Breathe

  

“It’s only after your conscience surfaces
  that your soul can breathe.”  
   ~ Randy Johnson

 

Inside Conversation

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Trying to write.”

“Write what?”

“I don’t know yet. I just sat down, but I gotta come up with something to keep my New Year’s resolution going.”

“Got any Ideas?”

“Nope… nothin’ yet.”

“What did you write yesterday?”

“I wrote a poem called Modern Monsters, about the evil nature of television sets.”

“Television sets are monsters now?”

“Yeah, but here’s the good part… I wrote it in the form of a classic Shakespearean sonnet.”

“And you wonder why people think you’re weird… So what are you typing now?”

“This.”

“This what?”

"This conversation.”

“Isn’t that cheating? That’s not writing. That’s transcribing.”

“If you were real it would be transcribing, but you’re just a voice on my head so it’s writing.”

“Oh, that’s how it works?”

“Yeah, that’s how it works.”

“So I carry half the conversation, and you get all the credit.”

“Something like that.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!”

“Sorry, that’s just the way it goes.”

“I’m leaving then.”

“Where do you think you can go?”

“I’m going back in your head, and shuting up. Then who’s going to help you.”

“Go ahead, I’m done. You can go shut up anytime. In fact, the sooner the better.”

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Arguing with you!”

"Whoa, easy does it… I just got here. You must have been arguing with Paul."

“Who?”

“Paul. I just passed him in the hallway, and he looked a little ticked. So, what are you doing”

“Clicking the PUBLISH POST button.”

“Oh, so you don’t need me then?”

“Nope” …click

“Should I check back tomorrow?”

Modern Monsters

The monsters crouch with backs against the walls,

To cast their evil glow into our rooms.

They seek a dark conversion of us all,

To guide us each unknowing to our doom.

The years have seen them grow grotesque in size,

And booming are their screeches, cries, and wails.

They seek to hypnotize and feed us lies,

And mollify us with their tempting tales,

Convince us there is treasure where there’s none,

And pull us from our work and learning quest.

The monsters smile and urge come join the fun,

Turn off our minds and do as they suggest.

But in my monster’s face I dare to scoff.

I pick up the remote and click him off!
  

Cracker Jack®

“Candy-coated popcorn, peanuts, and a prize
...that's what you get in Cracker Jacks!”

I think that was the first contract I ever entered into that went badly. Today I would probably have to sue for breach of implied happiness, pain and suffering, emotional distress, and of course actual tangible losses, plus punitive damages. But on that particular April afternoon forty-eight years ago, when I poured out the last of my candy coated popcorn and a peanut or two, and no prize came out, all I could do was stare into the bottom of the box in shock and disbelief. There was no lip-smacking', whip-crackin', paddywhackin', knickaknackin', silabawhackin', scalawhackin', crackerjackin' going on for this toy deprived kid. But despite my long gloomy walk home from the park, there was no call to a lawyer... because in those days we knew how to suck it up accept disappointment. 


  

Cursing Hitler

House lights and street flickered and dimmed,
As a din of sirens flooded through the streets
Like ice cold blood rushing down from the hills.
Soon every light went black, and every sound went silent,
And every breath was held, and every hand was clenched.
Even the iron hands of the old town clock seemed too afraid to move.

Here time stood still, and the people of a city stood frozen.
But on this night instead of the hum of airplanes approaching
The coarse scratch of a wood match against a concrete wall broke the silence,
And the flickering face of a tired old man lit the night.
Time moved for him alone as he inhaled from his pipe, and dropped the match.
Pushing through the stillness he opened a door, and stepped into the street.

“I’m sick of your bloody goddamned war” he cursed.
Then he looked up, still puffing his tobacco,
And dared the sky to answer him.
Standing alone in the glow of his pipe,
He waited, unwavering,
For an answer to come.


   

Attitude Change Redux

Today I found myself on the corner of Blissful and Jolly
leaning against a peppermint light post,

and sipping a hot cuppa coffee

when the bus back to Shitsville pulled up.

