A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
I find this post quite interesting because I’ve been quite nostalgic lately. I’ve been having these moments of return about things I hadn’t thought about in a very long time. I like this post because Regina drives into nostalgia. She provides a window into something we rarely discuss but often participate in. Take a look at the post. And if you haven’t been to her blog, there are several interesting posts. Enjoy!
I’ve always been a fan of history. I can babble about various eras throughout at a moment’s notice. I once had a secretary tell me I could do things that happened 3000 years ago, but I can’t remember to check my email or voicemail. I laughed my butt off when she said it because it was entirely accurate. Despite all the things in history I researched, I never looked into the year I was born.
So, spent most of the day researching events of 1969 and discovered I did, in fact, know many of them. So, the excitement I was feeling sort of dwindled. Then I kept digging and found some cool stuff that requires further research so things are right in the universe again. I would have had this post out earlier, but I fell into the rabbit hole and started reading newspaper articles about the events I was researching. I also started following local events that were only important to the people involved. So deep, I became jittery from the lack of coffee. So, I had to stop and get my caffeine and nicotine levels back in tolerance.
I’m not even close to finishing my research in 1969, but I thought I had better stop and post the research outline I had composed. I fully expect several from the stoop and knucklehead reports to stem from my research.
ART INSPIRED BY RDP PROMPT
“Confronting a storm is like fighting God. All the powers in the universe seem to be against you and, in an extraordinary way, your irrelevance is at the same time both humbling and exalting.”
I suppose everyone would love to say yes to the prompt question, and that would be correct, generally speaking. We have had a lifetime of experiences to teach about the content of one’s character—a lifetime of trial and error, a lifetime of being hoodwinked. Hoodwinked was the title of my response to this question a year ago. That post can be found here.
I think we want to take people at their word. For centuries, we have judged people based on so many different aspects that it would make your head spin. We’ve judged people by race, creed, religion, and sexual orientation. We never even bothered to find out what kind of person they were at the core. We have relied on stereotypes and preconceptions taught to us by society. Societal standards aren’t altogether false; we all have certain beliefs based on these standards. However, we have to be strong enough to stand up against the things that have proven false.
Let me take a moment and list a few things I have heard over the years. These examples should provide a clearer picture of the point I’m trying to illustrate.
I’ve heard this nonsense in the last year, and it’s hard to believe that some of it is still being said. I won’t even touch some things I see on social media. The hardest pill to swallow is when the mess comes out of the mouth of someone you thought you knew. Events like these make you question your judgment. We sometimes change our opinion of someone based on a single action or statement. However, I suggest not reacting in haste because everyone has a bad day. Also, we have no idea of their struggles and haven’t shared.
Dr. Maya Angelou offers this advice.
I’ve found this quote to be quite helpful over the years. I’ve tried to minimize placing my expectations or principles on individuals and allowed them to be themselves. In some cases, you will be surprised by someone’s actions. I’ve been in situations where the least likely person came to my aid. You just never know. The only I can hope for is not to be hoodwinked.
A year ago, I had just begun dealing with my health issues and thought everything would be over in a few weeks. I just wanted everything to be over, and I could return to my life. Friends and family were on my case about taking a step back and focusing on my health. Of course, this advice was like a thousand spikes hammered into my ears. I didn’t want to step back from work, retire, or any other nonsense in that arena. Do you think I’m soft? I got this! Who are you calling soft? No one was calling me soft, but that was my mindset.
A few months later, I got better, like I said from the beginning. However, my health improvement was short-lived. It was non-existent if I’m honest about it. Nothing more than a figment of my imagination. The characters I create for my stories are closer to reality than my reprieve from illness. My condition worsened, forcing me into retirement, and I was pissed. Here’s the problem: I wasn’t sure what I was actually upset about. I had prepared financially for retirement in a year or so. 2026 was the target year, but I could retire at any time before that. However, I didn’t like the idea of being forced to do something. However, health-wise, I was in no condition to do anything but try to get better.
Well, it turns out that my condition was worse than I thought, to the point where it was almost impossible for me to make this post or any others. Yeah, the shit had got real. So, no, where I am today versus a year ago. Not even close. I’m blessed
I reread this post from earlier this year and realized nothing has changed. Yet, I wonder why WordPress can’t develop any new material. Have we entered the remake era for daily prompt questions? If so, I don’t remember things going all that well with movies.
My submission for Hugh’s Views & News blog, Wordless Wednesday post.
“The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.”
– John Muir
The Yellowjackets
In several previous posts, you’ve heard me yammer on about my musical journey and how different things in my life helped establish my evolving musical tastes. During the 1980s, I became a fan of jazz and the sub-genre of jazz fusion. This was spurred by my introduction to Al Dimeola, legendary guitarist of the Jazz Fusion trio Romantic Warrior. As I drove deeper into jazz fusion, I discovered “The Yellowjackets.”
The Yellowjackets are a highly influential American jazz fusion band formed in 1977 in Los Angeles. Assembled initially as a backup band for guitarist Robben Ford, they evolved into one of jazz’s most respected groups. Ford left the band to pursue a different musical direction after recording their first album. The track Rush Hour on their 1981 self-titled release is often considered Robben Ford’s best work.
After Ford’s departure, the band continued as a trio. Despite Ford’s departure, the band maintained the sound band established with Ford. Mirage a Trois (1983) marked the transition of the band’s sound into a direction. They added saxophonist Marc Russo to add in the transition. Their album Shades (1986) cemented their sound, unique to their previous sound.
The band currently consists of:
Throughout their 43-year history, the Yellowjackets have recorded 25 albums and received 17 Grammy nominations, winning two. Modern rhythms, strong melodies, and innovative jazz fusion compositions characterize their music.
Here is an interesting article about the Dollar Tree. It illustrates a condition we seldom want to discuss openly.
I can remember a world when the personal computer was something we saw on television. Interestingly enough, computers were often portrayed as villains. So, I smile when I read this prompt, thinking about how much our world has become intertwined with computers. I spend a considerable amount of time working on one of my computers daily. My life without a computer will be significantly affected, but not as much as you might think.
Today, I spent most of the day working with a notebook and a pen. I was collecting my thoughts about a post I want to publish here. I used several references to gather the information I needed to establish the point I was trying to make. Yet, these references weren’t a product of a Google search but rather from my personal library. I reviewed various volumes of information about philosophy, religion, and psychology. I didn’t have to use my computer once. All I needed was a notebook and a pen.
Last year, I told the story of my first day in the military, which I thought would be appropriate for today’s prompt.
Here is my previous response to the prompt
My submission for Hugh’s Views & News blog, Wordless Wednesday post.
WordPress says I have already answered today’s prompt. Again, there is no sense repeating myself, so it’s REBLOG time.
Here is my response to the Weekend Writing Prompt – Diamond
Fractured light danced through the diamond’s heart, each facet holding a universe of trapped rainbows and whispered secrets.
Here is my response to the Weekend Writing Prompt – Hunter
The hunter moved through mist that tasted of stardust and forgotten dreams. Her arrows, woven from moonbeams, hung weightless in a quiver made of twilight shadows. Each step left crystalline footprints that bloomed into phosphorescent flowers, their petals humming ancient lullabies. Above, constellations rearranged themselves like curious children watching her passage. She was hunting something that existed between heartbeats, a creature born in the space between reality and imagination. Its trail was a ribbon of liquid silver, leading her deeper into a forest where trees whispered in languages lost to time.
Here is my response to the Weekend Writing Prompt – Occident
Amidst the fading twilight of the Occident, ancient stories whispered through cobblestone streets, carrying echoes of empires long surrendered to time’s embrace.
