A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
What sacrifices have you made in life?
We all make sacrifices. It’s just a fact of life. Some make more than others, but we all make them. There is one sacrifice that stands out more than others: the moment I sacrificed my innocence. I didn’t know what was happening, but now I understand completely. Now, I mourn the loss of the bliss of ignorance.
I have several collections of various things that captured my interest over the years. I could go on about my book, music, or my hard drives filled with unsorted data to be used at some unspecified time. No data is bad data. However, I have a collection that may be a tad unusual. To the point of interesting in a peculiar way.
Unintentionally, I began to collect unused journals. There are of various sizes and types. This collection started by accident. One of those collections that just appear, and you don’t realize you started until you do.
If you ask me there something with each of these journals. Either it’s the binding, the paper, the size, or a combination of everything. I’ve actually found a few of these journals that could work in a pinch, but they didn’t work with my pen rotation. Now, I when hear a writer begin discussing pen and paper combinations, they have a became a pretentious dick. I’m fully aware that I fit this category. I’m okay with it. I’ve even this excuse for not writing. Yep, I’m that guy.
However, because of my oddity, I learned how to make own journals. Just when you think it can’t get any worse. I can’t write on anything lighter than 24lbs paper. Don’t let me get started on the proper pen rotation. We don’t have enough time for the rant that ensue from my dissatisfaction of inferior writing instruments of today. I find myself pondering with the following query “why?”
Enough of that, I have another collection I’d like to share this evening. I’ve been painstakingly assembling for decades. It’s my annuals of “Weak Ass Excuses for not Writing.” I assure you it is quite impressive. There are several volumes of horseshit. I thump through from time to time for giggles.
What’s one small improvement you can make in your life?
I suppose when you reach a certain age, you wonder about trying to make a change or improvement—old dogs and alike. Yet, hopefully, with that age comes a bit of wisdom. I know for years I’ve banged my head against the wall for various reasons, all of them valid at the time. However, looking back, I struggle to find the logic. Over the years, I discovered the simplest strategy.
I need to accept that I cannot control everything. Some life events have nothing to do with me or my actions. Yes, I realize I sound a bit like a narcissist; however, this is not my intent. I’m trying to have an honest moment with myself. Can you at least wait until I finish to call horseshit? Seriously, I’m doing my level best to make a change.
I guess we see how it goes …
Have you ever broken a bone?
DAILY PROMPT RESPONSE
There are a few days when phantom pain causes me to wince. I know it’s from my earlier escapades. I never just broke a bone, I shattered them. Maybe, I should have sat down and lived a normal life? Fuck that
Do you vote in political elections?
As child, I watched the elders of my community banned together and brave the elements for their chance to be heard. I remember the rumbling of the younger generations about elections being rigged and didn’t matter if they voted or not. The elders wouldn’t hear this foolishness. We have sacrificed so much for this right. How dare you belittle our efforts. This stance changed the minds of some, but others continued in protest. However, they did so silently, because no one wanted to incur the wrath of the elders. I listened to stories of separate bathrooms and drinking fountains. They were hard to believe because it was so different from the world I knew. Unfortunately, the injustice remained vigilant. The methods changed, but the theme remained the same. So, I couldn’t wait to do my part. For years, I waited for my chance to vote. I participated in the voting process in all the school elections. I felt it was civic duty to make a choice. Although I had pledged my devotion to the process, I didn’t really understand why the elders were so committed. So, I looked into it at my grandmother’s request. She never wanted us to do something just because everyone else did it. One of her frequent sayings “If someone jumped off a bridge, you gonna jump too?” “You have the right to do whatever you want, but understand what hell you’re doing. Don’t be a dumbass.” As my research continued, I quickly discovered that the level of injustice ran deeper than I initially thought. Now, I vote at most opportunities. I know this wouldn’t be good enough for the elders, but their legacy is intact. I provided a brief overview of the injustice concerning the right to vote.
The right to vote is often hailed as one of the most fundamental aspects of a democratic society. It is the mechanism through which citizens exercise their sovereignty, choose leaders, and shape the laws that govern them. This right, however, has not always been universally accessible. Its evolution has been marked by struggle, activism, and significant legal reforms. Today, as we strive for more inclusive and fair electoral systems, it is crucial to reflect on the history, importance, and contemporary challenges associated with the right to vote.
The journey toward universal suffrage has been long and arduous. In the early days of democracy, voting rights were typically restricted to a privileged few. In ancient Athens, often cited as the cradle of democracy, only male citizens with property could vote. Women, slaves, and non-property owners were excluded. Similarly, in the early years of the United States, voting was predominantly a right reserved for white, land-owning men.
The first significant wave of expansion in voting rights came in the 19th century with the abolition of property requirements. This change was driven by a growing belief in the principle that all men, regardless of wealth, should have a say in governance. The 15th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, ratified in 1870, marked another crucial milestone by prohibiting denying the right to vote based on race, color, or previous condition of servitude. Despite this amendment, African Americans, particularly in the Southern states, faced discriminatory practices like literacy tests, poll taxes, and violent intimidation aimed at disenfranchising them.
Women’s suffrage was another significant battle in the history of voting rights. The movement gained momentum in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, culminating in the ratification of the 19th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution in 1920, which granted women the right to vote. This victory was a pivotal moment in the fight for gender equality and marked the beginning of a broader struggle for women’s rights.
In the mid-20th century, the civil rights movement brought renewed focus to the disenfranchisement of African Americans. The Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 were landmark pieces of legislation that sought to eliminate racial discrimination in voting. These laws prohibited practices like literacy tests and provided federal oversight of voter registration in areas with a history of discriminatory practices.
Voting is more than just a right; it is a powerful tool for enacting change and holding governments accountable. Through the ballot, citizens can influence policy decisions on issues ranging from healthcare and education to climate change and social justice. It is a means of expressing consent and dissent, giving voice to diverse perspectives within a society.
Moreover, voting is a critical component of political legitimacy. Governments derive their authority from the consent of the governed, and regular, free, and fair elections are the primary mechanism through which this consent is gauged. When citizens participate in elections, they validate the democratic process and reinforce the principle that political power is derived from the will of the people.
Voting also plays a vital role in promoting social cohesion and civic engagement. It encourages individuals to become informed about political issues, candidates, and policies. This engagement fosters a more educated and active citizenry, which is essential for the health and vibrancy of a democracy.
Despite the progress made over the centuries, the right to vote faces numerous challenges in the contemporary era. Voter suppression, electoral fraud, gerrymandering, and disenfranchisement of marginalized groups are issues that continue to undermine the integrity of democratic systems.
To safeguard and strengthen the right to vote, several measures can be implemented:
The right to vote is a cornerstone of democracy, embodying the principles of equality, representation, and political participation. While significant progress has been made in expanding and protecting this right, ongoing challenges necessitate continued vigilance and action. By promoting voter education, enacting electoral reforms, and fostering civic engagement, we can ensure that the right to vote remains a powerful and accessible tool for all citizens. As we navigate the complexities of contemporary democracy, the collective effort to uphold and strengthen this fundamental right will be crucial in shaping a just and equitable society.
One minute, you sleep too long, and the next you can’t sleep at all. I suppose somehow, some way we search for the balance. You haven’t seen it so long you forget it east. I suppose it’s the way things do it. Or else it is just something else to fail at. Just another thing to let you down.
List your top 5 favorite fruits.
When I was a child, candy was truly a treat. Holidays like Easter, Halloween, and Christmas were awesome because we were allowed to eat candy for days. However, the remainder of the time, fruit served as our treat or snack. After wonderful years of sampling different types of fruit, I came up with the following list of favorites.
I actually have a ten, but the response asked for just five. Although I love my candy and went through a period as an adult where I kept a jar full, now I prefer fruit in a way that is better because I choose it.
In the dimly lit room, an ancient cabinet stood solemnly against the wall. Its wood, dark and glossy, whispered tales of forgotten eras. As the key turned in its lock, a soft sigh escaped, revealing secrets nestled within its heart.
Do you ever see wild animals?
Sometimes, it feels like I’m Marlon Perkins from that show Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. It all started when I was invaded by two raccoons, Louie and Smiley. I was visiting my folks, and when I returned, Louie was sitting in my office chair reading the Douay-Rheims version of the bible. Smiley came out of the kitchen with a loaf of bread and a pack of cheese. He didn’t notice me at first.
“Louie! I’ve found the mother lode.” Smiley exclaimed, then went chewing on a slice of bread.
“Shut up, Smiley.” Louie warned, then he looked up and saw me standing there.
“Louie! He’s back! He’s back!”
Louie dropped the bible, and they scurried off past and out the door. I sat at my desk and examined my bible. I was expecting tiny paw prints on the pages, but surprisingly they were clean. However, throughout my kitchen there were paw prints everywhere. I went out to the porch, but there was no sign of the raccoons.
Frequently, I see rabbits, raccoons, and opossums on my property, but they never stay and visit. They see me and run off. I wonder if I’m as nice as I think I am.
Have you ever been camping?
I’ve spent a great deal of time in the woods, sleeping under the stars and even being chased by a family of wild boars, so the idea of going back to the woods for “fun” didn’t really appeal to me. However, I’m aware of oodles of fun had at the campfire, smores, and the guy serenading some girl while playing a single chord on his guitar. I’m so sorry that I missed that; not really!
We mustn’t get lost in its despair, we mustn’t be swallowed before the pain, and we must be careful not to be cut by beauty’s dual edge. But is that even possible? How can we embrace beauty without becoming its victim, without becoming its prey?
