Thoughts

Some of the random thoughts I’ve written down to remember, or made up on the spot …I don’t remember the spot, but I’m sure I must have been there. There’s more from where these were culled and electronically reproduced, I’m sure.

Thoughts

The Spirit of Life shines brightest in those who have the least to give, yet who still give with generosity.

I may not have much but I am willing to share with those who have less.

‘Twas the night before Christmas and I went to bed.

Culling the tallow at simultaneous extremities.

The silent alarm is ringing.

He’s a few drops of water short of a puddle.

How would you like your statistic to be slanted?

Turning the corner on confusion, I stroll down the lane and arrive at my destination in time to wonder where I am.

Corporatopoly

Fighting illness taxes my dwindling resources to their exhausted limit, and I’m sick and tired of it.

Dulce et decorum erstwhile.

Duplicitous, equivocating society

Caught in the spur of the momentum.

My fears keep me company in times of insecurity.

An advanced retreat

There are weirdoes among us

Lazy fare ergonomics

Caught in the surface reflections of a chitterchat mind

Like the Cheshire Potato, where all you see are its eyes, just because you aren’t looking for something doesn’t mean you won’t find it.

Trapped in the identical version of two different stories

Sally forth to plunge head long and mind short into the door of opportunity and dreams come true: closed for repairs.

To date, this is the oldest I’ve ever been.

Euphoric, me Tarzan.

Compassion exists for those not known as well as for those we care for and are responsible for.

Compassion is caring about those you may not care for.

Perfection is a concept by which we define things as we would like them and not necessarily as they are. Everything is perfectly itself.

Spam: delete it or eat it.

Bold trepidation

I believe I see the source of your problem: your parents met.

Since the company payroll department has gone paperless, I am mailed an empty pay envelope. However, I have not noticed any significant difference in the amount of pay enclosed.

Corporate doublespeak with the word ‘empowerment’ replacing the words ‘added responsibilities’.

From the depths of depression to the heights of despair, it’s a rollicking, fun-filled adventure into the everyday comedy that life brings in the desperate struggle to survive.

Tromp l’oy vey

It’s not going outside your comfort zone, it’s expanding your sphere of comfort.

If you didn’t see it gone, how do you know it wasn’t there?

I have nothing, but I will gladly share it with you.

A venomous snake is a beautifully desirable thing to another venomous snake.

My social skills shy from overt mingle, enhanced by my inability to hear, encourage me to enjoin this opportunity to swirl in your eyes as I imagine them, blind as a book that no one reads. And you?

With baited breath I smell worms.

Cry ‘Hammock!’ and let loose the logs of snore.

Peripheral obliquity

Beware the piranhasaurus!

The late night moon offered a light snack for my hungry vision.

The world is getting less and less user friendly

Money is free speech only if everyone has the same weight of voice

There were sheep all around, but I never heard them bleating, no I never felt their needing, ‘til there was ewe…

It all seems real, but it’s probably just you reading about it.

Don’t listen to these words: here them!

The incessant choreography of revisionist ‘history’

No matter how careful you are, how meticulous you plan or how detailed you envision, when you get to the future, here you are.

Invocation to the muse: caffeine.

Proxsymetry

Taking first things first, with one thing at a time in between.

The stately halls of inconclusive re-adjustments

The Turgid Nozzle Band

Another beautiful day in the neighborhood… it makes me wish I was there instead of here at work.

There’s more to everything than meets with expectations

Transluscend

From clear to infirmity

Corruption, thou art a party-less politician

The impassioned power of overt creativity is caffeined upon me.

Well, that was fun

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Lurching Into The Missed

After not blogging for many months, I am stepping forth with my best fingers forward to peck, pound and poke upon the proverbial keyboard of the moment, I reach to scratch across the inexorable sky of time, attempting to respond to the inspirational itch within my restively creative energies, and hold on to this moment by sharing it with you. Glad you could make it.

I am new at this (I’ve never been floating in this immediately current moment before) and yet will continue, as best I can, to poke my fingers into the designated holes in the dike holding the doldrum seas of complacent perceptions within its comforting arms. By plugging these vapid leaks I am trying to keep the mostly encircled substant situation at bay (have a seat on the dock and watch the tide roll away) from filling my writings with anything resembling something else. Unless, of course, it doesn’t to begin with. Your choice.