Here’s my response to Sadje’s WDYS
It was career day, and the children were excited to present their family members. You see some sat with their chest popped out, beaming with pride. While others did their best to appear innocent. They terrorize one another in the classroom or on the playground. Spitwads, mudballs, and name-calling are weapons in their arsenal. Yet, today, they are the perfect little angels their parents and grandparents believe them to be. I looked around the classroom, making sure all the children were present. The presentation was going to start at any moment.
Echo came bursting through the door, water splashing from his bucket. Echo Gibbons was the only child who didn’t have anyone here for the presentation. Echo lived in foster care with Lida Jefferies, a local legend in town. She had helped so many children in their time of need, providing a stable and loving environment for them to strive in. Echo was no different.
Echo went to the blackboard and began cleaning it. I heard the rumblings of some of his classmates calling him a brown noser under their breath. Their parents hushed them and then looked at me apologetically. I nodded and turned to watch Echo expertly clean the blackboards. He stood back and examined his work, dropping his rag in the bucket. He adjusted his hoodie and looked at me.
“What do you think, Mr. Green?” he asked, I smiled and nodded.
”It looks perfect, Echo,” I replied, a slight smile crept up on his face. He grabbed his bucket and walked out of the room. Echo returned a few moments and sat in the corner by the window. There were some wonderful presentations. The children sat there listening with all smiles until Mr. Hill started talking about being a banker. I had never seen children fall asleep so fast. He brought charts and didn’t notice the kids napping. When he did, his face reddened, and he grabbed his things. He sat down in a huff.
There was an aroma that filled the room. Lida Jeffries stood in the doorway with a pan of freshly baked croissants. The children gathered around her. Echo slipped past them and sat on her lap. She held him affectionately; it was the first time I saw the young man at peace. She told stories about the children she’d helped and even more stories about life. I learned something: if you want to hold the children’s attention, it’s all about the baked goods.
As it turns out, my favorite cartoon hasn’t changed in a year. Imagine that! I suppose I could make up something about how I loved SpaceGhost or He-Man, but I’d be lying, and you guys would see right through it
uld see right through it
Here is my response to Reena’s Xploration Challenge #359
I walked in and pulled over the metal chair by a sliding door. I slid the door back and walked to the window. I sat down and leaned back in the chair, staring into the night sky. Closing my eyes and slowing my breathing, I prepared myself to see the possible scenarios I would face. I picked up something from a Tibetan. I cleared my mind of all the distractions. It wasn’t easy; it never was. The amount of baggage we carry around day to day is staggering. We cling to things we deem essential but are quite trivial in the larger scheme of things. The idea was to picture myself in a peaceful place. This place is different for everyone. Once you achieve the mediative state, the mind and spirit are in harmony, and the visions will come. Images flashed in my mind, displaying the different challenges that I might face. For each challenge, I came up with a possible solution. It wasn’t like I could see the future or anything, but I had been in this game long enough to know most of the problems I would face.
Author’s Note:
I’ve been working on a large writing project for the last month, and I wrote a portion of a larger scene in which the protagonist meditates. When taking a break earlier this week, I saw the above image, which stood out for some reason. I couldn’t place it at the time. I put the image on a separate scene, sat back, and let it talk to me. Then, it occurred to me why the picture was critical. I opened Scrivener, and sure enough, there was a note for me to work on that scene. So, I began to play with the scene using the picture. I decided to post this excerpt as I continued playing with the scene. Most likely, it will end up much different than what you see, but this sketch provides a good placeholder.
Over the last several years, I’ve been constantly complaining about the amount of time I don’t have. I can’t wait to retire so I can do what the hell I want… I remember going on about several times over the years. However, not that I’m here I find I have too much time on my hands. I occupy it with ridiculous projects. I’ve might have mentioned character analysis of the character’s in Superman universe. Now, let me ask you, if I were to write a post with my findings about the Superman’s character … would you care? I mean really?
Yes, I long for the days of being overworked and underappreciated by “the man” or wait… can we say, “the man” anymore?
The forest stood still, ancient and unyielding as if defying time itself. But now, a strange silence hung in the air—not the serene quiet of life breathing gently, but the uneasy hush of something amiss. The once-crystal stream that wound through the heart of the woods, a lifeline to countless creatures, was no longer clear. Its waters, tainted with an oily sheen, seemed to pollute the very essence of the forest’s soul.
A deer approached hesitantly, its hooves crunching softly on the brittle grass. It bent to drink but recoiled, sensing something wrong. The poison ran deeper than just the water; it was in the air, the earth, the whispers of the leaves. Who had done this? Who could destroy something so pure, so vital?
Perhaps it was the folly of man, always reaching, always taking. It was greed that sought to conquer instead of coexist. Or perhaps—just perhaps—it was the forest itself, tired of centuries of neglect, silently fighting back in ways no one yet understood.
The trees shivered as if sharing a secret, their shadows casting long and mournful patterns across the poisoned ground. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, the forest seemed to sigh, wondering if salvation was still possible in a world so carelessly polluted by those who claimed to love it.
One of my favorite parts of writing is the creation of the story. To listen to the story being told to my soul. I know that sounds a little strange, zany even, but this is how I feel whenever I pick up a pen and start writing a story. In this instance, I’m more of a recorder than a writer. Strange, I know, but it is like my pen has a mind of its own. Telling the story in bits and pieces. Sometimes, these fragments make sense, but for others, I have no idea where the fragments come from. It sounds exciting and a blast but isn’t the best part.
Editing is the best part. Once she reads this, my editor will tap into her editor’s magic and send thousands of those dreaded red marks to ensure my happiness. It will bring her joy as I scream in frustration and try to unravel the madness these red marks always bring. I can see her now. Her eyebrow raised, peering over her glasses, muttering something like the following …
“Really?” she says, looking at me bewildered. Which frightens me a bit because she doesn’t do bewilderment.
I look at her with all the confidence I can muster, hoping she buys it. I respond, “Yep!”
She holds my gaze, clearly not buying it. She picks up my latest draft and begins doing her thing. The once-white paper is now red with the faintest glimmers of white remaining. She tosses the draft on the table beside me, smirking, “Have fun!”
“What the f…” I reply
She chuckles harder, “Teaspoon.”
Of course, I don’t find the situation humorous at all. However, I begin the process. I clear the mechanism of doubt and start the next part of the journey.
Editing is the portion where, as writers, we shape our creation into something unexpected and unintended. If we are lucky, we allow it to grow into something magical. So many times, I’ve written things telling one story, but by the time I’m finished editing, it has become something else. Because of this, I’ve been able to reuse concepts to establish foundations or fill in gaps as needed.
There’s something about finding another storyline within a sentence or paragraph or scribbling a note on a napkin. So, excuse me as I prepare to get my butt kicked.
I got caught up in listening for candidates for tonight’s post. I must have listened to nearly every song from the 80s. Of course, I didn’t, but it felt that way. There were several tracks I found myself dancing to—well, at least what passes for dancing in my current condition. Then, there were others that I simply shook my head, wondering how these songs were recorded. But tonight, I’m featuring another track track I actually enjoyed. Again, it isn’t a lyrical masterpiece, nor does it please you sonically. Yet, there is something about this track that still makes me smile.
Here’s E.U. classic – Da Butt
Here is my post from a year ago. I had just started dealing with my illness and was feeling pretty vulnerable. So, that was what the QOTD was about. It is still relevant today.
When the war moved in, not the day it started, but the day it became real.
There are no bullets, no sound to remind you that you’re not home.
It’s the silence that creeps into your pores; now you know what unsettling means.
You taste the blood of the unhealed wounds, neath the scars you cleverly hide.
Sunlight radiates against your skin. You’re hot to the touch, drenched with sweat.