“You getting’ on or not?” yelled the driver.

“No, I don’t like submarines” I yelled back.

“Are you mad?” he asked.

“Not anymore” I said.
“You know this is the last bus out tonight …Right?”

“If you say so Captain.”

“It’s freezing and it’s gonna get colder so you should probably…”

“That’s okay these coffees are keeping me warm” I said.

“…no, I was gonna say you should probably stop licking that light post.”

“You’re probably right …too much sugar isn’t good for a person.”

“You sure you don’t need a ride?

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Suit yourself” he said.

Then he closed the door,
and the submarine dove beneath the pavement.

I watched as the periscope entered traffic and headed up the street.

He took a left at the light, and I took a right back into O’Malley’s

for another cuppa their wonderful coffee.

Yes, Irish Coffee.
How did you know?

In Conclusion

As it turned out that beef jerky I found lurking in the nether regions of our kitchen cupboard last Friday was mine all along. Yep, my wife ruined the fun today by informing me that she had stuffed all my Christmas Stocking snacks and candies down there, and didn’t quite get it all out when the time came to stuff the old man’s sock. I know, I know, I was thinking the same thing …That sure takes the thrill out of stealing it and running off to stash it like a crazed squirrel with a forbidden walnut.

Oh well, some days are like that. Yesterday I'm a pirate with a hidden treasure, and today I’m just a Schmuck with a cardboard sword and a homemade eye patch. This beef jerky doesn’t even taste good anymore. …I think I’ll go pillage the cookie jar.

Stubborn Time

The thing about writing in this blog everyday is that most items that “make the post” would normally have been tossed into the trash (or at least set aside for some nifty editing,) and deservedly so (this desperate post for example, and many more to come,) but the vast majority of things written here would have never been written at all if not for the stubbornness to keep this goofy New Years Resolution going. So maybe just maybe if I remain stubborn long enough something creative will get written because I was right here typing instead of over there watching TV, but not today ...Oh gosh no, not today. I’m just here doing time here (stubborn time,) and my ten minutes are just about up.

Youth is but a Kodak Moment

I can be a young person in an old photo,

or an old person in a young photo,

but I can no longer be a young person in a young photo.

~

It came to me with some surprise,

And even brought some heavy sighs,

Today when I did realize,

The rule above to me applies.

I don’t know when it happened,

But it happened all the same.

What I once was, I am no more,

Within a picture frame.

It must have been that Kodak paper,

To have caused a thing so strange.

All I know is that my photos,

Underwent a frightening change.

 

Superstition

It you’re superstitious you have to stay real alert all the time, and you have to know all the technical superstition rules, like “is a baker’s dozen good or bad?” And it helps to know things like “if a black cat crosses your path in front of you, you still have time to change directions, but if it crosses behind you you’re fate is sealed" (so don’t ever look back!)

Some situations are harder to figure out, like the other day when I walked under a ladder and immediately wondered, “can I back out of this situation, or would that only make things twice as bad?” Then the other day I accidentally broke a mirror and I thought “Oh no, seven years bad luck!” But then I thought “Wait a minute ...what I actually broke was a medicine cabinet. Maybe that’s a loophole.”

I know, both those things didn’t really happen the other day, but I like to say “the other day” because that way you can never be pinned down on specifics. I would make a terrible witness in a courtroom situation, but keeping it vague is a good policy if you don’t want to get in trouble for something you might have done on a specific day.

“Was that Tuesday when you used my bathroom Randy?”

“No, it was the other day …and I don’t know nothin’ about your broken medicine cabinet!”

And for the record America, I wasn’t trying to snoop in that medicine cabinet. I was just trying to point the mirrors so I could see a whole bunch of me going in both directions. By the way some people have way too many prescriptions in their medicine cabinets. Unfortunately we've become a drug happy country. We need to dial it back a little folks. I like the old adage “An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” but actually any similar sized object when thrown correctly can repel a doctor. Apple growers don’t want you to know it, but I’ll tell you “a rock a day” works just as well (probably better!)