Sitting to write an intentional journal entry is somewhat refreshing and challenging, my words all caught up and tangled in the typing fingers of my easily distracted mind, showing me (and you as well, if you peek) that I am hitting the ground running hard on those fingers and worrying about needing a manicure for nailing each individual key on across the board without the use of spellcheck. This opens my eyes (when I look up from that keyboard every so often) to a great many interesting typos that occasionally become incorporated into the flow, like a foggy mind being lost and lurching into the missed to find the way and being surprised when you find yourself somewhere else. Great ponderings.

My style seems to be readily at hand (the one my fingers are on works best) and is letting me enjoy the creative flow of images and random stream-of-consciousness that come to mind even as I write the words about them. About time, I’d say, but I’d have to do it quick as we’re on a tight schedule here. I have ideas to direct a sentence toward a subject and then play with the words as they come, readily or knot (not not: naught) caught woven definitions, sounds and imageries in a form of written art that I call translocution, as it’s not where the words go, but what they do on the way there, ‘there’ being a relative term and subject to all standard regulations and rules as pertains to subjective interaction within the moment, pauses notwithstanding, as you read this. I’ll wait. Okay, now that the proper forms have been addressed (you did stamp and mail them, didn’t you?), rules situated, rituals performed, energies aligned and attendance certified (you’re still reading) we can move on to more of the same. My dexterous fingers flop, flail, and fliddle their way across the page (screen, if you will) in the continual plugging away against the cracks and holes between meaning and understanding, intent and comprehension, vision and sight (you might cite site right, tight in the context if that is your alternative pleasure), experience and intuition, projected and perceived, created and assimilated, held and beheld, said and meant, goal and direction, this way and that into the silky, ephemeral, ever lurching into the mist of where we are when we step forth and finally get here. Until another time.

Standing In

Seated at the keyboard and following the familiar path of confusion to the organizational train of thought I wander around in, I find myself engaged in a sudden ledger-domain of energy wondering what I’m going to say next. What?

So take that with you when I’m not here to tell you about it, and don’t forget that while I am indeed here typing this, you are here reading it, word for word, standing in the reign of the same situational moment. Smooth.

Random Distinction

           

I’m sitting at the computer waiting for the time to pass until I will leave to drive to pick up my sweetheart and head to Louisville, KY for the 2021 USA Volleyball National Championships, held over Memorial Day weekend. I’m playing in the 70+ division and can’t believe I’m actually that old. Does my disbelief make it true? Some would believe it might. So, as I was thus sitting, I was browsing some of my older writings and I came across this tidbit that I decided to share with you (if it is indeed you reading this, of course.) One of my random offerings of stream of (sub)consciousness inspiration that find their way out of my jumbled thought processes and onto the page of the computer screen. A typically strange flow of imagery and word plays that amuse me and confuse you (you’re still there, right?) and feed my creative urgings. They are hungry.

I haven’t posted here (on one of my blogs on WordPress) for quite some time, and the system has been altered such that I am not sure what I’m doing, thus much nothing is changed and all is well.

So sit back (or sit up, I’m not terribly particular on that), read the words, reread some of them (it takes two to tangle) and then continue on with your day. And I wish you a most pleasant day, as it may, as I spike this literary ball from the past (as is the accompanying photo) at you:

Contrastic perpitude devolves ambient ambivalence in both directions toward the middle. I clutter and quake in steady flux. Substantial eyes drift aground and hold fast to the slow pace. The numbers add up to a disparate loss to gain a different view of intent, all things passing on the whims of rationalization. Look again, see yourself. Fascinating boredom, I’m sure… it works for me, at least. A chair curves above the folding floor, all hands wringing hard and sharp. The end result held forth and dropped like a hint of satisfaction. Initiates start to function as fall back alternatives to comprehension in moot points, letting the entire scheme idle like a rock. Wow… that’s serious finagling. Risk is a committee activity, (with or without someone else,) so let’s all have fun! I am pleasantly distracted and let the explanations speak for themselves for the moment, giving my alert numbness a wrest for the better. Intellectual emotion tickles my fancy and places me in a clear fog from which to function. Why create new problems when the ones we face are so clearly misunderstood?