Yet, you stumble as you try to find your way through the darkness.
Searching for that light of hope, that fairytale, that legend we were taught to believe.
Something to cling to as we crash against the waves of uncertainty beating us into submission.
Suddenly, in the distance, we see it …
The Lighthouse of Hope
Authors note:
This piece was partially inspired by the opening line of Stacey C. Johnson’s piece called shelled.
For some reason, Jetpak likes to recycle questions for their prompts. Usually, when this happens, I either ignore the question or provide a different answer. However, my previous response is still valid since this prompt was only asked a few months ago.
Tonight, our silly song from the 80s is one of my favorites. Wall of Voodoo came out of nowhere to record this track. I think I enjoyed it so much, because it so different than the rest of the tracks of the time. The lyrics were ridiculous, but not to point of being absurd. It’s a fun song I sang along with over many drunken nights.
If you were to ask my late wife this question, she would respond that my favorite place to visit was my house. I was never home. It didn’t matter what country we lived in; it seemed like I dropped off her and the kids and then left. In many ways, she would be wrong. Often, I wonder how I didn’t end up a member of statistics concerning service members and the divorce rate. Military life isn’t for everyone. I’ve seen it break some of the nicest people. I watched them become caught in the churn of military life and drown in a slow, miserable death. Both service members and their families. I suppose I was lucky to a degree.
I don’t have a favorite place, per se; I have more like a region I enjoy spending time in, the Pacific Northwest. I have hundreds of stories about my travels in that area, but none accurately convey my feelings about traveling on Highway 101. I’ve traveled up and down that highway more than I could count. Once you start traveling north on that highway, the world changes. Northern California is completely different than Southern California. Once you cross the border into Oregon, the world changes. This magic repeats itself as you enter Washington.
I also enjoy the time I spent traveling through Montana, Wyoming, and even Idaho. The scenery is breathtaking. All one has to do to feel better is just breathe
I traveled the world,
looking, searching
for the beauty promised
to us all.
The beauty often
overlooked, under appreaciated
perhaps, I don’t know
take a moment
To bask the beauty
of it’s splendor
Tonight, we continue with the silly songs of the 1980s. I remember playing this game at the arcade and later on the Atari 2600. I had forgotten about this track until I started researching the era. Those who remember this track are probably shaking their heads. For those who love 80s music, this track will demonstrate that we didn’t always get it right.
I remember being at an age when I took stock of my skills and abilities and wondered if these things defined the person I was supposed to become. Over the years, I have realized that titles, lists, or attributes aren’t what shape you. Our strengths and weaknesses change over time. Things we were good at when we were young may seem impossible to accomplish now. We may not even figure out how we did them in the first place. As we age, new abilities surface we never knew we possessed. Hopefully, we have gained wisdom along with experiences in life. We do the best we can with what we have to work with.
I sit smiling, remembering when this stuff mattered.
In the vicinity of forgotten dreams, shadows whispered ancient tales. Moonlight painted silver streaks across crumbling walls, while time stood still. Echoes of laughter drifted through empty corridors, carrying memories of those who once walked these halls into the velvet night.
My submission for Hugh’s Views & News blog, Wordless Wednesday post.
What does your ideal home look like?
Not exactly, but something like this since we dreaming and all
What alternative career paths have you considered or are interested in?
I’m satisfied with the career path I chose. Could I have done something different? Definitely! However, the goal was to provide for my family, and I did that. So, in this regard, I’m good. I have always wanted to write, and I’m a writer. I wanted to make a difference or do something that mattered. I was a soldier. The best job ever is being a parent. It doesn’t get any better than that for me.
I’ve retired young, so I could return to work once my health improves if I want. The question is, what would I do? It would be something I enjoy, something that brings joy and meaning to my life and others.
I could play Watermelon Man or Blinded by the Light and get a second. It would be expected, even appreciated.
Here’s a sample of the stuff that would be playing over the loudspeakers …
One of the things I enjoy the most about listening to music is finding artists who aren’t part of mainstream popularity. It’s rewarding to watch your discovery become super famous, but sometimes, you want to stay small. It’s having your own secret band in your back pocket. Tenpenny Joke is such a band.
Tenpenny Joke was an Australian rock band from Melbourne’s Mornington Peninsula in 1997. They made their mark in the melodic rock scene.
Musical Journey
The band achieved a significant milestone in 2004 when they signed with Shock Records/Sing Sing Productions. Their debut album, “Ambush on All Sides,” was released in 2005. It was produced by Matt Voigt, known for his work with The Living End, Kiss, and Aaliyah.
Band Lineup
Musical Style and Impact
Their sound was primarily melodic rock, incorporating progressive and alternative elements. The band gained international recognition, receiving airplay across multiple countries, including the US, UK, Europe, New Zealand, and Asia. They were particularly successful in Japan, where their track “Across The Ocean” became highly requested on Yellowbeat radio.
Notable Works
Ambush on All Sides” (2005) – Full-length album
Since I’ve been talking about 80s music lately, I figured I would list a rarely known band from that period.
Vandenberg is a Dutch-American hard rock band formed in 1981 in Amsterdam by guitarist Adrian “Adje” van den Berg. The band achieved international success in the 1980s before their guitarist joined Whitesnake and later experienced a revival in recent years.
Notable Achievements
The band’s breakthrough came with their debut album, recorded at Jimmy Page’s studio. This album spawned their biggest hit, “Burning Heart,” which reached #39 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100. The band toured extensively as opening acts for major artists like Ozzy Osbourne and KISS.
Notable Songs
The original 1981 lineup of Vandenberg consisted of:
Recent Activity
After a long hiatus, Vandenberg returned in 2020 with a new lineup and released their comeback album “2020”. In 2023, they released their latest album, “Sin,” featuring vocalist Mats Levén, drummer Koen Herfst, and bassist Randy van der Elsen.
I used to have a bedtime that I fought tooth and nail. I couldn’t wait until I became an adult to do what I wanted. You know, to stay up until the roosters crow and all that. Then, I got a job where four hours of sleep was a luxury. I spent most of my time working through the night. I’d pass out when the dawn came. Things seemed to be quieter in the daytime. Well, at least until after morning coffee. I’ve been wired that way for so long that it’s hard to be any other way.
Now that I’m older, I enjoy the stillness of the night. It is so peaceful and quiet. I can get a lot done during this time.
Last night, we discussed silly songs from the 80s. We find several of these songs silly today, but back then, we sang them with all our hearts. When we hear them today, we smile about the memories and laugh at their ridiculousness. So, tonight I like to continue with what I started the week.
Here’s The Knack, with My Sharona
It’s been a while since I posted anything in this category. It feels good to be back. I read earlier today that someone posted about Dexy’s Midnight Runners. I had a hard flashback to that period and its music, so I took a look back into the past to see some of the songs that were released during that time.
What principles define how you live?
I spent most of my developing a simple code to live by. Though there are several aspects and layers concerning the code I developed, it boils down to these two variables. I live by two main principles; honesty and Integrity. It’s just that simple.
List three books that have had an impact on you. Why?
Do you trust your instincts?
If you can’t trust yourself, who can you trust? This is the question that comes to mind when I read this prompt. With the social climate of the last few decades, many have made fortunes in the “Doubt” business. I talked to one of these individuals once, and when I questioned their motives, I quickly became a nonbeliever and radiated large amounts of negative energy. I looked around to see if they had some device that measured energy levels. I was asked to leave when I asked them to present this device. I’m still sad about the event, not at all.