I’m beginning to get used to it. It’s almost like it’s second nature or something. Each day is not much different than the last; each day we are closer to being engulfed by the evil charms of its subtle beauty; bright pale blue lore is deceiving; it masks the wickedness that lurks neath its smiles: we are bitten by its breath
What topics do you like to discuss?
I find this a bit difficult since I go days without uttering a single word. There’s something about the serenity of silence that soothes me, and most times, I’m not willing to compromise my serenity for the sake of prattle. I have found that my fondness for silence makes people around me unnerved. Nervous people make me irksome. I don’t do irksome. However, I do enjoy a meaningful and civil conversation on the following topics.
Writing – I love to talk about writing. It’s interesting to hear the different approaches my contemporaries take to express their thoughts. If I lucky, they may be a novice writer among the group. To hear the frustration of trying to find the end of their tale. Not to mention, the excitement of finishing a draft of something they are proud of.
Music—I’d say music was my first love. Lyrics served as a spell that enthralled me in this spooky art of writing. The need to convey an emotion, discuss a topic, or simply groove you. I can’t get enough of it. I especially enjoy the different music challenges on WordPress. It’s like I get to geek out and not be judged. Music is a fusion of so many aspects of creativity; it’s breathtaking.
Nonsense – There is something to be said about bullshitting with your buddies. I can’t express the number of times chopping it up has been cathartic.
CHALLENGE RESPONSE – RDP WING
Each word, each verse, or each sentence we write. Is an attempt to learn to fly.
Every time I write a story, it’s like doodling in my mind.
Which aspects do you think makes a person unique?
In the discussion of what makes a person unique, it’s a short one. However -, the forced subtopics or categories lengthen the discussion and become a slow grind. The answer is simple. An individual’s personality sets them apart from everyone else. I concede there are aspects about individuals we need to include, but really it isn’t necessary.
CHALLENGE RESPONSE – MOONWASHED MUSING’S – STAR-FLECKED
He was enchanted by a woman whose eyes mirrored the night sky—dotted with constellations and shimmering with the light of distant stars. The kind of eyes depicted in storybooks and legend. Each glance into her eyes he fell deeper into their boundless and mesmerizing sea. He was powerless and that was okay. The specks of light slow danced with hope and mystique, a testament to the mysteries and beauties of fantasy. Her gaze was the key to stories untold, worlds unexplored, and the promise of adventure.
“Harold, are you going stand there gawking, my god boy! Close your mouth before you let flies in!”
Harold face redden, “Yes Nanna.”
“Give her the coupons.” Nanna continued. Harold’s embarrassment deepened. He makes eye contact again and her face reddened as well. She is smiling shyly.
“HI! I’m Lucy”
What was the last thing you did for play or fun?
A couple of months back a few co workers had this hair brain scheme to go a local watering hole to I don’t know, hang out? or some just as an annoying social construct. So, under protest, I showed up. To my dismay, I enjoyed myself.
I think it was the willingness of the participants to engage in karaoke. I sat and listened to beloved songs from my childhood butchered unapologetically. It was as if they walked into my memories and randomly snatched out a cut.
It reminds me of public version of singing the shower. You sing your beloved song and don’t give damn. This is the fun part. After returning home, I sat laughing and jotted down a few tracks that fall into the parameters. Here’s my short list
I find most of these songs you only really know the chorus. You mumble your way through the verses and when the chorus you let it rip. If with friends this is the part where eyes closed, drinks hoisted, and heads ended up on shoulders while that songs sung off key beget another cherished memory
How have you adapted to the changes brought on by the Covid-19 pandemic?
In many ways I viewed the quarantine as a god send. Let me be clear, I wished anything harmful on anyone, but I was dealing with emotionally issues and wanted to be alone. So I was. I encrypted everything and basically dropped on the face of the earth smack in the middle of town. Most of my provisions were stocked, except for fresh vegetables. I brought them fresh every couple of days, then I had to switch to frozen vegetables.
AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!
Due to this development, I was absolutely convinced the world was ending. No, I hadn’t completely flipped my lid. I spent several decades eating my meals out of pouches and cans, so idea of returning back to lifestyle was horrendous.
How have I adjusted ?
I’ve haven’t really, but I’ve made a few concessions in the following areas.
– I no longer expect 2 – Day shipping from Amazon
– My butcher is my homey and I get the best cuts.
– I started in herb and vegetable garden.
My soils sucks and nothing grows well enough to eat. Back to frozen
AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
Mabel McGee lived in the quiet town of Willow Creek in a quaint cottage that seemed to hold more memories than objects. To the townsfolk, she was known as the elderly woman with a penchant for mixing up dates and events, often speaking of historical happenings as if she’d lived through them herself. Some whispered about dementia, others about a life too lonely. But little did they know, Mabel’s supposed confusion was not a symptom of her age but rather a consequence of her extraordinary past as a retired time traveler.
Mabel’s journey began in 2045 in a world where time travel was possible and regulated by a strict code. She was one of the elite, a ChronoNavigator tasked with maintaining the integrity of the timeline. Her missions had taken her from the bustling streets of ancient Rome to the futuristic landscapes of the 22nd century, each adventure embedding itself into the fabric of her being.
As the years passed, the toll of her travels grew heavier. The lines between times began to blur, not just in her mind but in her heart. Mabel realized that she yearned for something the vast expanse of time could not give her—a place to call home. And so, she chose to retire in the one era that had always felt like a balm to her soul—the early 21st century.
The townsfolk of Willow Creek knew none of this. To them, Mabel was the eccentric old woman who lived alone, her house filled with strange artifacts and her conversation sprinkled with anachronisms. Children dared each other to peek through her windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of her rumored collection of “antiques” that seemed too out of place, even for a collector. They didn’t realize that each piece in Mabel’s home was a memento from her travels—a Roman coin, a futuristic gadget that no longer worked in this timeline, a painting from an artist who wouldn’t be born for centuries. And the stories she told, dismissed as confused ramblings, were indeed true accounts of historical events she had witnessed firsthand.
One day, a new family moved into Willow Creek, and with them came young Ellie, a curious and bright girl with an insatiable appetite for stories. Unlike the others, Ellie found herself enchanted by Mabel’s tales. She listened, wide-eyed, as Mabel spoke of walking with dinosaurs, witnessing the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and even attending a speech by a future president yet to be elected.
Over time, the seasoned time traveler and the young girl formed a unique friendship. Mabel saw in Ellie a kindred spirit who understood the value of time not by its weight but by its wonders. For Ellie, Mabel was the gateway to a world far beyond the confines of Willow Creek—a world where anything was possible. As their bond deepened, Mabel decided to change Ellie’s life forever. She decided to share her greatest secret, the time device that had been dormant for years. Together, they embarked on a journey that spanned centuries, a final adventure for Mabel and the beginning of a lifetime of wonders for Ellie
In the end, Mabel McGee’s legacy in Willow Creek was not that of a confused old woman but of a mentor who opened the door to the universe for a young girl. As for the townsfolk, they would never look at their world the same way again, always wondering if the stranger passing through was just a visitor or a traveler from another time, inspired by the tales of Mabel McGee, the retired ChronoNavigator who found her home not in time, but in the hearts of those she touched.
In the heart of an attic, amidst a treasure trove of forgotten gadgets, an argument of epochal proportions was unfolding. Oliver, an old, venerable camera with a penchant for nostalgia, found himself at odds with Dexter, a high-tech digital camera with more settings than a spaceship.
“Back in my day, we captured the essence of life, one click at a time,” Oliver boasted, his lens gleaming under the dim attic light.
“Pfft, the essence of life? I can capture, edit, and share a photo before you even figure out your aperture,” Dexter retorted, his LED screen flashing in disdain.
The debate might have ended there if a cheeky squirrel had not chosen that moment to dart across the attic floor, pausing only to strike a pose.
A light bulb flickered to life above Oliver’s viewfinder. “I propose a challenge! Let’s see who can take the best photo of that squirrel,” he declared, adjusting his focus.
Dexter beeped in amusement. “You’re on, grandpa. Prepare to be pixelated.”
Oliver took his time, calculating the light, adjusting his focus, and waiting… waiting for the moment when the squirrel, enticed by a nut left on the windowsill, struck a majestic pose. Click. The sound resonated through the attic, capturing a moment in time.
Meanwhile, Dexter, with the efficiency of a modern marvel, snapped approximately 47 photos in burst mode, applied a “Squirrel-Enhance” filter, and even photoshopped a tiny superhero cape onto the squirrel in one of the shots. “Done. And I’ve already shared it on SquirrelGram,” Dexter announced triumphantly.
They turned to the attic’s old computer to judge their work. Oliver’s photo was a masterpiece of timing and light, showcasing the squirrel in a moment of serene beauty. The soft lighting gave it an almost ethereal quality.
Dexter’s photos were sharp, vivid, and varied, with the superhero squirrel garnering a particular chuckle. “Look at that! It’s going viral among the attic spiders,” Dexter bragged.
Just then, the squirrel, having completed its snack, scampered over to see what all the fuss was about. It peered at the screen, then at the two competitors. With a decisive nod, it grabbed a forgotten paintbrush with its tiny paws. It dashed off a squirrelly masterpiece on a piece of scrap paper: Oliver and Dexter, lenses crossed in friendship, capturing the squirrel in a heroic pose.
The two cameras, old and new, realized that the best photos come from seeing the world through each other’s lenses. They laughed, a sound of mechanical clicks and digital beeps, united in their newfound friendship and respect for each other’s techniques.