            The environment of change is giving rise to the horizon of perceptions found in our hopes and fears, caught in the various dreams we have not yet felt but still strive to change to meet our thus anticipated needs, showing that what we see is not only in front of us (within this eternal moment,) but keeps peripheral activity floundering to maintain. The eyes have it lost on track. Stayed tuned for the continuing stagnation and put your best foot in its proper mouth. Well spoken, even through the mumbling.

Transloquate.

Initiation does not preclude residual pain. This leads us up to today’s Pop Quiz Question (ready, Father Time?): Which came first, the chicken or the duck?

The wind rustles the leaves of my memories, bringing some to conscious sunlight and leaving others in forgotten shade, yet restless still. Emotions are splayed fast and furious, confounded aspirations see the blind vision, hear the voiceless sorrow, touch the ephemeral substance of acknowledgement and hit the nail on my head. The truth rings out. In a perfect world we wouldn’t be here.

Impetuous ambiguities hold firm my daily stress and keep me guessing as to which source of pain and/or frustration I will experience at any given moment.

            So: it goes, around a standstill perception, giving cause to wonder at the ever centripetal view. My ear hurts, but that’s just from being spiked with a volleyball. Soon, the world will spin us off into the void. Ice cradles my dreams and darkness holds comfort just beyond awareness… the time trips, stumbles and calls us on.

Time for Volleyball

01212021 Spontaneity Flames

Start writing it says. But what if I started reading first and then wrote later to catch up more easily on what I’d like to say? Make a note of that. Be sharp. On with the show. See. The light. Shine on you crazy zirconia.

(There’s a photo of artwork that goes here, but the powers that unveil haven’t written how to read into the visibility feasibility for such attentions and are obscure in altered substant parameter controls toward the yield of said labored action. I’ve got half a mind to just tell you off to one side or the other, but I’m too busy wondering which half a mind I don’t have, and let it all pass like the wind at your heels. Better than failing. Read into it as you will, but no peeking at the art that isn’t there without permission.)

The End of the 60’s

120820

Sixty-nine years old

Until tomorrow.

I haven’t written for quite some time and I’m not sure if I still can have a productive go at it, but here I go: at it.

Once I reach this age I will no longer be as young as I was, but that won’t hold time against me, it will keep up on its own. I am a product of the sixties but I will no longer be a part of them as the slide rule of entropy gravis cannot be denied, and while the numbers go up, the ride is easing down. The depth of the slide ride is yet to be determined, and I’m enjoying this latter part of it in so many ways. Age earns wisdom through perspective, memory and acceptance of change, which is how some older folks become acerbically outspoken and are known as wise guys. Little left to chance, the odds stacked in even piles, each year a separate token, each person’s pile climbing as they age on. The point is not to win the biggest pile, but rather to make those stacked tokens colorful and vibrant with a well-lived life, each token a diverse encapsulation of experiences and sensations held in memory form and substance. Enjoy the beauty of the building of the pile and don’t bother looking up, the ceiling will find you when you get there, no problem.

Is there a place to start and a thing to say that will somehow guide a direction toward which I might direct my written thoughts, or is this a question that answers itself, and thus questions its own being, negating its purpose full circle until then, yes, it will be a direct statement instead. Questions? Reminiscing is a delightful pastime, but what goes on right now is so interesting that I know I’d be reminiscing about it sometime in the future if I wasn’t so busy enjoying what will be happening at the time, at least that’s the way I fondly recall it. How many one-liners does it take, speaking for myself and, rhetorically, for the reader of these words, to amuse you into believing that one thing you are sure of is that time marches on and stops for no one. Look at the tokens. See the tokens in countless piles across the view of humanity. Time has been slowed to a standstill in myriad ways through tokens left by those long gone, tokens that provided other tokens with reflections that gave greater luminosity to all around. And so, as I breathe deep and look all around at the endless vision of tokens piled into the fading distance against a vague background of imagination, I opt to deal out of that hand and go to get something in the fridge.