My intuition has saved my butt more times than I can count. So, I trust it. However, I must admit there have been times it has stirred me wrong, mainly partly due to my lack of knowledge of the situation. The other part was the person in charge of the situation seemed shady. I don’t do shady people, as a general rule. However, sometimes they can be rather useful. In cases like these, I adjust the settings on my shade – meter. Overexposure can be harmful, and it takes a while to recover from its effects.
Believing in yourself or trusting yourself are useful tools in building self-reliance, developing personal growth, and strengthening one’s emotional intelligence. I’ve heard people mock the use of gut feelings and demand the use of actual data or science. This is funny because when people use their gut feelings, they combine their knowledge, experiences, and science. Yep, I said science. The issue resides in people’s inability to articulate why they feel a particular way. So, continue trusting your instincts.
Let me provide an example; my editor can read something of mine and say something like this.
“I don’t like it. Don’t ask me why, but there’s something not right.”
When we first started working together, this was some frustrating shit. However, I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut and listen over the years. More times than not, there’s, sure enough, something jacked in my draft.
Smart people say gut feelings are like using a muscle; the more you use it, the stronger it becomes. They recommend continuing to gain knowledge and experience and living life. So, believe and trust yourself; you may very be justified in having pause. So, when someone asks me whether or not I trust my gut. My response is always:
“You’re Kidding, Right?”
My submission for Hugh’s Views & News blog, Wordless Wednesday post.
I love the fall; the colors are just as magical as spring. There is beauty in every season if you open your mind to see it. The color resided in the fact that it had the ability to make forget about the madness in the world—the madness that had the potential to destroy every fiber of decency that remained. So, we needed moments like these, moments where the fiery red of the leaves blended with the purplish hues of the space between that made the white of the snow-covered ground have a bluish tint. Moments of otherness.
I stood with an unlit straight hanging from my lips. The temperature dropped enough that you could see your breath. Winter was around the corner. Soon, Winter’s talons would be crawling at your skin. There have been more and more days like these lately. Another horrid crime scene was behind me. An example of the madness this beautiful scene would help me escape, even if it’s just for a little while. I could hear the crunch of footsteps against the snow and turned to see Lt. Rawlins.
Lieutenant Benjamin Rawlins stepped up next to me and stood silently. He wore an expressionless face—the look I was used to seeing. At the last crime scene, he was a pot of emotions on the verge of boiling over. He chewed on the end of his signature cigar. He always smoked the cheap ones. His wife said the good ones were too expensive to be chewed on. An expression that told me he was feeling exactly what I was feeling. We have both been doing this long enough where words weren’t necessary.
“There’s nothing like the fall colors right before winter,” Rawlins remarked as he spit out the chewed-up portion of his cigar. It looked like he would be needing a fresh one before long. I nodded in agreement.
“You gonna get this __” Rawlins broke off due to his promise to his wife when the first grandchild arrived. I stared at him, and he met my gaze. I nodded.
“Before Christmas? I don’t want the city to be in unrest during the season.” Rawlins remarked. Lists of children naughty and nice, letters to Santa, and horrible, well-intended Christmas gifts always gave me a warm fuzzy. Yet, you couldn’t ignore the magical elements of the holiday. So many people were absolutely impossible for most of the year, but they became something else during this season. Only a few weeks later, they seemed to forget the promise of hope and return to the drudgery. It’s disheartening and sad.
I shrugged and lit my cigarette. I took a deep drag, exhaled, and said, “Patience, Boss.” Rawlins stopped chewing, and I felt his gaze. His face reddened with rage, not at me, but at the idea, someone was in his city doing these hideous acts. He swallowed it, but not before he chucked away the remainder of his cigar in frustration.
“Detective Casey,” he began in that low growl graded against my soul. I reached out and gripped his shoulder, “Patience, Boss. We’ll get him, I promise.” Rawlins nodded and walked away. I watched him get into his sedan and leave. I knew better than to make promises in cases like these. It was possible we would catch a break and catch the killer, but it was more likely that we wouldn’t even come close to apprehending the killer. It was the pang of madness.
I’ve been participating in this year’s NaNoWriMo, so I haven’t been active on WordPress as usual. Yesterday, I completed the word count requirements, but they’re far from complete, so I decided to take a break and read some challenges. It’s always fun participating. While reading today, I noticed a few that caught my eye.
I used the following prompt to draft the opening sequence of the chapter of my ongoing work.
Moonwashed Weekly Prompt – Otherness and the enchanting image provided the imagery in the opening paragraph. It helped me add a bit of beauty to the gritty, grimy story I’ve been working on this month. Thanks, Eugi!
Ragtag Daily Prompt – Chew, Patience, and Shallow provided depth in the character interactions. Thanks Guys!
Esther’s Writing Prompts – Adding a pleasant element to my grisly tale. Thank you!
Today, we doing something a little different. I’ll be using animation to display artwork today
I’ve loved animals all my life and had some wonderful times with them, as well as a few close calls with them. Now that I’m older, the type of animals I enjoy is small, but not as small as I would like. Still, I find myself fascinated by their power, grace, and awesomeness.
Here is some of the artwork of my favorites:
When I was younger, I made two lists. One was famous people I would have a conversation with over a cup of coffee. The other list of historical people that I thought needed to be throat punched. Now, my wife wasn’t a fan of either list. In fact, every time she caught me making an entry, she gave me something to do. Sighs, the misplaced passion of youth. Where would we be without it?
As a track & field athlete, this photo meant a great deal to me.
The establishment of my era still turned their noses up each time they saw this photo. This photo and others were considered taboo, or if I use the phrase I heard the most, they were “troublemakers.” Martin Luther King, Jesus, or “The Last Supper” in most of my friends’ homes. However, I spent most of my time reading about people who stood against injustice. This was the beginning of the coffee list.
Recently, I had the pleasure of rehashing the glory days with some old friends. The above came up. We all were athletes, and it was important to us. However, I didn’t care much for it, but I understood its significance in the movement. We discussed the civil rights movement at length that day, even though none of us were alive to participate during critical periods. We talked about what we were doing to fulfill MLK’s dream. We questioned whether how our sacrifices would benefit our children and grandchildren. As you can imagine, this was a very long conversation and was getting heavier by the second. So, I decided to lighten the mood.
I held up my phone with the above photo and asked, “Who’s the white guy?” None of us knew, but of course, we had the guy that sputters
“Oh man, I can’t remember his name…Damn!”
We have two of these individuals in our group, and they take turns uttering that phrase. Once, I wanted to see which one said it the most. After several months of observing, it was a tie, and I figured the game was rigged just to skew my data. Yes, I’m the guy who always gathers data.
Well, the gentleman’s name was Peter Norman. Here are a few facts about him.
Peter George Norman was an Australian track athlete born in Melbourne, Australia, on June 15, 1942. He grew up in a devout Salvation Army family and worked as an apprentice butcher before becoming a physical education teacher.
Norman’s athletic career began when he joined the Melbourne Harriers, and he won his first major title, the Victoria junior 200m championship, in 1960. He excelled in sprinting, becoming a five-time national 200-meter champion and representing Australia at the 1966 Commonwealth Games in Jamaica, where he won bronze medals in the 220-yard and 4×110-yard relay.
The defining moment of Norman’s career came at the 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico City. In the 200-metre final, he stunned everyone by claiming the silver medal with a personal best time of 20.06 seconds, setting an Oceanic record that still stands today. However, the events that followed on the medal podium would forever change Norman’s life and cement his place in history.
As Norman stood on the podium alongside gold medalist Tommie Smith and bronze medalist John Carlos, the two American athletes raised their black-gloved fists in a Black Power salute while playing the U.S. national anthem. This powerful gesture was intended to highlight systemic segregation and racism in the United States. Though not raising his fist, Norman chose to stand in solidarity with Smith and Carlos by wearing an Olympic Project for Human Rights badge on his jacket.