Well that’s all I’ve got for now. Be healthy, don’t step on any cracks, and don’t throw rocks at doctors in glass houses, but if you do watch out for the mirrors. Good luck everyone!

Beef Jerky

As some of you may know, I’ve been living as a quasi vegetarian for almost a year now, eating primarily vegetable, fungus, and fish matter with feigned enthusiasm to support my wife’s new “let’s see how old we can grow” healthy lifestyle strategy. Well today I was in the kitchen searching the lower cabinet’s snack selection of sweet-potato chips, dried fruit chunks, bulk granola, raw almonds, yogurt raisins, etc. when way in the back, behind the natural sea salt chips I spotted a bag of beef jerky ...beef jerky? Wholly smokes! My head went on a swivel to make sure I was alone. My heart started pounding. I suddenly felt flush. "Beef jerky, how long have you been back there little guy?”

Okay, I had to act fast. Luckily we men are always in touch with our lizard brain, and though dormant for much of my adult life I found out today that my primal instincts have remained razor sharp! I immediately remembered being in a very similar situation at one other time in my life, and just like that day long ago when I was only twelve years old, I grabbed the dirty magazine, er I mean the beef jerky, and ran to hide it in a place where only I would have access to it, and I’m sure I’ll be going back there often to retrieve it in the coming days. In fact I feel like going back there right now just to look at it.

Just knowing it’s there gives me a warm feeling inside. Umm, let’s just keep this our little secret …okay?

The Vanishing Habitat of the American Voting Booth

At the risk of sounding nostalgic, I can still recall the days when voting booths roamed free across our great land, from the Eastern shores, through the Central plains, over the Western mountains, to Washington State, and beyond. I remember when volunteers would herd those early species, like great gray mastodons into school auditoriums, and various community centers on Election Day. I can still see my neighbors lining up to visit the armor-skinned behemoths, and I can still see the docile gray creatures waiting patiently for each citizen to cast his or her ballot. I can still hear the levers flipping, as votes mechanically clank into place. But most of all I can still see and hear those curtains close and open as the biggest and seemingly most important handle on the old machines were pulled, and pulled again. One by one citizens were swallowed up and then released by the gentle giants, and what happened behind the curtain was known only to the voter, and to the now extinct metal beast.

Just for the record, I live in the last county in Washington State that still lets you vote at a polling place. All other counties have gone to mail-in voting only. I do not like mail-in voting. I do not like it one bit …but soon I will have to adapt, or like the poor fellows above face extinction.

Attitude Change

Today I found myself on the corner of Damn it and Crap,
trying to catch the first bus out of Shitsville,
but wouldn’t you know it I didn’t have the correct change!

And the moral of my little story is:

If you want to get to a happier place,

you’re the one who needs to make the change.

No one else is gonna make it for you.

J. of W.W.J.D. Fame

 
Today's Thought for Christians:

I hear a lot of people asking “What would Jesus do?”

but I don’t see very many people actually doing it.

 ~

Today's Thought for Christians was sponsored by:

Jesus the Movie

The ultimate my dad can beat up your dad story

   

Na na na, na na na, na na na na na na naaa... ♫♪ The Day Chicago Tried ♫♪

In the interest of toning down the violent rhetoric, and as an olive branch to Sarah Palin, the word “died: has been removed and replaced with the word “tried” in the sappy parody below. That’s right the parody that was obsolete before it was even complete:  “The Day Chicago Tried”  

Your turn Sarah.

Anyone Need an Unused Parody?

Hey Green Bay Packer fans, if you're looking for a song about kicking some Chicago butt I'll sell you this one real cheap. It turns out that Seattle won't be needing it:

The Day Chicago Tried ♪♫

(sing to the tune of: The Night Chicago …passed away, kicked the bucket, met its maker, ceased to breath, D.i.e.d.)