Coconut milk ice-cream. I love it.

Upon returning, I am again, still, faced with my impending 70th birthday tomorrow. How time has flown.

I do not feel satisfied with my pile of tokens as they have been stacked, the variance of dissatisfaction fluctuating between extremes at both ends of either side, and yet I still retain belief that the drawings, the words, the art and the interactions with others over the years, the tokens of my life, in some way may help bring positive light to other tokens as the piles grown on around us all. I’ll leave a light on for you.

Perceiving variance of activity-based cognitive relating-intent toward communication is spot on, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I don’t either. This leaves us both with little else to do except read the words and, hopefully, figure it all out from there. To get there is the tricky part, for it is the actual ploy of the medium that is rarely well done and in need of coaching on the side, like a well-defined salad of words, and a role for the understudy, feeding the need of belonging. All: Together now.

I believe that did it. We are securely ensconced in the cavernous realms of the second page with no bottom in sight (look out for the damned ceiling). This reminds me of the time that we just got here, and so we carry on as if it never happened, letting us all get on with the show. Meanwhile, our hero (that’s you, oh implacable reader) has wandered off the rounded edges and found a short detour into another thought altogether: How did I get to be this old? Goodness but I have had an interesting life, and a generally good life. And I see my life now is the best now I could imagine, and I’ve got a pretty good imagination, but anyone would have to be awfully fast to imagine now other than now is, isn’t it? I’m past that.

Then twisting our tale like a tie around a hair-do, we wind up in some kind of drab and uninteresting place that has little to offer and less to take, the edges peeling and cracked from being ignored, the decor uninspired and dated, the air stale and dry. Humdrum and patience bide their time over at a table in the corner at the start of a new sentence, but do little to otherwise stir the air and create an image of activity within the confines of what is presented to your reading eyes. Alone and lost with the words, you let them enter your mind and touch defined application within the established realm of your comprehension, seeing what they mean but somehow not meaning what you see, finding that you can’t turn around before you leave unless you’re going the other way to begin with. Fluctuating connotative stasis keeps you from being too level-headed, yet able to read into the words what you think you might understand in a different way, if that was the case, but that writes you on the straight and narrow in any direction you may go at any time you may choose for whatever reason you may have for however long you want to go there. Float. You dream as if your eyes are closed (if they are you’re a pretty good psychic to read this) and of having your eyes opened to the beauty of things you can’t see but feel in some pro-found way of being anti-lost, the warmth of affection, the touch of companionship, the substance of being human, the meaning of all life and reason coming to rest in comfort in the quiet, flowing stream of consciousness through the words as they are written before you now, here while we follow this together as you drink it all in with your sightless open eyes.

Still thirsty? I sift, chew and swallow, not sure what I’m getting but feeling refreshed for the effort. I’m sure that if you tag along in your reading device you will find that when you thought you were lost you were really finding yourself in the fast lane to confusion and lost to the need for a settled place or acknowledged location. I’ll find you there. Right now, though, I’m hot on the trail of my last few minutes of being sixty-nine and I don’t want to miss an exciting moment of this spontaneous literary endeavor, editing notwithstanding. If I knew what I wanted to say you probably won’t find it here, but this is as close as I can reach you through the written word medium, so we’ll have to settle for that. Therefore, I offer congratulations and festivities for your maintaining your own activity in visual contact with what is written, for it can’t read itself, no matter what it says. (Says who?) The eyes have it under cover and control in gentle focused contact, brushing over every word, each a trigger of meaning and intent, finding the path they form, following the lead of intention, seeking the way to the next comprehensive assessment and conclusion, beyond the blind spots inherent in some random cases (I had a blind spot once, but it kept bumping into things and I had to white it out) and eventually filling out the shape of a thought, I think.

My two minutes worth have the audience on the edge of the seat of my chair. See you on the flip side and we’ll see what you look like there.

120920

Good morning! I see you’ve made it! Well done and congratulations! And you don’t look a sentence older than when you were with me last year. How time flays! It wasn’t easier getting here to these latest few words and I’m too old for all the rigmarole associated with being aged, so I’ll take my leave now and wish you well. I’m sure you can do it on your own and that you will have great adventures and entertainments along the way.