Norman’s decision to support the protest was not without consequences. Upon returning to Australia, he faced unofficial sanctions and was ridiculed as the “forgotten man” of the Black Power salute. Despite qualifying for the 1972 Munich Olympics, Norman was not selected to represent Australia and never competed in the Olympics again.
Throughout his life, Norman remained committed to his beliefs in human rights and never regretted his actions on the podium. He continued to be involved in athletics administration and Olympic fundraising and even worked on organizing the 2000 Sydney Olympics.
Norman passed away on October 3, 2006, at the age of 64, due to a heart attack. In a poignant tribute, Smith and Carlos served as pallbearers at his funeral.
In the years following his death, Norman’s role in the historic protest has gained increased recognition. In 2012, the Australian Parliament formally apologized for the treatment he received after the 1968 Olympics. In 2019, a statue of Norman was unveiled in Albert Park, Melbourne, honoring his athletic achievements and his stand for human rights.
Peter Norman’s legacy extends far beyond his athletic accomplishments. His courageous decision to stand in solidarity with Smith and Carlos during a pivotal moment in the civil rights movement demonstrates the power of allyship and the importance of standing up for one’s beliefs, even in the face of adversity. Norman’s story serves as a reminder that sometimes, the most significant acts of bravery occur not in the spotlight but in quiet moments of support and solidarity.
After reading articles about Mr. Norman, I wondered how I missed him. Better yet, why was his namen’t mentioned like everyone else’s? At any rate, Peter Norman makes The Coffee List.
My submission for Hugh’s Views & News blog, Wordless Wednesday post.
My camel smolders between my index and forefingers
I drink the last drop of Guinness. I close my eyes as its taste lingers.
I order another, drinking it down, trying to drown my despair.
However, it takes me nowhere.
I stand up, trying my best to be cool.
I swagger across the floor, looking like a complete fool.
I cross the room, grabbing anything necessary
Stopping when I needed to be stationary
Finally, I reach the glow of the box.
I hold it while my eyes slowly focus.
I look for anything that rocks.
I dig in my pocket and fish for some quarters
while I try desperately to complete my order.
I drop the coin in their slot,
Clickity,
Clickity,
Clack
metallic splash
the coins reach their new home.
I weave from side to side, waiting for the sounds of madness
The guitar plays a power chord through my soul.
My arms outstretched, and my fingers pop.
My head and hips sway to the rhythm of its melody.
Two steps forward, three steps back.
My eyes squeezed tight as the sound soothed me just right.
I danced by myself in the dark and didn’t give it another thought.
Thank you for readng
My favorite spot in my city is the park. It serves as my outer office. I’ve worked on countless stories and come up with just as many ideas. I sit and watch the things that happen in the park. Some days, I break out my camera and take pictures of the things around me. Some of these photos aren’t of anything special, but for some reason, they evoke a thought or conjure an idea. On other days, I sit and allow nature to cleanse my soul. A reboot, if you will. There are numerous parks in my area. All of them offer something different. So, I never run out of inspiration.
As a young man, I had this insane desire to be liked. I wanted to be considered cool and all that. Then, one day, something peculiar happened. I stopped giving a s**t about what people thought of me and focused on becoming the person I was destined to be. Of course, I didn’t have any philosophical phrasing back then, but the sentiment and emotion driving it remain true. However, despite my severe lack of interest in what others thought of me, something kept me in line. I needed to be a son my Mom could be proud of. I never wanted to let her down. She made far too many sacrifices to be a disappointment to her. So, most of the decisions I have made in life. I keep in mind what my mom would say about this. Make no mistake, I’m my own man; Mom raised me that way. But I use her example as a guide.
I always read several books at once. I’ve never been able to keep my focus on one book for any length of time. To help with this, I usually do some research on a particular subject to give my mind a rest. As I research, I usually read several books on the subject I’m studying. Despite this, I still have trouble slowing my mind down enough to enjoy a single. On the rare this occurs, I typically read the book a second time as a writer to see what the writer did to capture my attention.
Here is my current reading list for pleasure:
The last time, I answered this question, I think I went on about the places I wouldn’t live for one reason or another. However, this year I figured I would take the time to figure out the places I would like to visit now that I’m retired.
First, I would like to go to France, for a about a month visiting all the places some of my favorite writers lived or frequented. Also, I would like to find my own spot there I could regularly or at least once a year. Secondly, I love to spend some time in the Pacific Northwest. I spent some time out there earlier in my life and loved it.
My submission for Hugh’s Views & News blog, Wordless Wednesday post.
My Mom had transferred me to a new school. Not only was I the new kid, but I was also the only Black kid, so things were immediately interesting. The world wasn’t as inclusive then as it is now. Despite these challenges, I made a friend. Most of the children were polite, but this guy was my friend for a while. We’d play after school, shooting baskets, skipping rocks, etc. Well, one day, we found a rabbit’s foot. It was exciting and all that, but I quickly forgot about it.
A few years ago, one of the girls from that school reached out on one of the socials. Once she discovered me, she broadcast to the rest of the class. So, my friend contacted me. He sent me a picture of that same rabbit’s foot we found over 40 years old. That picture officially made that rabbit’s foot cool. This story may not be the coolest thing I have found, but it makes me smile every time I think about it. Our lives are made up of tiny moments like these, and we should cherish them.
I grew up during a time when parents seemed to be allergic to giving their children rides anywhere. Our main modes of transportation were riding your bike, public transportation, and the infamous walking. Walking wasn’t a form of exercise in those days it was a necessity. So, we, got a good laugh when the trend “Power Walking” emerged. It went right along with Jazzercise, step – something, and who could forget Tae-Bo. Here’s an example of power walking from the famous, but hilarious film, Doctor Detroit (1983).
I was a track athlete in those and remember walking home from practice or walking to just about everything I wanted to do. Portable cassette players had emerged so we would listen to our favorite while numerous treks. And wouldn’t you know once I joined the military, we something called road marches, so my walking days were far from over.
What I have always enjoyed about walking to provides me chance to clear my head without over exerting myself like when running. Running there was a target heart rate, distance, and time goals set. With walking it was just walking. I still enjoy walking today. I never was a fast walker, unless I was road marching where we would 12 miles in a few hours. I enjoy leisurely walk that I vary speeds and tempo.
Here are a few of favorite songs about walking.
I’ve always liked the groove of this Nancy Sinatra classic. Every time I listen to it, I rock back and forth.
However, my all-time favorite song about walking is by Prince & the NPG. Here that track …
I can’t imagine life without some sort of pet. I didn’t always have them, but once I got one, I was hooked. Now, I’m unlike some other pet owners I know. I’m talking about the ones who buy strollers and cute sweaters. There is no judgment here. I’ve also been known to spoil my pets, but my spoiling consists of ridiculous amounts of food that is most likely not very healthy.
I’ve been primarily a dog owner for most of my life, but it’s been all about the cats lately. As a cat dad, I have never had a pet before. Like dogs, they each have their own personality, and getting to know them is a treat. I’ve found that some cats act like dogs and follow you around as you walk through the house while they look at you crazy. I enjoy watching them sit and talk smack to me, like I speak cat or something. My first hid somewhere in the house for two weeks, until one day, she decided to jump on my lap without any warning.
She crossed the “Rainbow Bridge” a few months back, and it was severely difficult to deal with. I lost two cats that week, and I thought I wouldn’t be able to have another pet. I remember this pain from the first I lost one of my Rotties. I didn’t think I would be affected, but I was wrong. Soph and Ajna were rescues. Soph’s original mom passed, and Ajna’s mom couldn’t keep her anymore. So they didn’t get along, but they kept it civil. I think it was primarily for my benefit, and I thank them.