As the sun set, casting a golden hue over the attic, Oliver and Dexter understood that photography isn’t just about the camera—it’s about the vision, the moment, and sometimes, a squirrel with a flair for the dramatic.
And so, amidst the dust and memories, two cameras from different generations found common ground, proving once and for all that when it comes to capturing life’s beautiful moments, the best approach is a shared one. As for the squirrel, it became an honorary member of their photographic adventures, always ready for its next close-up—cape and all.
What’s a secret skill or ability you have or wish you had?
As a kid, I was obsessed with moving things with my mind. Yeah, I was the kid who laid the pencil on his desk, staring at it, trying to make it move. Of course, it never happened. Then, I got the idea that perhaps my powers would emerge later. Later, I researched superpowers and discovered that the power I wanted was telekinesis and extrasensory perception.
But before I did my research, I watched every movie that featured people with these powers. Everything I saw focused on the darkness of the abilities. Films like The Fury (1978) made the idea of having these powers spooky. Check this out:
We also had Sci-Fi horror flicks like Scanners (1981). Here is a scene from that movie.
Who can forget the psycho-thriller Patrick (1978)? Take a look
After watching movies like these, who wants telekinesis? Then, one day, I had a discussion with fellow film buffs about the pros and cons of telekinesis. We were teenagers, and this discussion was the first of what we considered a”deep” discussion. We were on the verge of deciding telekinesis wasn’t an ability we wanted. Then, one of the girlfriends announced that we were idiots. She couldn’t believe we hadn’t considered “The Force” in our examples of telekinesis. Her comment stopped us all in our tracks. We had never considered the Force as telekinesis. She said, “Our lack of faith was disturbing.”
I don’t know why we never considered The Force. Perhaps it seems to be something much more powerful than everyday telekinesis. I can’t really explain what I felt then, but “the Force” was so much more to me. Perhaps I felt it was a way of life, perhaps an ideal. My Midi-chlorians count was never enough for consideration for being a Jedi or Sithlord. I’ve always admired the ideal.
I’ve been working on music posts all weekend and writing a bit of fiction. So, when I read today’s prompt, this song came to mind as I popped some Tylenol for my aching bones. Then, ask this question.
Then, of course, this song pops into my head.
Fingers popping and belting the lyrics into a seldom used hairbrush. I stop and catch my breath. I realized this track from 1969, and I knew all the words. Scratching the back of my head, I pause and ask what’s my age again?
You’re going on a cross-country trip. Airplane, train, bus, car, or bike?
I’ve more time behind the wheel than any other mode of transportation. Driving has always relaxed me. I prefer driving alone to think in peace, but I’m not opposed to traveling with someone else. I’ve developed some of my best storylines driving. There’s nothing like working out a difficult scene while gliding across the asphalt sea. The only problem is that I never seem to have a device to capture my thoughts as they come. Yes, yes, I’ve tried the microcassette recorder thing, but I never seem to remember to bring spare tapes. When the digital ones hit the market, the problem is solved, right? Nope, I forget to download to my computer, and when I do, I forget where the hell I put them.
The essentials for a proper road trip: This list varies based on your individual needs, but here are a few suggestions to help you consider what you might need.
Whether you listen to music, podcasts, audiobooks, or talk radio, some items are saved locally on your device for times when you don’t have cell coverage.
If not, you may be forced to listen to stuff like this:
Some of you may enjoy these tracks, so you look at me strangely. However, on one of my road trips, before streaming services were a thing, I found myself listening to a Juice Newton marathon. Now, I ask you, how is this even a thing? It was that day. Some DJ, apparently a huge Juice Newton fan, played all her music. To make matters worse, he had a booming radio station that blasted for miles.
However, you get lucky and get some fun songs like these:
By answering this post when I’m supposed to be sleeping, I’m subject to say anything. I couldn’t resist!
Despite the title, the rain is my favorite type of weather. I never understood why people ran from the rain but spent hours in the shower over a lifetime. They swim laps, surf, and waterski, yet the first raindrops they beat feet for shelter. Trust me, I’m not making fun of anyone. I was just like everyone else until I joined the military.
If it ain’t raining, ain’t, training became our mantra after just a few weeks in service. At my first duty station in Korea, I survived the monsoon season. Trust me, you will stop worrying about the rain after surviving monsoon season. We are soaked to the epidermis, which was wrinkled by the time you were able to put on dry clothes. I can’t remember the last time I ran from the rain.
At any rate, I love the rain. Its something about it I never could put my finger on. Here are some of my favorite songs with rain in the title. I know, it’s Eddie Rabbit’s fault.
Here is my response to RDP’s Daily Prompt – Lithe
In the heart of a bustling city park, where children’s laughter mingled with the melodious chirping of birds, sat a man named Julian. He was a solitary figure amidst the vibrant chaos, a contemplative soul who found peace in the art of people-watching. Julian was particularly drawn to the nuances of human interaction, the subtle play of expressions, and the eloquence of body language.
On this sun-drenched afternoon, his attention was captured by a woman practicing yoga on the lush, green grass. She embodied grace, her movements fluid and effortless, a visual symphony that mesmerized Julian. He noted how the word “lithe” seemed to be crafted for her, the very definition of her elegance and strength. She moved with an almost ethereal poise, her limbs stretching and coiling with a feline agility that left Julian in awe.
For days, Julian returned to the park, hoping to catch a glimpse of the lithe woman. She became a muse to him, a living embodiment of art and beauty he dared only admire from afar. Her presence stirred something within him, a longing to reach out and connect, to transcend the boundaries of his solitary existence.
Finally, mustering every ounce of courage, Julian decided it was time to step out of the shadows of his observation and into the light of interaction. He approached her on a day painted with the perfect azure of the sky. His heart thundered in his chest, a tumultuous symphony of nerves and excitement.
“Hello,” he said, his voice barely a whisper against the backdrop of the park’s life.
She turned toward him, her expression mildly surprised. Her eyes reflected the tranquility of the world she embraced. “Hello,” she replied, her voice as soft and melodious as he had imagined.
Julian stumbled through his introduction, words tangled with admiration and awe. He spoke of his observations, his fascination with how she moved, how she seemed to personify the word “lithe.” He expected bemusement, perhaps even annoyance. Instead, she smiled, a warm, genuine curvature of her lips that reached her eyes and ignited a spark of connection.
Her name was Elara, and she listened earnestly attentively, making Julian’s words flow more freely. They talked beneath the canopy of verdant leaves, their conversation meandering through the trivial to the profound, just as the park’s myriad pathways did.
In time, their meetings became a cherished ritual, two once-strangers finding solace and joy in shared moments. Julian, who had once been content to observe life from a distance, actively participated in its menagerie, woven with threads of companionship, understanding, and the unexpected beauty of a chance encounter.
And so, in a park where the world seemed to converge, Julian discovered the courage to connect, inspired by a woman who danced with the wind, her lithe form a reminder of life’s boundless grace.
What movies or TV series have you watched more than 5 times?
I suppose ever since childhood, I’ve been a fan of a good Western. The Magnificent Seven was my introduction to the world of justice. I suppose many others my age, I’ve been disappointed with the state of Western movies as of late. However, I’m glad to admit Hollywood must have heard me grumbling and put some decent Westerns. One of those such Westerns is the limited Netflix series entitled Godless.
“Godless” is a gripping Western drama series that debuted on Netflix in 2017. Set in the 1880s, it explores the story of La Belle, a small New Mexico town mysteriously inhabited almost entirely by women after a mining accident claims the lives of nearly all the town’s men. The series intensifies when a menacing outlaw, Frank Griffin, played by Jeff Daniels, and his gang of bandits set their sights on La Belle, seeking revenge on Roy Goode, a former protégé who betrayed him. The show weaves themes of redemption, betrayal, and survival against a backdrop of stunning landscapes and a town fighting to assert its independence. “Godless” offers a unique take on the Western genre, focusing on strong female characters, moral ambiguity, and complex human relationships. It received critical acclaim for its storytelling, performances, and visual style.
Cast of Characters:
During most of Tori Amos’ rise to stardom, my face was buried in the used record stacks, looking for classic jazz and blues. Though I collected many treasures, it wreaked havoc on my sinuses. I’m not sure if I ever fully recovered. Despite my obsession, I remember some of the women ranting about the excellent music of Tori Amos. I’m telling you, if it wasn’t Davis, Monk, Parker, Wolf, or Waters, I wasn’t trying to hear it.
As it turned out, I had three female soldiers assigned to my section. Although I had worked with female soldiers before in various limited capacities, I had never had any assigned to my section. Although they were from different backgrounds and musical tastes, they were all fans of Tori Amos. Finally, they talked me into listening. Here’s the particulars. Let’s get started:
Tori Amos, an American singer-songwriter and pianist, has captivated audiences worldwide with her distinctive voice and profound lyrical content. Known for her emotionally intense songs that blend classical music influences with alternative rock, Amos has carved a unique niche in the music industry. This blog post delves into her life, music, activism, and enduring legacy, offering a comprehensive look at one of the most influential artists of her generation.
Born Myra Ellen Amos on August 22, 1963, in North Carolina, Tori Amos demonstrated prodigious musical talent from a young age. Encouraged by her Methodist minister father and her mother of Eastern Cherokee descent, Amos began playing the piano at two and composing by age five. Her early exposure to gospel music and classical compositions profoundly influenced her musical style.
Amos’ prodigious talent earned her a scholarship to the prestigious Peabody Institute at Johns Hopkins University when she was five. However, her inclination towards rock and popular music led to her dismissal at 11. Undeterred, she played in bars and clubs in the Washington D.C. area during her teenage years, honing her skills and developing her distinctive style.