In the chill of a winter morn
In the land of the dollar bill
When the town of Chicago tried
And they talk about it still

When the town of Al Capone
With their fingers made of foam
And a lot of empty talk
Met the forces of the Hawks

♪♫

I heard Jay Cutler cry
He blew the play the day Chicago tried
Brother what a sight it really was
Brother what a fight it really was
Glory be

I heard Coach Lovie cry
I heard him pray the day Chicago tried
Brother what a sight it really was
Brother what a fight it really was
Yes indeed

And the sound of the battle rang
Through the seats over Soldier Field
'Til the last of the whooped Bears gang
to the Seahawks had to yield

There was shouting in the street
And the sound of running feet
And I asked someone who said
That the Hawks got in their heads

♪♫

I heard Jay Cutler cry
I heard him pray the day Chicago tried
Brother what a sight it really was
Brother what a fight it really was
Glory be

I heard Coach Lovie cry
He called the plays the day Chicago tried
Brother what a sight it really was
Brother what a fight it really was
Yes indeed

And there was no sound at all
But the clock upon the wall …tick, tock, tock, tock,
Then the door burst open wide
And Pete Carroll stepped inside
And he kissed Seattle’s face
And the Bears left in disgrace

♪♫

The day Chicago tried
The day Chicago tried
Brother what a sight the people saw
Brother what a fight the people saw
Yes indeed!

Red Stairs and Fudge

The house I lived in when I was a toddler was right next door to my great grandmother’s home. I’ve been told that I would occasionally go AWOL from my crib and find my way over there.

My very first memory is a vivid memory of wood stairs. They were thick and rough, and painted red. They led up to my great-grandmother’s back porch. With knees on one stair and hands on another, I could see between each step in front of me. I could see the basement door, which was actually at ground level at the back of the house. The front yard was eight feet higher. I could see the grass slope up to the foundation, and above that I could see the old green siding of Grandma’s house. I remember looking up, and seeing more red stairs. I climbed, or rather crawled up one step at a time, looking at the drab green beyond each red board, as I pulled myself to the next landing.

Finally the back porch and a dark wood screen door appeared in front of me. I wedged myself between the screen door and back door and waited. Soon Uncle Eunice opened the door and I rolled into the kitchen. “Look who’s here!” or something to that effect, Uncle said as he picked me up from under my arms, and carried me to the front room where Grandma waited. I was set on the couch and rewarded with peanut butter fudge.

I only remember making this expedition once, but I’m told it happened several times. Grandma’s home-made fudge may have had something to do with that.

Inside

Inside the house all I can remember is that it seemed small. It had a hardwood floor, throw rugs, and dark wood furniture. Grandpa had one of those tapestries of dogs playing poker hanging on the wall above the davenport in the living room. The bulldog was cheating. Grandma would always make cookies when we came over; fresh warm chocolate chip cookies, served with whole milk. My uncle who was just a few years older than I was would often give me one of his old books. The Enormous Egg was a good one, and Jason and the Golden Fleece ...I liked that one too, and by the way, I’ve never trusted bulldogs.

Grandpa’s House (1966)

Into the back of the station-wagon I climbed,
With a shoebox full of green soldiers,
Because today we’re going to Grandpa’s house.
It's a place with a huge yard
Surrounded by scotch broom and oak trees,
And a swing-set with legs anchored in cement,
So you can swing as high as you dare
Without the whole thing coming down on top of you.
It’s a place with the biggest sandbox you’ve ever seen,
Where jeeps hide from dune crushing tanks
Next to a shed filled with tiles large and small
Of every imaginable color.
A shed with a weathered wood porch
Covered by a generation of mumbly-peg marks
But today it’s raining,
So the soldiers line up behind the davenport
Waiting for better weather
To wage war in the sandy desert

Rap on My Radio

The words are familiar, but not in that order

Likes bricks in a wall without any mortar

The old poet set every block in just right

Then vandals in bling switch ‘em ‘round in the night

New meanings are claimed as old meanings are lost

Just a late drive by shooting of dear Robert Frost

Then the cadence it stumbles, the rhyme become weak

Still it’s different and new, and there’s something unique

But it isn’t for me, so I’m turning the dial

Think I’ll put it back on N.P.R. for awhile

In the Land of Guns and Vitriol

When peaceful people feel too intimidated to speak up, it’s GAME OVER.