I have a new fuzzball named Guppy. She is another rescue, but she is completely different from others. She sleeps on one of my printers and talks smacks on the regular. It cracks me up. I was supposed to have rescued them, but in truth, they rescued me. So, I think everything is awesome about having a pet, but when they cross the “Rainbow Bridge, ” that blows!
I’ve always liked this challenge but haven’t participated in it in a while.
1. If reincarnation exists, would you like to come back as a domestic pet or a wild animal? I don’t think reincarnation works this way, but it would be cool if it did. However, I can’t decide which one. As domestic pet life is sweet, just ask my cat. Yet, as a wild animal, all that power and freedom.
2. Do you think Zoos are a good idea? As a child, the zoo was within walking distance and free. I spent time watching the wild cats and the monkeys, so I loved them. However, now I don’t feel the same way. I can’t stand watching them in that environment, none of them. I think all species should be free in their own habitat.
3. Have you ever been to a safari park? Nope, never wanted to go. I’ve seen my share of wild animals. Sometimes, I was freaked out. They look smaller on television and in magazines. I know this example isn’t a safari, but watching wild mustangs run wild was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. I considered letting a mountain lion eat my little brother once, but I figured I would have trouble explaining to his mother how I let this happen to her baby.
4. Have you visited an oceanarium? Once, it was so freaking cool, but I still think about them as I do about zoos. They should be free no matter how cool they are swimming around stuff. Oh my gosh, the dolphins.
Authors Note:
When I looked at this image, I had no idea what I would do with it. Literally, nothing came to me. So, I read what others had done with it, and still, no joy. I noticed that Melissa had provided a description of the image—something I think she always does. I’ve seen it before, but it made no impact until this challenge.
I took the description and rendered several images from it. Then, I started playing around with the description. All of a sudden, I had a voice. I looked around to see where it was coming from. I thought maybe my iPad was reading a book, or another of my gadgets had decided to push me over the edge. Nothing. Everything was functioning properly, but isn’t that how it works in the movies? Everything is working correctly when you go to check it.
Anyway, I returned to working on the images when I had the voice again, much louder this time. The voice was telling a story about his friend after his mother’s funeral. Then, I realized I wasn’t losing my mind, but a character was speaking to me. I’ve no clue where he’s going with his story or why he decided to tell me. It doesn’t even have a name. It has been a long time since I had a new character shown up. If I’d known, I would have tidied up a bit.
It was a lovely service; Mrs. Byrne would have been proud. No one liked to attend funerals, but they appreciated them being done correctly. Over the years, I remember her mentioning bits of this and that she saw at the different services. She mentioned some more than once, so I added everyone we could remember in her service. Her daughter Ivy had been my best friend since I showed up in the neighborhood at five years old.
My older brother Sean and I moved into the neighborhood after cancer had taken our Mom. Cancer is cruel, and it took its time taking our Mom. Pop lost his job at the plant because he refused to leave our mother’s side at the end. It took five months to cross the Rainbow Bridge and years to prepare for the journey. Her death broke Pop, but somehow, he pulled it together once we moved to the neighborhood. At least for a little while.
The neighborhood was three miles long and ten blocks deep, filled with Irish Catholics, and our Black faces weren’t exactly welcome. Mr. Flannery was Pop’s best friend, and he convinced a friend of his to rent to us. Pop got a job doing demolition. Pop said he had a lot of anger to work off, so the job was perfect. Sean was a teenager when we moved there and had rougher than I did. He’d come home with bruises most days until one day, he didn’t.
I played in the yard by myself most of the time until a red-haired girl with pigtails stood there looking at me one day. She didn’t say a word.
“There are swings a couple of blocks from here,” she said. I stared at her, knowing I couldn’t leave the yard. Yet, something this girl made me want to risk a trashing.
She continued to stare momentarily, then started walking away. I went to the fence and watched her. She turned and looked back, then stopped.
“You coming?” ” You aren’t a pansy, are you?” she asked. In seconds, I was walking next to her. We talked all the way to the park about the usual stuff. She told me Spider-Man was the best superhero ever, and Wonder Woman was a close second. I knew she was crazy because it was Batman, then the Green Arrow.
We played all day, swinging and climbing trees. She fell out of the tree and skinned her elbow. I leaned and kissed it. It was something my mother did when I got a boo-boo. Ivy punched me in the arm.
“You ought to know a girl’s name before you go kissing on her.” she said, smiling. She had one of her front teeth missing, but that stopped that smile one bit.
“I’m Ivy, Ivy Bryne,” she said, sticking out her hand.
“Frank Anders,” I said, shaking her hand. I gave her a soft handshake because she was a girl and punched me again.
“My dad, you give a person a firm handshake. Try it again,” she said, sitting her hand back out. I gave her a proper handshake and went back to swinging. I saw Sean coming over the crest of the hill, and he didn’t look pleased. Ivy and I met him before he got to the swings.
“See you tomorrow, Frankie,” she said and ran off.
I was standing in the garage smoking a cigarette pacing back and forth when I heard Ivy come in. She always walks hard in her heels. I don’t think she’s taking a graceful step in heels since I’ve know her. Most of the time, she could be found sporting a pair of sandals or sneakers when the weather bad.
“Did you know, Mom was into photography?” Ivy asked, before I could respond she launched into the next question typically Ivy. It always seemed like she wasn’t interested in your response, just your attention. You were to listen until there was break which usually meant your response was required, but sometimes you missed the opening that prompted, “Hello, earth to Frankie! Aren’t you listening to me?” I’ve gotten better over the years catching my cues and today was no different.
Ivy was going around this new discovery about her mother when a few photos fell out of the binder she holding. One was a picture of a crane with it’s beak pointing skyward and the other was a picture of a eagle with a mountain landscape in the background. Wonderful shots I thought. Mrs. B had really found her thing. She had confided, years ago, that felt she had lost a portion of herself being a mother. She had no regrets raising her children, but she should have carved out more time for herself.
The binder slammed Ivy was biting her bottom lip trying to hold back the tears. I didn’t understand why. If these was a time to cry, this was it. However, Ivy never wanted to be considered a punk and she wasn’t by far the toughest person I knew. Tears streamed from her reddened swollen eyes. There emerald hue seemed to sparkle in the light. Yet, she held back the wail. I always loved those eyes. She rushed towards me burying her head in my chest.
The muffled banshee cry grew louder by the second. The harder she wailed, the tighter she squeezed.
“It’s alright, baby. Let it go,” I whispered
Listening to podcasts, really isn’t my thang. I suppose I missed the movement. However, I have spent a considerable amount of time on internet radio. I was even a host for a number of years. I unsure if internet radio has been rebranded to podcasts, if so, cool, if not okay. I have listened to a few but are mainly podcasts done by people I interact with either in person or here on WordPress. When I have listened to podcasts they deal with following subjects.
I have noticed that are a few podcasts dealing with AI and other technology subjects that look interesting. I realize that a bit old fashioned on how I absorb information, but its worked for several decades. I’m not above making changes, it just takes a bit to warm up to the idea. I get my history, philosophy, and psychology fixes from books and articles. In the last decade or so, I’ve developed a liking for audiobooks. They provide the ability to move around while my brain is still being stimulated.
What have you been putting off doing? Why?
Somewhere along the way, I forgot how to do it. It’s strange actually. I can’t recall the precise moment when it happened. It’s like it stolen in the night by some silent rogue. Perhaps, I was victim of an assassin. Not the way we usually view, but the way that makes you experience the thing worse than death. It funny because that fate is different for everyone.