Her first professional music endeavor was as the lead singer of the 1980s synth-pop band Y Kant Tori Read, which was not a commercial success. This setback paved the way for Amos to establish her solo career, leading to her breakthrough debut solo album, “Little Earthquakes,” in 1992.
“Little Earthquakes” marked a significant turning point in Amos’ career. The album’s raw, emotional intensity and unconventional songwriting resonated with listeners and critics, establishing her as a unique voice in the music industry. With hit singles like “Silent All These Years” and “Crucify,” Amos gained a devoted following and critical acclaim.
Her subsequent albums, including “Under the Pink” (1994) and “Boys for Pele” (1996), continued to explore complex emotional and social themes while showcasing her virtuosic piano skills and innovative arrangements. Amos’ ability to blend classical music elements with contemporary styles helped her maintain a distinctive identity in the evolving music scene of the 1990s.
Amos has received numerous accolades throughout her career, including multiple Grammy Award nominations. Her fearless approach to addressing personal and societal issues through her music has cemented her status as an influential figure in the industry.
Tori Amos’ music defies easy categorization, blending classical, rock, electronica, and folk elements. Her classically trained piano skills are at the forefront of her compositions, often complemented by intricate arrangements and a wide range of instrumentation. Her lyrics are known for their depth, exploring themes such as religion, sexuality, feminism, and personal trauma.
Amos draws inspiration from various sources, including mythology, literature, and personal experiences. Her storytelling ability is evident in her songwriting, where she creates vivid, emotionally charged narratives. Her voice, with its distinctive timbre and dynamic range, adds an additional layer of expressiveness to her music.
Her musical influences are as eclectic as her style, ranging from classical composers like Debussy and Rachmaninoff to rock and folk artists like Led Zeppelin and Joni Mitchell. This blend of influences has helped Amos create a sound that is uniquely her own, resonating with fans across different genres and generations.
Throughout her career, Tori Amos has released a multitude of albums that have garnered critical and commercial success. “Little Earthquakes” and “Under the Pink” are often cited as her most impactful works, featuring songs that address complex emotions and personal struggles. “Boys for Pele” showcased her experimental side, incorporating harpsichord and brass instruments into her music.
Other significant albums include “From the Choirgirl Hotel” (1998) and “Scarlet’s Walk” (2002), each demonstrating Amos’ evolution as an artist and storyteller. Her ability to adapt and explore different musical landscapes while maintaining her core artistic identity is a testament to her talent and versatility.
Beyond her music, Tori Amos is a passionate advocate for various causes, including women’s rights, sexual assault awareness, and LGBTQ+ rights. She co-founded the RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network), which has become the largest anti-sexual violence organization in the United States.
Amos’ activism is reflected in her music, where she often tackles challenging and taboo subjects, offering support and solidarity to those who have experienced trauma. Her dedication to these causes has inspired her fans and fellow artists, amplifying her impact beyond the music industry.
Tori Amos’ influence extends far beyond her discography. As a pioneering female artist in the alternative rock and singer-songwriter genres, she has inspired countless musicians with her authenticity, musical innovation, and lyrical depth. Her contributions to music and activism have earned her a dedicated fanbase and a lasting legacy as an influential and respected figure in the industry.
Butterfly Lyrics :
[Verse 1]
Stinky soul, get a little lost in my own
Hey General, need a little love in that hole of yours
So one way’s now and Saturday’s now
And our kittens all wrapped in cement
From cradle to gumdrops got me running girl as fast as I can
[Chorus]
And is it right, Butterfly
They like you better framed and dried?
[Verse 2]
Daddy, dear, if I can kill one man why not two?
Well, nurses smile when you’ve got iron veins
You can’t stain their pretty shoes
And pompoms and cherry blondes
And the kittens still wrapped in cement
From God’s saviors to gumdrops got me running girl as fast as I can
[Chorus]
And is it right, Butterfly
They like you better framed and dried?
[Outro]
Got a pretty pretty garden; pretty garden, yes
Got a pretty pretty garden; pretty garden, yes
You’ll be a pretty pretty garden; pretty garden
In the tapestry of human endeavor, threads shimmer with unyielding tenacity woven from the fiber of women with grit. These women, from varied walks of life and corners of the earth, share a common trait—a relentless fortitude that propels them through adversity, enabling them to emerge not only unscathed but stronger and more resolute.
Consider the woman who rises before dawn, her day stretching ahead like an uncharted expanse, demanding her sweat, intellect, and care. Yet, she meets each challenge undaunted, fueled by an inner fire that refuses to be extinguished. She could be the single mother who juggles multiple jobs to provide for her children, ensuring they receive the opportunities she never had. Or the scientist in a lab, her eyes alight with the spark of discovery, tirelessly pushing against the frontiers of knowledge despite the voices questioning her place in such a world.
Reflect on the women in history who stood firm against the gales of their times, refusing to bend. They are the suffragettes who endured mockery and imprisonment, their eyes fixed on the horizon of equality. They are the trailblazers in arts, sciences, politics, and activism who dismantled barriers and defied conventions to etch their indelible marks on the annals of time.
Women with grit embody resilience, a quality that resonates through their every action, a silent strength that speaks louder than words. They navigate life’s storms with a steely grace, their resolve a beacon for others to follow. In their perseverance, they weave a legacy of inspiration, a call to each of us to harness our own potential, face our battles with courage, and emerge not just enduring but triumphant.
In celebrating these women, we recognize the grit within ourselves, a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit embodied in the resilience and determination of women across ages and the world.
My mother was such a woman. She had grit, but she referred to it as gumption. I’ve always liked that word. Despite the challenges of raising me on her own, she refused to surrender the chaos surrounding us, no matter how tempting it had been. She remained steady in all that we faced. A lesson I tried to demonstrate to her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I’m honored to be a steward of her legacy. No different than the others who have courageous women in their lives.
Here is my response to RDP’s Trifling
A quaint village nestled between rolling hills and whispering woods lived a trifling spirit named Elara. Mischievous and light-hearted, she danced through the villagers’ lives like a playful breeze, her presence barely more substantial than a fleeting shadow. With a penchant for harmless pranks, Elara often left a trail of bewildered smiles and gentle laughter in her wake. She’d whisper riddles in the wind, tie shoelaces together unseen, and sometimes, in a whimsical mood, cause the flowers to bloom out of season, painting the world in unexpected splendor.
Yet, despite her whimsy, Elara held a deeper purpose. Her antics served as gentle reminders not to take life too seriously and to find joy in the small, unexpected moments. In her own trivial way, Elara wove a thread of light-heartedness into the fabric of the village, teaching that sometimes, the heart needs the relief of laughter and the soul the lightness of just being.
Here is my response to RDP’s prompt: Shattered
In the pale moonlight, the world seemed ethereal, yet a profound silence pervaded the air, perforated by the echo of distant footsteps. A mosaic of shattered hopes now lay among the ruins of a forgotten city where dreams once flourished. The remnants of crumbled walls whispered tales of yore, each fractured stone a bearer of untold stories. Underneath the celestial gaze, shadows danced across the fragmented relics, casting an intricate ballet of light and darkness. Here, amidst the vestiges of the past, resilience bloomed anew, forging beauty from despair, a poignant reminder of life’s perpetual rebirth amidst ruin.
A boy named Timmy Sinclair lived in a bustling city named Licksville, known far and wide for his extraordinarily large tongue. Timmy was no ordinary boy, and his tongue was no ordinary tongue. It was the size of a baguette, supple like a gymnast’s and versatile like an artist’s palette.
From an early age, Timmy realized that his large tongue was not a curse but a blessing. He discovered he could use his tongue for tasks that others could not. He could taste the subtlest of flavors in food, making him the best judge in town for cooking competitions. He could also use his large tongue to help clean out jars and reach places his hands could not.
In school, Timmy was the star of the science fair. He used his tongue to demonstrate how taste buds worked, making science fun and exciting. His classmates admired him, and his teachers praised him for his creativity. Unfortunately, not everyone saw Timmy’s tongue that way.
Summer ended, and school began. Timmy was excited. He couldn’t wait for his next adventures. When he arrived at homeroom on the first day, there were two new students: one girl and one boy. Timmy took a seat and waited. He wanted to know everything about the girl. She had long raven hair, caramel-colored skin, and the most enchanting eyes he had ever seen.
Ms. Rowster came into the room, and they settled down for attendance. Timmy barely could contain himself as he anxiously waited to hear the name of this beautiful girl. When Ms. Rowster got to her name, she asked her to stand up and tell the class a little about herself. She did.
“Hello. My name is Simin Karimi, and I’m from Detriot,” Simin said, then sat down.
Timmy felt she had the most beautiful voice to accompany the rest of her beauty.
Ms. Rowster did the same with the new boy as well. He stood and cleared his throat, “I’m Brad Zigler from Ohio. I know everyone has heard of Zigler cheese, right? Brad asked. A few nodded in agreement while the others sat in quiet bewilderment.
They were all sixteen, but Brad stood over 6 feet and had a large nose, freckles, and a fiery beard. Due to his size and attitude, he had already started gaining friends. Timmy knew he would be one of the most popular kids in school before long.
At lunch, Timmy sat at his usual table, watching Simin’s every move, hoping she would sit at his table. Marcy Busch slapped Timmy on the shoulder.
“Who’s that?” Marcy asked.