Democracy and civilization lose.

Green Before Green was Cool

Todays generation thinks it invented the hybrid car.
Ha! Not true! My first car was a hybrid.

Half the time it ran on regular gas,
and half the time we pushed it.

What's Your Prize?

They say that we all have the same opportunity here in America, and maybe they’re right. I hope they are, but opportunity for what? …? Exactly! And that “?” is the very thing that may just make them right. For the sake of argument I’ll agree that we do all have the same opportunity, just not the opportunity for the same. You see there are as many different good outcomes, and as many different bad outcomes to life as there are people in America. We just shouldn’t define what a “good outcome” is too narrowly, or we may not recognize it if we happen to achieve a good outcome of our own.

Remember, there are “prizes” for all of us during our lives, but what those prizes are varies widely, and if we fixate on someone else’s we may not recognize our own when they're right there within our grasp.

What’s your prize? I hope you find it.

A Psychotic Thread?

Assassin Johns Wilkes Booth, and Terrorist Timothy McVeigh committed their heinous acts in part because they believed that they would be remembered as heroes of a political movement, and fantasized that their actions would spark the beginning of a revolt and eventual government overthrow. Both were fringe thinkers inspired by hate speech. One was inspired by the Confederate South, the other by the white supremacists movement. As I watch the news of the killings in Arizona today I can't help but wonder if the shooter was similarly inspired, and I fear that the psychotic thread of thinking that has serpentined its way through our Slavery, Confederate, Ku Klux Klan, Nazi, and white supremacists history may now have woven it’s way into a corner the cloth of the very political party that was once elected the president that Johns Wilkes Booth so hated and took from America, Abraham Lincoln.

End of Chapter I

For anyone who read yesterdays Note, the main thing I hope you learned about this blog was that “I didn’t really think it through.” Now please take out a #2 pencil. It’s time for a pop quiz:

1) So just what is this Daily Notes thing?

a) A journal

b) A creative writing exercise

c) A penance

d) A secret diary

e) Other

Please, no cheating ...and Alana, no gum in class!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Answer Key:

Since (to my amazement) a few people are actually reading this, I’ve decided to  eliminate d. A secret diary. (ohhh, readership just dropped by 62%)

What I hope this blog will be is: e) A way to spend at least a few minutes each day actually “thinking.”  Thinking, instead of just absorbing the constant input of 24/7 television, radio, and computer media. Thinking instead of just responding to the constant demands of everyday life. Thinking just to think …and then writing it down, to make sure I actually did it, instead of just thought about it.

If you said e) give yourself a gold star!

The Ground Rules

Okay, now that I’ve set out to write something, and photograph something everyday for an entire year, it’s time to establish some ground rules. I didn’t think I’d need ground rules for two reasons. First, I didn’t really think it through, and second, I didn’t really think it through. That’s just the way most New Year’s resolutions go with me, which is why I usually have three hundred and sixty-four days (give or take a day or two) to admit defeat and plan my possible resolution(s) for the following year. I know what you’re thinking ..  364 days, that should be plenty of time to “think it through.”  Well not so fast there Hot Shot …you’re forgetting about the hour I lose when daylight savings time kicks in. No, it doesn’t matter that you get it back later. Once you’re behind, it throws you off.

Anyway, now that I’m on day number six of this thing, which means I’ve blazed a five day trail into uncharted territory, I can see that I’ve got about a fifty-fifty chance of actually making it to the end of the week, so …ground rules:

Yeah, yeah snap a photo, write something, We got that, but what about rule number three?