One would think that now I realize what has happened it would be easily reobtained. For me, this doesn’t seem to be the case. It’s like it been put into my special hiding place. The place where I put the things I want to keep safe. I stand at the door looking the room where it should be, but I can’t remember where it is in that room.
I know with patience I discover all the things within this room. It’s secrets, its treasures, and it’s grace by believing in myself.
I’m sure the first time I answered this question, I probably attempted to say something clever or mildly entertaining. Honestly, I can’t even remember. The school was fine, and I liked the subject well enough. As far as my favorite subject, it probably has something to do with english or history.
The thing I remember most, perhaps for a time the only thing that mattered, were snow days. Winters were winters back then, snow covered every surface. A cold, wet beauty for all to wonder. Our parents dressed us in snowsuits to keep warm. They weren’t worried about fashion or any of that garbage. Our gloves were tied to a string which fed through the arms of our snowsuits. They did this so we wouldn’t lose our gloves or mittens. Our snowsuits were are our armor and we were knights ready for battle.
We were architects, engineers, athletes, and anything we wanted to be. We would spend all day waiting by the radio announcement declaring school was closed. Once we had it, we’d bolt outside and begin building forts and stockpiling snowballs. Within hours, we had everything ready for the battle. We knew only had one day. There were rarely two snow days in a row. The battle would ensue. For the next few hours we battled until our tiny bodies gave out.
We heard our mother’s calling us back inside before we got frostbite or catch your death. They would unthaw us with hot cocoa. I remember so days we got fancy and added marshmellows. Yes, I said add them we didn’t have fancy premade packets. Our mothers made the hot cocoa on the stive and we waited patiencly for each cup. Our wet snowsuits would lay on the back of the chairs. Small puddles forming on the floor. Our boots stuffed with newspaper, because the newspaper absorbs the water out of our boots.
Several years ago, I posted the following somewhere on one of my socials.
“Curb your addiction; Netflix is not a lifestyle.”
I said this because, at the time, Netflix was the hottest new thing. I believe we should read and spend with our families instead of having faces glued to a screen. It remains my opinion on the matter. However, the current trends and versatility of mobile devices aren’t lost on me. I read the other day and posted on this blog every day for over six months. Looking back at that period, I realize it was done using one of my mobile devices.
My preferences are my desktop for any major creative endeavor, such as video or photo editing, and my laptop when I’m writing fiction. One can’t go anywhere without observing someone lost on their screens. I suppose it is the way of the world, as they say. However, I was amazed when I discovered that someone studied this behavior and named it. It’s called Small Screen Addiction.
Here are the particulars:
Overview of the Issue:
Small screen addiction, often referred to as screen dependency disorder, is a growing concern among children and adolescents. This phenomenon encompasses excessive use of devices such as smartphones, tablets, and computers, leading to compulsive behaviors that can negatively impact mental and physical health. As technology becomes increasingly integrated into daily life, understanding the implications of screen addiction is crucial for parents, educators, and health professionals.
Extent of Screen Addiction:
Research indicates that a significant number of young people exhibit signs of screen addiction. A 2021 survey by Common Sense Media revealed that 75% of teenagers felt compelled to respond immediately to notifications, while another study found that teens checked their smartphones a median of 51 times per day. Symptoms of screen addiction include preoccupation with screens, withdrawal symptoms when not using devices, and a loss of interest in activities previously enjoyed. The American Academy of Pediatrics has raised alarms about the detrimental effects of excessive screen time on children’s development and well-being.
Mental and Physical Health Consequences:
The consequences of small screen addiction are multifaceted. Physically, children may experience issues such as insomnia, back pain, vision problems, and headaches due to prolonged screen exposure. Psychologically, increased screen time is linked to higher rates of anxiety, depression, and social isolation. Studies have shown that children who spend excessive time gaming or on social media are at greater risk for mental health issues. Furthermore, the addictive nature of screens can disrupt normal brain development in children, affecting areas responsible for impulse control and empathy.
Behavioral Indicators:
Parents and guardians should be vigilant for signs that may indicate a child is struggling with screen addiction. Key indicators include:
Strategies for MitigationTo combat small screen addiction, experts recommend several strategies:
When reading this information, I was taken back primarily by the initial data focusing on the small-scene addiction effect on children. It makes me want to visit all the grandchildren and snatch their phones away. “Gave a damn book!” I see myself yelling in my rant. Of course, my grandchildren would look at me and wonder what Peepaw was going on as they glanced up from their screens. I’d have no hope of assistance from my children because they would wonder about the recipe, outfit, and lifestyle of a person they haven’t a clue about.
However, this got me wondering about the effects of small-screen addiction in adults. Here’s what I found.
Eye Strain and Vision Problems
Musculoskeletal Issues
Sleep Disruption
Sedentary Lifestyle
Anxiety and Depression
Cognitive Changes
Social Isolation
Stress and Mood Disturbances
Reduced Productivity
Attention and Focus Issues
Dopamine Feedback Loop
Altered Brain Chemistry
Well damn! This is the only thing I could say after reading this data. Excuse me while I charge my phone and iPad and process this data.
My submission for Hugh’s Views & News blog, Wordless Wednesday post.
I read this question and wondered what they meant. I’ve said it a thousand times if I’ve said it once.
“I don’t have time”
or
“I need more time.”
In the military, we have said, “We train to standard, not to time.”. One of those really cool sayings doesn’t always apply. However, as I progressed in ranks, I realized that prior planning or proper planning removes most of the anxiety associated with time constraints. We used a system called After Action Reviews (AAR’s) and later became lessons learned. We would evaluate an exercise and make note of things that went well as well as our failures.
The purpose of this action was to devise a plan to achieve a greater degree of success. Ideally, this plan was placed in a binder for review at a later date. The binder also served as a guide in case of a personnel change. The problem with every system isn’t the system itself, although that is sometimes the case. Rather, the lack of personnel utilizing the system results in the utterance of the above-listed questions.
Now, I won’t sit here and say there weren’t instances where we needed to make adjustments on the fly—there were plenty. However, the majority of the situations when we felt a time crunch were due to a lack of planning or learning from previous mistakes. I have developed an expansion of this philosophy as I have aged.
We have the same amount of time today as yesterday and tomorrow. The first time I said this idea about time to someone, I was told that Daylight Saving Time defeats my logic. I laugh because I feel it isn’t true. The key to successful time management is how we utilize the time we have, which is a constant. So, whatever system or techniques you may use, don’t worry about if you have enough time because you do.
Is there an age or year of your life you would re-live?
Fortunately, I’ve reached the age where the heyday has become a part of the conversation. However, with that age, I also have times when talking to the family and other younger people when I have no idea what the hell they are talking about. especially when they tell you a phrase you have been using before they were born, “Doesn’t mean what you think it means,” as if history has been erased. But, to be fair, I often say things where they are completely clueless. One of my last co-workers used to shake, smile, and shake her head like she understood. I confronted her about it after she didn’t do what I asked. Her response, “I’m not going lie, I heard words, but didn’t know what the hell you were talking about.”
Sure, I can remember some amazing moments and horrific ones. These moments shape us into the people we are. So, when it comes to reliving stuff, why would I want to do that?
thrills of change scatter plans, reflections of forgotten dreams, in the unexpected wind and rain.
Answering this question correctly depends on the definition of artist. Like many Jetpak questions, it fails to be specific. It’s almost like they have a dumb ass question generator or something. However, I like this question well enough to answer with minimal disdain. To do so, I need to provide myself a definition.
noun
As you may have guessed, I’m in a bit of a mood today, but now I have something to base my answer on. So here goes.
As a writer, my first thoughts about the creative arts are about works of literature. However, this presents an issue for me. I can rattle on for days about different works of literature and their importance without breaking a sweat. But, for the purposes of this post I will discuss some of my favorites.