“S S S imin,” Timmy shuttered. He was a little tongue-tied, as they say. He felt strange because he never shuttered a day in his life. Marcy looked puzzled at Timmy, then Simin. Marcy motioned for Simin to sit with them. Timmy shifted uncomfortably but managed a smile. Marcy introduced herself.
Marcy and Simin chatted away while eating, picking at their food, if you can call it eating. They were well on their way to being fast friends. Timmy sat quietly, nodding and smiling at the appropriate times. Timmy noticed Simin kept glancing and smiling at him. This made Timmy nervous. Here is the most beautiful girl, and he’s suddenly tongue-tied.
“Stop being rude!” Marcy said as she nudged on the shoulder. Timmy tried to say something, but his tongue got in the way. It felt like it filled his entire mouth. Timmy had never experienced this before. Marcy’s comment didn’t help matters.
“So, you see a pretty girl, huh?” Marcy asked.
“You’ve been talking my ear off since first grade. Geez, thanks,” she smiled. Her cobalt blue eyes sparkled when she smiled, and her smile always seemed to do the trick when Timmy got nervous. Marcy made him feel safe.
“Hey, Simin,” Timmy finally managed. Simin smiled.
“Oh my god! So you’re the freak people have been whispering about!” a voice exclaimed. They looked up, and it was Brad Zigler with a horrified expression.
“What are you? Some sort of lizard?” he exclaimed.
Timmy blushed, and his eyes filled with tears. Before he knew it, Marcy had sprung from the table, kneeing Brad, and delivered a well-practiced right cross—the signature move she picked up when she developed breasts at 12. Marcy explained that once all the women in her family had a nice set of girls, her mother, and grandmother taught her the move in case the boys got handsy. Nanna said boys “always get handsy.”
Marcy stood Brad silently, her brunette hair tied in a ponytail. Brad groaned in pain as he clutched his private area. Marcy stepped toward him, and Brad scooted away with his held up in surrender. Marcy turned to look at Timmy. Her pale alabaster skin was rose-colored. Her eyes were like fire. Yet, they softened when Timmy looked up at her. She stood 5 feet even.
“Bullies give me the sweet ass!” she exclaimed as she retook her seat. Marcy didn’t make eye contact with anyone, then whispered, “Sorry.” Simin squeezed her hand. “Marcy, you’re wicked fast. Next time, can you save me some?” Simin asked jokingly. They all chuckled as they left the lunchroom.
Author’s Note:
Today, I felt good enough to write a little fiction. I hope you don’t mind. So, I combined a couple of hosted challenges I felt worked for the story. The third challenge was one I had for myself, and it was two-fold. Primarily, I’ve been writing light non-fiction for the last few weeks. I needed to know if my fiction tools still worked in something light. I also challenged myself to see if my depictions of the characters in this could used with AI image generation. The answer to the latter is yes. Overall, I’m pleased with the image outcome. As for the former, it felt good writing, but I will leave it up to you guys. Should I continue this corky tale? I wrote more, in case you are wondering. Or hit delete and move on to another project?
Prompts used for this story:
SocS: Hosted by Linda Hill – Words starting with “signa”
Ragtag Daily Prompts: Sunday (safe); Thursday (Lizard)
The challenge words are hyperlinked to their origins. I hope you guys enjoy this corky little tale
Here is my response to the Weekend Writing Prompt hosted by Sammi Cox. This is my first time participating. I hope I get right.
In the quietude of twilight, a solitary tap resonates through the empty corridors, echoing off the dimly lit walls. It’s a gentle, rhythmic sound, almost musical as if the universe itself were keeping time. With each tap, memories flicker, casting shadows that dance in the mind’s eye. It’s a moment of connection, a simple, unassuming tap that bridges past and present, conjuring a symphony of silent reflections.
What is the biggest challenge you will face in the next six months?
Over the last six months, I’ve experienced tremendous health issues. So, for the next six months, my biggest challenge is to maintain the progress I’ve made. I Have to learn to be patient and sit my stubborn butt down and heal. Well, that’s easier said than done.
Here is my answer to The Question of the Night #2
Where do you go to escape stress?
I’ve always been told I had a healthy imagination, so it is there I retreat to in times of stress. And this image is a representation of things going on a moment ago. Who knows what will happen next?
You’re writing your autobiography. What’s your opening sentence?
No one intends to fall in love with an asshole, but it happens; just ask my late wife and current girlfriend; they are the two sitting in the corner shaking their heads as they read this sentence.
What are three objects you couldn’t live without?
If I’m being honest, there are far too many I would hate to give up. I guess I’ve got soft over the years. However, if I absolutely had these three items I couldn’t live without.
1. Coffee – I don’t care about the garbage talked about drinking coffee. Bad things happen when I don’t have my coffee; don’t test me on this subject.
2. iPad Pro 12.9 – This is such a versatile tool. I can read books, Listen to audiobooks, write, and take and edit photos. I’ve been using an iPad model for over a decade. It’s hard to imagine working without one. I even tried out several versions of the Samsung tablets and compared them. Though Samsung makes a solid product, I prefer the iPad.
3. My Briefcase – My briefcase is far cooler than the one in the photo, but you get the idea. I have several items for survival contained inside.
Items may include, but are not limited to, the following:
Well, that’s it. That’s all of it.
Have you ever unintentionally broken the law?
It isn’t like I was a Boy Scout or something. Because I wasn’t, but I wasn’t a hooligan either. Yet, I got into my fair share of mischief. Strangely, I hardly got in trouble when I knowingly broke the law. However, I remember getting the most trouble when I had no idea I had broken the law. This happened so much, I learned the phrase,”Ignorance of the law is no excuse!” It always was said with a steely monotone. So yes, I’ve broken the law on accident more times than I care to admit.
Here is my response to RDP’S reconcile
I had been for a long time until it ran out of places to go. I ended up here sitting in the darkness hollowed out. I expected to find anything once I arrived, but I found her. She was sipping gas station coffee, grimishing each sip. Her gaze trapped in the moment between breaths. We started something in the next moment that should have lasted a lifetime. She captured my heart, so I gave her my soul.War reared its ugly head and took her snarling. Before that moment, we argued. About what I can’t remember, but now it’s too late to reconcile.
My response to Sadje’s challenge
Do you like the age you are now?
This is one of the easiest questions I’ve answered in a while. The answer is YES. I love it. However, it feels odd to say so when that hasn’t been the case. For decades, I had this thing where I wanted to be older than my age. Almost like I was born during the wrong era or something. The problem I could never settle on a period I really wanted to be from.
Then was the whole “you’re just a kid. You’ll understand when you get older.” I hated being treated like a kid. I refused to believe that age possessed this fountain of wisdom that eluded my entire youth. Often, I wondered what age or day I was going to understand the mysteries of the world suddenly. Would it be on a weekday? Or on the weekends? I hoped for sometime during the week because, let’s face it, on the weekends, there was beer and women to be ignored by. Disgusted or disapproving looks from members of the opposite sex while standing obnoxious with the fellas is a rite of passage.
However, I would like to be on a Monday if it was during the week. Many complain about Monday’s, but I don’t mind so much. Over the years, I found several to be rather pleasant. Tuesdays would be alright, too, yet it doesn’t pop off on Mondays. Any day after is a negative ghost rider. There to much preparation from the pending weekend. You can’t be bogged down with a complex thought. I can see it now, sitting there tugging on your peach fuzz chins, saying, “Hmm.” For those fellas who could grow full beards in high school, I am jealous.
I enjoy my age now because all I have to do is sit around looking at people like they’re crazy. Who needs cable? Have you ever looked at the younger folks when you get older? They are hilarious, aren’t they? It’s alright. You can admit it. The only drawback is the random, unprovoked ailments that surface periodically. Yes, I said unprovoked. This is my story, and I’m sticking with it. I can speak my mind. I’m old enough to know better but too old to give a shit. After all this crap of wishing I was older, I’m finally in the winter of life. It gets a little chilly at times, but hey. Excuse me while I slip on a sweater.
CHALLENGE RESPONSE
Here is my response to RDP’s prompt: Ink
There’s a thud as my quill hits the desk. My inkwell unleashes a howl mixed with desperation and relief. It’s a little beside itself because I haven’t written anything of note in months. My eyes burn from what was supposed to be all-nighter, but really only a few hours of spits and starts. Baby steps, huh? They got to be better than not writing anything all. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I stare at the ink stained fingers of my aching hands.
I close my eyes and the let the stream of world of random thoughts fill my screen. Each word typed is attempt to rediscover the path to a coherent thought. A thought minus the lure of ineffective painkillers. Taken only to help you forget the torment you’re suffering momentarily. Yet, forget the principle of pain; it’s a reminder we are alive. Each wince, cringe, or scream a verse in the testimony of our lives
Bradbury got it right in a way. We are tattooed neath the surfaces. Each of those tattoos are alive illustrating the moments that matter . Moments we acknowledge, yet include the ones swear that mean anything, but touch us so deeply.
My inkwell unleashes a belch, then stretches. A metallic click fills the room as the licks its lips and throats a “Thank you!” I refill my quill and pull out a fresh notebook. Then lean back in my office chair to rest.
“I knew that shit, you’re such a fucking tease!” My quill and inkwell declare in unison.
I close my eyes and chuckle ….
Are there any activities or hobbies you’ve outgrown or lost interest in over time?
Throughout the years, I’ve collected one thing or another. In childhood most of my friends were collecting something. It seemed as though you weren’t a boy if you didn’t some sort of collection. This followed me into adulthood. However, just as it did childhood I would end losing interest or lose my prize of my collection that would render the entire collection worthless.