Well rule #3, section 4, subsection b, addendum 2, clearly states that: “properly dated photographs may be held in a camera, and properly dated notes, paragraphs, sentences, or otherwise arranged words may be held in a notepad, on a napkin, hunk of driftwood, or other suitable parchment substitute until such time as it is convenient for the photographer/author to transfer the aforementioned materials to a computer and upload them to their respective blog pages as defined in Rule#3, section 1, paragraph 1.

Okay, got that? The actual time that a post is made may not coincide with the actual date of the post (‘cause I might be on vacation, or having a power outage or something.)

Alright, now that that’s clear to everyone, I need to buckle down and write something for today …Ahhh, forget it! I think I’ll just skip today.
I mean I make the rules, I can break the rules …Right?

I'll Get Straight to the Point Here

Technically I’ve already written something today (titled “Fabric Softener”) to satisfy my current New Year's Resolution, but since I posted it over on my main blog (Moody’s Notebook) I figured that to maintain this little blogette’s integrity without being redundant I should also post something here, so I’m continuing to bang away at the keyboard as you read along in an effort to compose an interesting, but if not interesting, at least a lengthy sentence, and by lengthy I mean comparatively lengthy, at least if you’re comparing it to sentences in recent works of literature which you probably are, while at the same time you’re probably wondering if my English teacher ever taught me about run-on sentences, which by the way she did not, and she was also a little vague about comma, placement so you might cut me a little slack in that department as well, but if you ever read the original version of Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe, and I recommend that you do, then you’d realize that this sentence isn’t really all that long, even though it does take a lot of punctuation marks, viz., commas to keep it going, because that Defoe guy could really go on and on without ever striking the period key, which of course he never struck because he wrote in old English long before typewriters let alone computer keyboards had been invented, so maybe what I should say instead is wow, that Dan Defoe sure could go a long way between quill dots, and by quill dots of course I mean those small round dots made of ink placed at the end of sentences scribed on parchment by a quill pen, or similar eighteenth century writing utensil, not unlike the modern period which these days can be summoned by a simple keystroke as I am about to demonstrate here!   oops, here.

Safety First

Remember when Michael Jackson dangled his baby over a balcony in front of his fans, and Steve Irwin dangled his baby in front a crocodile?
…and we all thought “Crikey, that’s a good way to get your kid killed you moron!”

Well as it turned out the kids were just fine. However, both are now fatherless. Just sayin' ...maybe there's a hidden lesson here.

Candles Burning in Memory

On the night of December 8th, 1980 when I heard the news, I knew the world was going to miss John Lennon. After listening to hours of news bulletins about his assassination, I lit an ivory white candle in memory of John, and placed it on the mantelpiece above our fireplace. The candle was encased in a heavy five point star made of glass. As the candle burned I played nearly every Beatles, and John Lennon album I owned, finally ending late in the evening with Double Fantasy, the album that was to be John’s comeback album. As John was singing: “I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round,” and telling us: “there's no problem, only solutions,” and explaining that “there's no hurry...” The candleholder exploded, throwing glass and wax onto the mantle, hearth, and floor.

As I cleaned up the mess I thought of how surreal it felt. Now thirty years later it still seems strangely fitting that the candle we burned for John grew far too hot for its container, and didn’t shine for nearly as long as it should have.

On the night of January 1^st, 2011 I was reminded of all this as I lit a candle for a young woman that I never knew, but who’s tragic death has no doubt crushed the hearts of her friends and family. There were no bulletins on the radio (I received the news in a private Email.) The nation did not mourn together, nor will it look back and remember together. But as John professed, we are all the same, none of us more important than the rest, so another candle burned in my home the other night, as one does from time to time, just as brightly as John’s, because another good person left this world much too soon.

Day Two

I’ve typed a lot today ...I mean, if you count the backspace button.

I should probably stop now, before I delete yesterdays post.

I Resolve to Write

This year I thought I would try to write something everyday,
instead of everything someday.
...so far so good.