Cheers!

As an Old Man, I’m going to bed.

Calmly Frantic To Be-Mused

I’m absolutely befuddled by my age. What the heck happened and how did I get to be this old? How did my life come to the situations I find myself within? What am I looking for and is it actually attainable? What is going on with my choices and reactions such that I seem to be treading water uphill against the wind? How can I viably deal with all the chaos and fragmentation in my abilities to face it? What options do I actually have, and who is asking all these questions?

Maybe I’ll write notes:

The spirit of Life shines brightest in those who have the least to give, yet who still give with generosity.

‘Twas the night before Christmas and I went to bed.

Culling the tallow at simultaneous extremities.

The silent alarm is ringing.

He’s a few drops of water short of a puddle.

How would you like your statistic to be slanted?

Turning the corner on confusion, I stroll down the lane and arrive at my destination in time to wonder where I am.

Corporatopoly

Fighting illness taxes my dwindling resources to their exhausted limit, and I’m sick and tired of it.

Dulce et decorum erstwhile.

Duplicitous, equivocating society

Caught in the spur of the momentum.

My fears keep me company in times of insecurity.

An advanced retreat

There are weirdoes among us

Lazy fare ergonomics

Caught in the surface reflections of a chitterchat mind

Like the Cheshire Potato, where all you see are its eyes, just because you aren’t looking for something doesn’t mean you won’t find it.

Trapped in the identical version of two different stories

Sally forth and plunge head long and mind short into the door of opportunity and dream: closed for repairs.

To date, this is the oldest I’ve ever been.

Euphoric, me Tarzan.

Compassion only exists toward those not known, otherwise it is obligation and self-service.

Perfection is a concept by which we define things as we would like them and not necessarily as they are. Everything is perfectly itself.

Spam: delete it or eat it.

Bold trepidation

I believe I see the source of your problem: your parents met.

Since the company payroll department has gone paperless, I am mailed an empty pay envelope. However, I have not noticed any significant difference in the amount of pay enclosed.

Corporate doublespeak with the word ‘empowerment’ replacing the words ‘added responsibilities’.

From the depths of depression to the heights of despair, it’s a rollicking, fun-filled adventure into the everyday comedy that life brings in the desperate struggle to survive.

Tromp l’oy vey

It’s not going outside your comfort zone, it’s expanding your sphere of comfort.

If you didn’t see it gone, how do you know it wasn’t there?

I have nothing, but I will gladly share it with you.

A venomous snake is a beautifully desirable thing to another venomous snake.

My social skills shy from overt mingle, enhanced by my inability to hear, encourage me to enjoin this opportunity to swirl in your eyes as I imagine them, blind as a book that no one reads. And you?

With baited breath I smell worms.

Cry ‘Hammock!’ and let loose the logs of snore.

Peripheral obliquity

Beware the piranhasaurus!

The late night moon offered a light snack for my hungry vision.

The world is getting less and less user friendly

Money is free speech only if everyone has the same weight of voice

There were sheep all around, but I never heard them bleating, no I never felt their needing, ‘til there was ewe…

It all seems real, but it’s probably just you reading about it.

Don’t listen to these words: here them!

The incessant choreography of revisionist ‘history’

No matter how careful you are, how meticulous you plan or how detailed you envision, when you get to the future, here you are.

Invocation to the muse: caffeine.

Proxsymetry

Taking first things first, with one thing at a time in between.

The stately halls of inconclusive re-adjustments

The Turgid Nozzle Band

Another beautiful day in the neighborhood… it makes me wish I was there instead of here at work.

There’s more to everything than meets with expectations

Transluscend

From clear to infirmity

Corruption, thou art a party-less politician

The impassioned power of overt creativity is caffeined upon me.

 

Well, that was fun.

Covid Election Eve 2020

110220 Election Eve

Covid is a crapshoot. Any intelligently functioning American can discern that the disease is dangerous and spreading, if they so desire. It is infecting more and more people, faster and faster. The crapshoot is whether or not you, or someone you care about, will catch it before the pandemic eases up (not ends) with a vaccine sometime, if we are lucky, next year. And then that you are able to get the vaccine in a timely manner.