The hobby I was obsessed with that I have lost interest in is sports cards. I spent a ridiculous amount of time and money in collecting sports cards. I couldn’t tell you want happened to my collection. I can only say it has disappeared into that dimension where everything goes we lose. I’m sure I have a warehouse full of things in this unnamed dimension. I’d like to visit it one day, so I can clear some things out. You know organization is the key to everything..
The thing about sport cards for me is the fact you can a thousand cards stacked up somewhere that are absolutely worthless. You can’t trade them. You even give them away. There are just sitting there in a pile gathering dust. All in search of that coveted rookie card.
I’ve been here over a week. I’m not sure I have I left here on the front. My body is waging war against my spirit. My spirit is losing, but the battle is far from over. Last Monday, I walked into the ED thinking one thing and discovering another. Each day, we take another step toward victory. Each day, it feels we take five steps back toward defeat.
Despite this, I gaze upon the evening skew finding strength in its beauty. Each sighs becomes the breath of hope. In each breath I finds courage.
List five things you do for fun.
I live a simple life. Due to this, several folks accuse me of being unable to have fun. At first, this consensus troubled me. For 30 seconds, I considered that I might need to adjust my lifestyle. Once I explained my former everyday life, some turned green, others turned pale, and then my favorites informed me I’d earned the right to relax. I appreciate them saying that. I really do.
Here are my five things in no order. I do them whenever I feel like it.
That’s it. That’s all of it. The down and dirty.
When we have a conversation about leadership, one can find opinions and ideals with a few keystrokes. There are seminars, books, and articles thoroughly covering the subject. During my time in the military I read several in an attempt to find everything I could about becoming a better leader. I’ve listed a few below.
Principles of Leadership
Key leadership traits, each with a brief description:
Being a leader is more than the things found in books or articles. Leaders aren’t born. They are developed. Titles or positions don’t make you a leader. Learning how to handle the burden of leadership does. Good luck!
Here is my response to today’s Ragtag Daily Prompt – Time
Sitting within the wondering of unknown destiny.
Riding the waves of the abyss of sorrow.
Like the sands of the hourglass, the moments of a promiseless
tomorrow slip away
But…
Have you heard the news today?
Our kinsmen…
Our brethren…
Has passed away
Not of blood, but of spirit
What is felt goes by many names
yet the pain
remains the same
Remember…
He has been called home
to sit alongside our Master
and his golden throne
Boundfull
dutiful
we are
to acknowledge his words of passion and grace
for they have
Lifted us…
Caressed us…
Consoled us…
I wish to thank all those who have taken the time to read the ranting of a feeble mind.
From my stoop, on my soapbox, I stare into the abyss, then begin reading my list.
Life is short…
So kiss it…
taste it..
Close your eyes and
Savor it…
But most of all
LIVE IT !!!
One minute at a time
I wrote this piece years ago after the writing community had lost one of its brethren. To me, he was gentle, but wise soul with so much to offer. The writing community took a blow that day.
It doesn’t matter about the existence of time, moments we spend with one another count. Make the moments we spend even with strangers matter. Humanity’s most precious gift to one another is their time.
My response to RDP – Thursday – bamboozle
A spry little man named Barkan lived in the serpentine alleys of the ancient city of Khazan, notorious for its labyrinthine streets and enigmatic inhabitants. Barkan was not your average resident. He was a trickster, a master of bamboozles, and his clever ruses were the talk of the city.
Barkan was not always this cunning. Once upon a time, he was an innocent and naive boy. However, life in Khazan was tough, and the city’s harsh realities turned him into the wily person he had become. Yet, Barkan’s bamboozles were never harmful or malicious. They were light-hearted pranks aimed at teaching lessons to the arrogant and the pompous.
One day, a haughty nobleman named Lord Faizan visited Khazan. Rumors of Barkan’s bamboozles had reached him, and he was determined to outwit the trickster. Lord Faizan was known far and wide for his pride and arrogance, qualities that made him the perfect target for Barkan.
Upon his arrival, Lord Faizan announced a reward for anyone who could outsmart him. The city excitedly buzzed, and Barkan saw the perfect opportunity for his most significant bamboozle yet. He accepted the challenge, and the city held its breath, waiting for the grand showdown.
The next day, Barkan invited Lord Faizan to a feast at his humble abode. As the nobleman arrived, he was surprised by the simplicity of Barkan’s home. Little did he know, the grand bamboozle had already begun.
Here is my response for RDP Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday.
Let me be blunt from the beginning. The snow was coming down heavy, but the wind blew it sideways. The temperature was dropping rapidly. I didn’t want to be out here, but the gig paid the bills. Prices were so high that you bought a loaf of bread or a gallon of gas. I got a letter in the mail today. An old friend I hadn’t heard from since we both reeked of innocence. I was more than a little envious because he had found the love of his life. He had found happiness. Sighs … good on you, brother! Good on you.
I’ve been fortunate enough to have a network of people in my life who let me know daily I’m loved. They have no problem letting me know when I’m full of crap or any other adjective they choose to use at any given time. I can’t blame them or hold any ill will because I’m a handful, as they say.
You may remember a post I made last year about two individuals who were geniuses. If not, here is a link to that post. What I didn’t tell you is these incredible women have been putting up with my crap for well over a decade. Every rant, tantrum, or foul mood, they have endured it all. They have been with me while I was grief-stricken from the loss of my wife. They were there when I rebuilt myself as a writer and educator to witness me self-destruct through my battle with cancer.
My closest and dearest friend, my editor, you’ve heard me complain about on several occasions on this blog. She put down her red pen and helped me through my cancer battle. She stopped everything and came to the initial surgery. Then she returned for my cancer’s aggressive reemergence. 56 treatments later, I took her home and started to rebuild my life once again. Honestly, I would have been a basket case without her support through all of this madness.
A few years ago, I could barely breathe, and my lady showed up and put a foot in my butt and got me back on my feet. Mumbling something about she couldn’t leave it to me to get proper medical attention. Now, that wasn’t the vernacular she used during her time here. I’m sure you can imagine what was said to a stubborn person such as myself. Their words, not mine. I’m an utterly compliant person. I assure you.
It can’t be easy to deal with me, but their devotion, compassion, and love mean everything. It may even seem at times I don’t appreciate you, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I love you and appreciate you both; never doubt this. Yep, you guys are a pain, but I love ya.
My response to RDP’s Wednesday prompt.
This morning, I was reviewing this prompt and trying to figure out how to approach it. I knew I didn’t have any photos that featured hatching of some kind. I ran across an image of an old hatchback and remembered our adventures in high school.
A buddy of mine brought a Datsun B210 hatchback and drove everywhere in that thing. Most of the time, there were three of us. We would travel to a nearby town so he could profess his undying love to his girlfriend. It was the stuff they write stories about for about six months. We would buy a case of beer Saturday night and head to the highway. I don’t remember her name or what she looked like.
We all professed our love at one time or another in that car. We traveled hundreds of miles doing so. I suppose we were allergic to the idea of having a local girlfriend. None of us ended up with any of the women that we loved so dearly. I haven’t seen those guys in over 30 years. However, I remember the times we spent together in that hatchback.
The Datsun we rode in looked like the one in the photo. The memories just flood back. In fact, our car didn’t have a reverse. So, whenever we parked, we’d stick our foot out of the car and push backward. I wonder what happened to those guys? I hope life was gentler than mine.
The morning chill creeps through my layers as I sit on my porch, twirling my finger playfully in my whiskers. I swallow a sip of coffee while tugging at them, lost in the depths of my thoughts. The amber glow of the collision between night and dawn illuminates the horizon. Today, a man was born that brought so much light to the world. His presence hurled us out of a darkness that had engulfed us for nearly a hundred years—a man whose vision, courage, and devotion to humanity will never be forgotten.
Sipping coffee, I watch the lights turn on one by one as the neighborhood awakens. A community in which I could have never lived if it wasn’t for this man’s efforts. Not because where I live now is better than where I grew up. Society’s attitude is better. I remember the speech of this brave man as a child being replayed every year during my youth: a vision of hope, love, determination, and courage. His speech or vision served as a beacon representing one of hell of a dream.
Now a seasoned man, I wonder if my efforts in life have helped fulfill that dream. We fought for God, Country, and the ideal of freedom. We spent countless hours away from home in pursuit of the vision on the mountaintop. The endless miles walked for the dream of the Promised Land. No mile did I walk alone. Each mile walked and every hour spent away was in the faith that a moment of hatred was erased. I hoped they would ring the bell of freedom. A sound heard in the souls of each man and woman in the land. A faith I held on to with all my might, even though it was sometimes fleeting.
Each time I heard the word Jew, it took away a little bit of hope. Whenever I heard the word cracker, freedom’s bell rang a little softer. Every time I heard the word spick or chili pepper, humanity’s love got a little weaker. Each time I heard the nigger humanity’s dignity lessen. However, each time I heard these, we fought harder to fulfill the dream of a man we had never known. We risked our lives to fulfill a dream our forefathers wrote nearly two hundred years before my birth.
I look upon my granddaughter, who shifts under her blanket of freedom provided by the fulfillment of this dream, a granddaughter who turns a year older today. She is allowed to live in a world and taste the crispness of a freedom that wouldn’t have been without his dream. A smile comes across my face as I finish my coffee. I smack my lips because I, too, taste the crispness of freedom in the fresh morning air.
Now, I’m a great-grandfather. I still taste the crispness of freedom in the morning air. It’s rather tasty!
