the ills of the world.
Everybody is right, nobody is wrong and yet nothing is getting better. The world is more populated , as opposed to saying that the world is getting smaller. All these people have different ideas and wants and dreams, and some of us will have our dreams come true, and the illusion is that we have the right to pursue our happiness. Without the tools there is no road to utopia. Lies don't work, and when politicians and people realize that, things will be a little better for all of us.
We are grown ups who can handle the truth and would much prefer truth, like Hal in "2001 A Space Odyssey" lies don't work.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
fatigue
Ever notice all the mistakes made when tired, they seem to be simple faux pas' that should have been caught by the naked eye. But the eye is dulled by the dreams of slumber and the mind continues to wander through the thoughts of the day or the task at hand. Some can control the mind to stop before the eye blinks into dream land, for others the eye drifts to the shores of another design, planning and scheming what should be, transposing numbers omitting letters and skipping pages. Reading is grand, the minds eye sees, the lips whisper and the image disappears before it opens the door to be filed in the brain, yet we continue reading, oft times, for pages, before the shutters slam the lids closed.
There was a guy who walked in his sleep, eyes wide open. He would always travel the same route. From his bed to the next bedroom to stand before the window, gazing into nowhere seeing nothing, then after a time return to whence he came. Upon waking in the morning and hearing of his nightly travels would laugh in disbelief and accuse his speakers of falsehood.
Then there was the woman who for three nights dreamt of a man who entered here home. Each morning she would wake in sweats, the home safe. Until, one day she entered her apartment when returning from work, to find it had been broken into and the little she had, was taken from her.
Another woman, aggrieved after the sudden loss of her lover, saw him at the door in her apartment, standing tall. Again she saw him at his funeral, seated behind his friend.
Then there are the times when seated, exhausted, so tired you can not sleep, but too tired to do anything you just sit there in a stupor, eyes open, seeing nothing, doing nothing. Not awake, not asleep, in a limbo between the two worlds.
You have undoubtedly seen the child fall asleep eating, the immediate shut down when enough fuel has been consumed, moving the body on to the next need.
There was a woman who once fell asleep standing up holding the strap on a crowded subway train, with the jostling motion and the shrill screech of the the metal wheels dragged along the metal tracks.
How about the person asleep with eyes open, that is a strange one. You carry on a conversation and there is no one there listening.
What about the dream you think is reality. The task though about the night before is dreamt about during the night and the disappointment upon arising to find the task undone, to be done anew.
It begs one to wonder, in fact are they all dreams, it is all the minds sorting during slumber that leads us to think we are awake when in fact we are walking in our sleep.
Do you know if you are awake. Is this really a dream. Can this be real. Pinch me. No matter how hard you look, will you ever know, what is unreal, and what is real. Many a criminal has been set free, for we know not exactly what we see.
There was a guy who walked in his sleep, eyes wide open. He would always travel the same route. From his bed to the next bedroom to stand before the window, gazing into nowhere seeing nothing, then after a time return to whence he came. Upon waking in the morning and hearing of his nightly travels would laugh in disbelief and accuse his speakers of falsehood.
Then there was the woman who for three nights dreamt of a man who entered here home. Each morning she would wake in sweats, the home safe. Until, one day she entered her apartment when returning from work, to find it had been broken into and the little she had, was taken from her.
Another woman, aggrieved after the sudden loss of her lover, saw him at the door in her apartment, standing tall. Again she saw him at his funeral, seated behind his friend.
Then there are the times when seated, exhausted, so tired you can not sleep, but too tired to do anything you just sit there in a stupor, eyes open, seeing nothing, doing nothing. Not awake, not asleep, in a limbo between the two worlds.
You have undoubtedly seen the child fall asleep eating, the immediate shut down when enough fuel has been consumed, moving the body on to the next need.
There was a woman who once fell asleep standing up holding the strap on a crowded subway train, with the jostling motion and the shrill screech of the the metal wheels dragged along the metal tracks.
How about the person asleep with eyes open, that is a strange one. You carry on a conversation and there is no one there listening.
What about the dream you think is reality. The task though about the night before is dreamt about during the night and the disappointment upon arising to find the task undone, to be done anew.
It begs one to wonder, in fact are they all dreams, it is all the minds sorting during slumber that leads us to think we are awake when in fact we are walking in our sleep.
Do you know if you are awake. Is this really a dream. Can this be real. Pinch me. No matter how hard you look, will you ever know, what is unreal, and what is real. Many a criminal has been set free, for we know not exactly what we see.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Getting Old
This is getting old
The fingers stiff
The legs unsure
The memory missing
The teeth missing
The eyesight fading
The hearing waning
The bowels sluggish
The bladder overactive
The skin is dry
The nails brittle
The hair thinning
The muscles weakening
When young we look forward
When old we look backward
The time goes by so quickly?
It was only yesterday, when we thought of ourself as a spry chicken, when full of energy, ready and able to do everything. When everything was easy.
The balloon is filled with air, it is secured shut, yet, drip drip drip, the balloon begins to sag. It grows smaller and smaller. Nothing has changed, except time. Drip Drip, the balloon again becomes the skin with no air within.
And such is life, it inflates and it expands, the mind ever expanding with data, the body willing, able and agile.
Perhaps, it is simply a game of musical chairs, we each get a chance to seat, and once the music again begins, we each get a chance to lose to seat.
The fingers stiff
The legs unsure
The memory missing
The teeth missing
The eyesight fading
The hearing waning
The bowels sluggish
The bladder overactive
The skin is dry
The nails brittle
The hair thinning
The muscles weakening
When young we look forward
When old we look backward
The time goes by so quickly?
It was only yesterday, when we thought of ourself as a spry chicken, when full of energy, ready and able to do everything. When everything was easy.
The balloon is filled with air, it is secured shut, yet, drip drip drip, the balloon begins to sag. It grows smaller and smaller. Nothing has changed, except time. Drip Drip, the balloon again becomes the skin with no air within.
And such is life, it inflates and it expands, the mind ever expanding with data, the body willing, able and agile.
Perhaps, it is simply a game of musical chairs, we each get a chance to seat, and once the music again begins, we each get a chance to lose to seat.
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