Novels
Poetry
Painting and such
Photography
Comic and such
Here is the short list off the top of my head. Looking back over this post, I chuckle a bit because I remember my wife asking me a question after I had answered her questions. Why can’t you answer a question like a normal question?
CHALLENGE RESPONSE – WWP
Silence breathed whispers from the shadows, cloaked forgotten secrets slow dance. Memories and promises entwined like lovers, in madness in darkness.
I’ve been told I’m a difficult person. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, and I respect it. However, when it comes to personality traits that are red flags, it depends on the person and the situation. With that, I usually have the following philosophy. Sometimes, they do things that just irk me, and I don’t do irksome. So be genuine. Don’t fake it until you make it. Just be yourself. I can handle everything else. Posers are irksome. Yeah, don’t be that guy!
Halloween is just around the corner, and what better way to get into the spooky spirit than by exploring some of the world’s most haunted …
Top 5 Spooky Haunted Destinations
I read this piece last year and enjoyed it immensely. It asked a question that keeps me honest.
A poem in Vietnamese by Lê Vĩnh TàiTranslator: Nguyễn Thị Phương TrâmPhotography: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm The Strand NYC A poet was taking a …
Do you need 5 people to love you or 5000 followers?
Sophia Tallon has published 5 Big Distractions From Writing and How to Beat Them, by Ben Starling at her site. “How do to defeat distractions and stay on top of targets? Some times I don’t. But I’ve found a few plans for conquering my distractions that work well for me most of the time. Perhaps […]
5 Big Distractions From Writing & How To Beat Them — Ben Starling
I reblogged this post last year, and it is still relevant.
On The Necessity of Flawed Characters
I’ve gotten super into podcasts in this past year (file under #latetotheparty). Why? I think I thought they were all nonfictional musings on things. …
On The Necessity of Flawed Characters
After reading some music posts this morning, I realized I have the opportunity to combine Glyn’s and Jim’s challenges. Let’s get at it…
Here is my response to Glyn’s Mixed Music Bag
In 1998, I was on assignment in Wisconsin, and during my downtime, I attended several music festivals. One night, the fellows and I were captured by a funky bassline. We followed the sound, expecting a black guy jamming on the bass, but that wasn’t what we saw.
We were shocked and later pushed aside our stereotypes and prejudices. We stood listening to a long-haired, tall caucasian male pumping the bass with everything he had. The joyful expression on his face was captivating. Yet, he wasn’t the star of the show. A short-haired woman belted out a bluesy rock rendition of the Aretha Franklin classic Respect.
It was one of the most powerful, energetic, and soulful performances I ever saw from a smaller band. Immediately, I became a fan and grooved the entire set. My musical taste varies depending on my mood, but I wasn’t expecting my companions to enjoy the show. I knew the music they listened to regularly, and it wasn’t anything like this.
“Who are these guys?” we shouted.
They were Tina and the B-Side Movement.
Here are the particulars:
Tina and the B-Side Movement, later known simply as Tina and the B-Sides, emerged as one of Minneapolis’s most influential and beloved rock bands in the late 1980s and 1990s. Led by the charismatic and talented Tina Schlieske, the group carved out a unique space in the Midwest music scene with its blend of bluesy rock, folk-inspired Americana, and raw energy.
Origins and Early Years
The band’s story begins with Tina Schlieske, who caught the music bug early in life. Growing up in the suburb of Apple Valley, Minnesota, Schlieske was drawn to the vibrant Minneapolis music scene of the 1980s. Inspired by a diverse range of artists, including Aretha Franklin, David Bowie, Janis Joplin, and Elvis Presley, Schlieske began sneaking into clubs to perform as early as 1984, well before she was of legal age.
Gradually, Schlieske assembled a band that would become Tina and the B-Side Movement. The group’s name evolved over time, starting as a joke referencing “bowel movement” before settling on the B-Side Movement, a nod to the B-side of records that often contained hidden gems.
Musical Style and Influences
Tina and the B-Sides developed a sound that defied easy categorization. Their music was a tight fusion of bluesy rock, folk-inspired melodies, and roughly hewn Americana[1]. This eclectic mix reflected Schlieske’s diverse musical influences and her desire to avoid being pigeonholed into any one genre.
Schlieske’s powerful vocals were at the heart of the band’s sound. Her sister Laura Schlieske also contributed vocals, creating a dynamic that often evoked the spirit of a tent revival[2]. The band’s lineup evolved over the years but typically included guitars, bass, drums, and keyboards, creating a full, robust sound that could fill any venue, from small clubs to large outdoor amphitheaters.
Rise to Prominence
Tina and the B-Sides built their reputation through relentless touring and energetic live performances. They played every club that would have them, gradually building a devoted following across the Midwest[1]. Their popularity proliferated, particularly in cities like Chicago, Milwaukee, and Madison, as well as throughout their home state of Minnesota.
The band’s DIY ethos was evident in their early releases. Their debut album, “Tina and the B-Side Movement,” was released in 1989 on Schlieske’s own label, Movement Records. This was followed by “Young Americans” in 1992 and “Monster” in 1994, all self-released and promoted through grassroots efforts and constant touring.
Live Performances and Reputation
Throughout the 1990s, Tina and the B-Sides became known for their electrifying live shows. They earned a reputation as one of the best bar bands in America, packing venues wherever they played[2]. The chemistry between band members, particularly between Tina and Laura Schlieske, was a highlight of their performances.
Their popularity in Minneapolis was particularly notable. The band played multiple sold-out shows at the famous First Avenue venue, earning them a coveted star on the club’s exterior wall. This honor placed them alongside Minnesota music legends like Prince, The Replacements, and Hüsker Dü.
Here is one of my favorite tracks…
You’re my daughter and my son
You are my chosen one
You will always be
Unconditional love
Lifetime to learn
Maybe somehow
We will learn to love again
You’re my daughter and my son
You’re my daughter and you are my son
Not too hard to understand
You’re my brother and my sister too
All about the point of view
I can see it in your eyes sometimes
You afraid and so am I
Only love will be the only way
One day you will understand
You’re my daughter and my son
We are so out of place
Me you and them
And then all our fears
All hidden tears
Maybe somehow
We will learn to love again
You’re my daughter and my son
You’re my daughter and you are my son
Not too hard to understand
You’re my brother and my sister too
All about the point of view
I can see it in your eyes sometimes
You afraid and so am I
Only love will be the only way
One day you will understand
You’re my daughter and my son
You’re my daughter and you are my son
Not too hard to understand
You’re my brother and my sister too
All about the point of view
I can see it in your eyes sometimes
You afraid and so am I
Only love will be the only way
One day you will understand
You’re my daughter and my son
I’ve hundreds of bands live and witnessed several unforgettable performances. However, I say confidently that Tina and the B-Sides is still one of my favorites.
My submission for Hugh’s Views & News blog, Wordless Wednesday post.
Here is my response to Cee’s CWWC
My health has been particularly challenging this year, so I haven’t been able to get out and take pictures. During my recovery, I’ve experimented with AI images. Although, after months of using AI, I still feel my initial reservations about AI images, I’ve found myself enjoying the art I’ve been able to create. In the spirit of photography, I’ve created a series of images that may fit this challenge.
For me, AI images will never replace actual photography. I enjoy the entire process of photography too much. I sit on the bed of my pickup, drinking coffee from a thermos, before taking a bite of the sandwich I packed.
Here is some concept art of pathways…
Here are a few photorealistic images I created for challenges in another community:
This is in response to Ragtag Daily Prompt – Pumpkin.
Memoirs of Madness 