Yesterday, I stood in line at a local store when the computer system went down. After a wave of groans and disapproving looks, the manager assured us the system would be online shortly. This didn’t help the groans. I understood a possible reason for the atmosphere. We were in the middle of a snowstorm, and the conditions were worsening by the second. However, examining the crowd, I’m pretty sure they would have been complaining regardless. Complaining is the latest trend, like yoga pants and foo-foo coffee.
The system took longer than expected, and the manager declared, “It’s like dial-up!” I shook my head, “Not even close,” I corrected. We had a laugh; the system was up a few seconds later, and all was right in the world. Within a few minutes, the grandson and I were inside, safe and warm.
I see this prompt, and I’m reminded of how impatient we all have become since the advancements of technology. Despite this, I pretty much communicate the same way I did at the start of all this. Other than things being a helluva a lot faster, I’m the same guy. I’ve added social media stuff from time to time, but I basically avoid it. With the exception of Twitter, there is a writing community over there that I’ve been a part of for nearly a decade.
So when things get crazy … I just think … I remember dial-up
What job would you do for free?
The unfinished projects have formed a pile. Ideas, rants, and incoherent sentences fester. Sometimes I wonder what Goofball gave me the idea to become a writer. Where the hell are they at? I need to hunt them down wherever they may cleverly hide. To the corners of the earth if I must. By God, I need to find and look at them square in the eyes and thank them. Pull them into an embrace. Please do not think less of me, for I may weep. They have provided me with a fantastic gift. You see, boredom will never be a problem for me. Inside each project is the potential to create something that never existed before. At the very least, the potential to heal.
Today has been the longest of days for no reason. Nothing I can put my finger on anyway. I got so much accomplished, but so much more to do. There isn’t enough time to get it all done. I never complete it all. My Lord, what will I do? What will I do? We have all said this statement, felt it, or both. It doesn’t matter if you don’t admit it. It’s fine. Know that wherever you are in your journey, we all have or will walk it. The trail right in front of you. You can get to the other side step by step, word by word, or sentence by sentence. Whatever the method you will be the better for it.
As I lay across my bed, I lit a cigarette, letting it burn in the ashtray for a few minutes before I took another drag. I read a poem in Vietnamese, then I listened to it. Next, I read some prose in Italian; then again, I listened to it. The beauty of the words captured me. I’m reminded of hearing The Holy Quran recited. So beautiful and tranquil. I’m reminded how much I miss Latin Mass. I memorized it as a lad and recited it in English when the priests performed Mass. Though exhausted, hearing these works in their native language healed and recharged me a bit.
I would not have discovered the beauty of our world if I had chosen another profession on the day they whispered to me to become a writer. Although we live in a vast world full of wonder and delight, I wonder why we live so small.
Nope, this is the only profession I would do for free. Nothing else completes me.
When are you most happy?
I find myself the most happy when I’m lost in a good story. It took a long time to figure out how to enjoy reading stories without my imagination taking off, and I lost interest in the story. I began making notes in little spiral notebooks of the thoughts that came to me as I read. Soon, those notebooks were being filled with my own stories. I’m unsure what makes me happier? The words of others or the words of mine? To me, it doesn’t matter, not really. As long as the story is good.
I remember when I was feeling down as kid, my mother would drag my butt over to our local DQ and get me one of these masterfully crafted desserts of deliciousness. She always knew just the right time to take me to get one. It never seemed like I knew the exact time. But I’m thinking I might need one today. It’s been a rough couple of months.
Questions like these make me roll my eyes and shake my head. It seems like the next thing they will be asking is,
“What does it all mean?”
What’s my place in the world?”
And more nonsense questions. I have this attitude because it is the decisions we make that cause us to become who we are.
Sure, we have situations in life we would like to do-over or take back. It’s just the nature of life. However, neither of those things are possible. So, when someone asks questions like these. I respond with the following question:
“You’ve had your entire life to prepare for this moment … why aren’t you ready?”
Every decision we have made in life has led to where we are … the good, the bad, and the ugly. Do we really want to change anything?
As always,
If you started a sports team, what would the colors and mascot be?
As a child, I remember watching baseball on television with my mother. I didn’t understand what I was watching, but I enjoyed my mother’s excitement as she watched her beloved “Cubbies.” However, the idea of playing the sport never really stuck. I played softball for a while but lost interest. I still enjoy watching the games when I have time to catch them. So, when I read this prompt, I knew I had to write a baseball story of sorts.
Once upon a time, a man named Rico Strong lived in a small town called Willowville. Rico was known far and wide for his extraordinary talent in training animals. He had a special connection with ferrets and platypuses and a dream – to create a baseball team like no other. But not just any baseball team; Rico wanted to form a team with pink ferrets and an angry platypus.
Rico had always been fascinated by the agility and quickness of ferrets. He believed their instincts and nimbleness would make them perfect for the outfield. As for the platypus, Rico had observed their fierce determination and strong-willed nature, which he thought would be ideal for a powerful pitcher. It was a crazy idea, but Rico was determined to make it a reality.
He traveled far and wide, scouring the world for pink ferrets and an angry platypus. He visited rainforests, deserts, and even remote islands in search of these unique creatures. He encountered countless challenges along his journey, but Rico’s determination never wavered. He faced treacherous terrains, wild animals, and even unexpected weather but pressed on, fueled by his unwavering passion.
Finally, after months of searching, Rico found what he was looking for. In a hidden valley deep within the mountains, he discovered a group of pink ferrets with shimmering fur. They were playful, agile, and had an undeniable charm. Rico knew he had struck gold with these ferrets.
But his journey wasn’t over yet. Rico had heard rumors of an angry platypus living in a far-off swamp. Determined not to give up, he ventured into the swamp despite the warnings of its dangers. And there, in a murky pond, Rico found the angry platypus. It was bigger and fiercer than he had imagined, with venomous spurs and a fiery gaze. Rico knew he had found the missing piece of his team.
With his team of pink ferrets and the angry platypus, Rico set out to fulfill his dream. He built a baseball field in Willowville with state-of-the-art facilities and a cheering crowd. Word quickly spread about his unique team, and people from all over came to watch the Traveling Pink Ferrets & Angry Platypus play. The team’s agility, speed, and determination were unmatched, making them a force to be reckoned with.
As the team played their games, they faced many challenges. They encountered teams with stronger hitters, faster runners, and more experienced pitchers. But Rico’s team had something special – their unbreakable bond and unwavering spirit. They supported each other, cheered on, and never gave up.
The Traveling Pink Ferrets & Angry Platypus became the talk of the town with their incredible plays and electrifying performances. They won game after game, leaving their opponents in awe. Rico’s unique team captured the hearts of the locals and, media and baseball enthusiasts worldwide.
Ultimately, the Traveling Pink Ferrets & Angry Platypus became more than just a baseball team. They symbolized courage, unity, and the power of following one’s dreams. Rico Strong’s extraordinary vision had turned a seemingly crazy idea into a remarkable reality.
And so, the legacy of the Traveling Pink Ferrets & Angry Platypus baseball team lived on, inspiring generations to come. Their story was passed down from one baseball fan to another, reminding everyone that anything is possible with passion, determination, and a little imagination. The team’s success paved the way for more unconventional and innovative approaches in sports, proving that sometimes, the most extraordinary things can come from the most unexpected places.
The Traveling Pink Ferrets & Angry Platypus left a lasting impact on the baseball world, forever etching their names in the annals of sports history. Their remarkable journey was a testament to the power of teamwork, dedication, and belief in the impossible. Rico Strong’s dream had not only come true but had exceeded all expectations, leaving an indelible mark on the hearts and minds of all who witnessed their extraordinary feats.
The rattling of the window in the wind wakes me. Slowly, I stretch away the night, my eyes shift from darkness to a haze, and my eyes shift into focus from slumber to reality. I hear the whirling hiss as the snow hits the screen. I make my way to the kitchen to brew some sanity. Its aroma filled the room in a matter of seconds. In minutes, I am nursing a cup by the window. The night has yet to surrender to dawn. Yet, to tuck itself away, partaking in the much-needed rest. If you look closely and catch it just right, you can see the snowflake’s form before it dissolves against the glass.
It is the perfect day for cuddling. Her head nestled in that special place. My breathing was slow, and my heart skipped a beat, so we were in unison. So that we are connected. Connected on the spiritual level, not just the profane, it is a perfect morning for loving. A soft, slow, lingering turns into a slow grind. To evolve into a breathless gasp that surrenders to a moan. A moan becomes a pant, then a scream, then a contentment sigh is released. Then, fall into a deep, coma-like sleep.
The night is coming, just like it did the night before. It really isn’t anything special to me, just a darker shade of grey. You see, I view the world through a pair of monochrome lenses. It’s been this way since birth, well, at least until I saw her. Her lips glowed like rubies, her hair seemed on fire, and something shimmery hung from her ears. I can only imagine these colors to be shades of red. Is this what red looks like? How beautiful, how enchanting. Who was she? Who was this woman in red?
How have your political views changed over time?
The short answer is NO. However, as I have gotten older and gained more experience, I better understand some of the motives. Politics is in almost every aspect of life. I would love to say, “I don’t do politics,” as I have said on several occasions, but that would be incorrect. What I mean is I prefer a straightforward approach to things. This way, one knows where they stand in a given situation. However, that’s not how things work, is it? There seems to be some hidden agenda.