The current administration’s plan is to let the virus do its thing and hope that they don’t catch it…. you’ll have to do your own hoping for you and your family not to catch it. Everyone will be on their own. Letting it spread increases the odds that you or yours may contract it. And, if you do catch it, there’s hope that you don’t get it too bad and that you easily survive. Many people do. Crapshoot.

Biden’s plan is to have everyone face the terrible truth that this virus can decimate our population, and we must Man-Up and Woman-Up (Human Up, actually, for this is a SPECIES dilemma), put our Big-Boy and Big-Girl pants on and help each other stop the spread by wearing masks and maintaining space in social situations. It will be hard, it will be tiresome, it will be frustrating, but it will slow the spread considerably and is the difficult price we must pay to avert a building, disastrous national crisis. It will also lessen the odds that you or yours might catch it. Then, when we have the vaccine and begin the long process, months I’m sure, of inoculating people against the virus, life will ease back closer to the normal we all yearn for.

Both of these plans rely on the development of a vaccine. The first plan is entirely dependent upon it. The second plan incorporates it into a pro-active effort to stop the spread as soon as we can, so the need for the vaccine is not as dire. And, of course, no vaccine is ever perfect or works for everyone, although those statistics are usually quite minimal. Crapshoot.

The virus is no one’s fault, and it affects Humanity as a whole. No one will be unaffected by this viral pandemic. No one. Some less affected and some more affected, but life as we have lived it has been interrupted and it may never return as we evolve into a new normalcy. Some people who get it will have lifelong ill-effects, some won’t. Some will die, some won’t. The depth of impact that this virus will continue to have upon your own life will most likely be directed by the outcome of the election tomorrow.

The way we deal with the virus will be decided. The way the virus affects our economy and our daily lives will be decided. As more and more become infected and fall ill, the economy will stutter, sputter and fall apart.

President Trump’s plan is to ignore it and let it run rampant until such a time that a vaccine is finally developed, mass produced, packaged, shipped, distributed to medical technicians, then brought to the public and administered. Not at all a quick process, of which creating a vaccine is just the first step. Meanwhile, the pandemic grows and the economy distintigrates.

Joe Biden’s plan is to clamp down on the spreading of the virus, which will be uncomfortable and tiresome, while waiting for a vaccine. This plan will diminish the spread and thus diminish the percentage of the population who are harmed by the disease, and diminish the numbers of people who experience direct harm from Covid. Maybe you, maybe not, but greatly enhancing your odds against it. The economy suffers, but maintains and continues in diminished capacity until people are able to be relatively free of the viral threat and refresh the economic direction.

It’s a choice.

A Crapshoot.

Vote as if the lives of people you care about will be directly affected.

I wish all of us luck.

A Cast Oaf the Part Bowed

(From 2014) If I was sinking any faster, I wouldn’t have to swim. Court the relations of daily drama and feed me a line I can quiply respond to, like a kitchen faucet drip spilling out of synch. Fear of the unknown hides behind closed doors to empty houses in the lost reaches of forgotten memories belonging to someone you never knew, who don’t believe it themselves. It’s the known that I’m not so sure about. It’s all self-explanatory except for the instructions. Life in the fast line leaves me hungry for more velocity in the efforts to abandon this ship and weigh ranker at the situation I continue to flounder in, feeding the sharks of society’s ills, while staring straight from my blind eye gone numb with the blur my life has become, barreling along the high way, over the rainbow made by the missed that catches the light at the end of the tunnel vision view as I drive right on over the waterfall of my circumstances. I can write these words hot into the future and seer this dream, burning the bridge before I can get to it, but can I use it to fly across the great divide of ability and opportunity? Read on and find the answer, just don’t spoil it by telling me… I like suspensive stories (especially this high up over the bottom line)…

I bemoan my inability to focus on packing up and cleaning up this house of my troubles while I am able to function as a see worthy unit in so-so-ciety. The rest is putting my frustrations to imagery, and then, referring to this writing and style, wondering if it will ever be read by anyone beside me …but shhh… that’s the secret.

Be careful out there…

Self- Bewareness

Help! I’m being held captive inside my head and I can’t think of a way out!