My body is healing, so I’ve been sleeping a lot. It’s strange how remarkable the body can be if you allow it to do its thing. I haven’t been able to get much done in these past weeks, but I’ve had the strength to create. This is a blessing in itself. I may never return to being the man I was before all this happened, but honestly, they may not be such a bad thing. In part, it’s because of him; I’m in this situation, and it’s also because of him; I know I can survive it. Who or what will I be after it is all said and done? Who knows? But it’s gonna be fun figuring things out.
I took this photo a week before my health took a nose dive. I remember feeling horrible that day. However, I pushed through because I’m a tough guy and all that.
What is your all time favorite automobile?
In an earlier post, I discussed my dream cars, so in this response, I’ll talk about my favorite vehicle I have owned. I’ve owned several cars over the years. My first pickup truck was a 1969 Ford F-100. She was called ”The Gypsy” and was the ugliest vehicle I ever owned. However, she ran like a dream. I missed that ole’ girl.
How are you creative?
Although I have been writing and drawing since I was a kid, I never really considered myself to be creative. This isn’t because I wasn’t encouraged or anything like that. It’s partly because I was surrounded by very talented people. I just didn’t consider my work good enough to make the cut.
I suppose another issue is I never found a particular style I excelled in. I enjoy writing every genre. It’s nothing better than getting an idea down on paper and seeing where it goes. Sometimes, that’s no further than a notation in a notebook or scribbled on a scrap of paper.
Lately, my friends have been expressing in my photography. I have to admit I enjoy capturing the images and seeing what stories they tell me. Yet, recently, I have been discovering the stories within themselves.
I must say I’m lucky. I get to tell stories by writing, photos, or film. Every now and then, I get combine all three. It’s special when things work out that way. When writing a screenplay, I must rely on imagery to get it done. This can be a challenge for a narrative fiction writer.
This is where the photography comes into play. I can capture images and use them as templates of the world I’m trying to create. This can be done with a video camera, but sometimes, the stills just work better for me.
Often, I sketch ideas and then try to find them in the real world. Well, I guess I’ve babbled enough for you to get the idea.
As always,
What are your favorite physical activities or exercises?
There is nothing like taking a walk. I would add cigarettes and coffee to the mi, but that would only dimish the benefits. I was poor as a child, we had two ways to get anywhere; walking or riding your bike. In some cases, you ended up doing both. So I learned early to enjoy the journey. To freely allow the thoughts in my head to run wild. No one there sticking their opinion mudding up the process.
Even now, I walk with headphones on. The music provides a blanket shielding me from the outside. I hear my thoughts exhale, clear their throats, and call the rest of my body to order. My arms and legs are moving in unison to a subconscious rhythm. Yet, I realize my breathing is setting the tempo. My thoughts and ideas line up to me counted.
Next, I exclaim, not looking up at the next idea waiting to have their say.
“Good day, Mr. Khan”
“Good day.” I reply, waiting for them to get on with it. They take a moment to gather themselves to ensure not to waste my time. I’m thankful for the gesture actually. I can’t count the numerous times progress has been striflield by a ridiculous idea.
‘“Well get on with it,” I nudge.
“You see Sir, I been thinking the story needs a bit of restructuring.” Idea stated.
“How so?” I questioned. The idea went on to explain its opinion in great deal. I have to admit I like the idea. But I couldn’t let this go unchallenged. It was the principle of the thing. I can’t be having ideas rushing up to me at hours of the night thinking they’re to get their say. The other day I saw a wanna-be Picasso paint his cat pink.
Painting a cat pink, really?
Uncle Willie told me a story about a fella who had an idea to impress a woman. We all know the lengths men go to impress women. It’s ridiculous the things we come up with. Well this fella, got the idea that the women of his dreams was worth it. He met her at the local bowling alley. The story goes, she liked him well enough, but she always wanted to see what a kangaroo looked like up close. For months, they’d meet at the bowling alley and talk, but she kept bringing up the kangaroo thing. Finally, the fella invited her to fly with him to Australia to see a kangaroo. Her reply was that she didn’t know him well enough to go on a trip like that. What kind of woman did he think she was?
Cedric, the fella, was determined to have Gretchen, the woman, by any means necessary. So, he contacted a navy buddy who owed him a favor and got a damn kangaroo. Christmas Day 1966, when the bowling alley was closed, arranged for the place to open and convinced Gretchen to meet him there. So, Gretchen’s Christmas present was a kangaroo, named Rocky. Of course, Gretchen didn’t have any place to keep Rocky, so he lived with Cedric. Christmas 1967, they were married. The marriage lasted five years. Gretchen got the house and Rocky in the settlement. I know this may be hard to believe, but here is a photo from the day Gretchen and Rocky met.
Aunt Willie, on my father’s side, a bit touched if you listen to Nana. Despite this, Aunt Willie, was the most successful pig farmer in the state. A winter’s back, Aunt Willie got a notion that Charlene and Jessup, her pet pigs didn’t want to spend the winter in the cold. So, she pack them up and took them to the beach. The local took exception to the pigs at the beach and made a big ruckus. However, Aunt Willie was to snap a picture of Charlene and Jessup before things got out of hand.
I have to admit I’m a bit jealous, they look rather peaceful.
There’s nothing like a good stroll to clear your mind and you get a little exercise to boot.
What cities do you want to visit?
I’ve been pretty fortunate in my life, for the most part. I’ve done a great deal of traveling in my lifetime. I found myself in places I didn’t know existed and places I thought you only read about in travel books that lay on the coffee tables of most of my friend’s living rooms. I remember several mothers sitting in their chairs, thumbing through the magazines, sporadically mentioning something that caught their eye. Honestly, I never imagined leaving the state, let alone leaving the country.
Despite my travels, there are a few cities I wouldn’t mind visiting. Crete, Milan, and Sydney.
While I was stationed in Korea, a few friends of mine got the notion that we wanted to spend Christmas in Australia. This is the same crew that participated in the high jinxes of I Got Drunk in Korea and Woke Up in Japan. Not familiar with that story? Click here. Now, we intended to have a relatively tame experience in comparison to the previously mentioned adventure, but no fun is for suckers. At least, that was the favorite saying of one of the members of the crew.
The unit we assigned was constantly on alert status. So, I was on call 70 percent of the time I was there. Another specialist was assigned to the unit about a couple of months before the holidays, and he finally had enough training to take a shift. This meant I got a much needed break. My plans were to drink and drink some more. I had never been one to plan anything special. I just kind of went with the flow. The crew suggested the Australia trip. I thought about it and responded with why not. We didn’t have much money, so we couldn’t afford plane tickets. This is where I came in. I was the idea guy. So I made a call, and there was a Hop over to Australia.
I couldn’t believe it. Christmas in Sydney. I got all excited, so the fever had got to us all. We put in for passes and packed our bags. We rode the bus as far south as possible, then took a cab. There we were at the airport, congratulating one another. The only problem was on a Hop it was space available. You could get bumped for several reasons. So, we sat anxiously waiting to see if we could catch the flight. One of the guys flirted with a female Airmen, and she assured us we would be good to go. I wasn’t paying it, but who knows it might work out.
As it turned out, the Airmen was true to her word; we got seats. We were heading to the plane and heard an announcement over the intercom. I didn’t hear what was said initially, but the guys grabbed me and said come on. The announcement had called for us by name, which only meant one thing: our unit was on alert. So, the plan was to pretend we didn’t hear the announcement and get on the flight. We could deal with any punishment when we got back, So we hid and waited for an opening to board the plane.
The opening we had been waiting for had finally arrived. We were making our move towards the plane when I heard a soft voice behind me.
“You gonna make me chase you, soldier?”
Sydney was 100 feet away. I could make it. However, I turned around to look into the eyes of one of the most beautiful women I had seen. I tried not to react, but apparently, my expression gave me away.
The MP sergeant stepped to me and said softly,” Let me guess, you think I’m cute and don’t take me seriously?” I swallowed and presumed the position of parade rest. Three extremely large MPs joined her, bearing no-nonsense expressions. She studied me momentarily with her emerald eyes and then nodded.
“Follow us, soldiers,” she ordered.
She and another soldier drove us back to our unit. Defeated, we exited the van and were met by our boss. He looked relieved at the sight of us, which meant things were bad. I turned to look back at the van and gazed right into the eyes of the Sergeant again. We held each other gaze momentarily, and then they drove off. For the next three days, I didn’t sleep. I worked on what seemed like every system we had. The chatter was they would strike us from multiple fronts, but it turned out to be nothing but smoke.
I finally made it to my rack late in the morning, Christmas day. The scratchy wool blanket and worn out pillow never felt so good.
“Wiz….Wiz!” my boss woke me from my coma. “Step lively … free booze,” he continued. I jumped into a pair of jeans and a sweater. We got the NCO Club, and there was an amazing spread. The crew was already there slipping on wine. I instantly perked up. It was a lovely dinner, and after a couple, only a few of us left drinking and telling stories. Then I heard a familiar soft voice.
“May we join you?” the voice asked, I looked up into the eyes of the MP sergeant. She had three other women with her. “These are my friends; I hope you don’t mind?” she asked. I looked at my friends, who were grinning like schoolboys. I nodded, and they all sat down. Each of them took their pick. The sergeant sat next to me.
“I’m Fiona, and you are?” she asked, smiling. She knew exactly who I was. We chuckled and enjoyed the rest of the night with our friends.
It wasn’t Sydney, but that Christmas turned out okay.
As Always
Have you ever performed on stage or given a speech?
I’ve given speeches and lectures several times during my adulthood. However, I’ve been a victim of stage fright. Yet, I’ve done so many of them you couldn’t tell. However, I’ve only performed on stage once.
My stage debut was in a musical called Let George Do It. My teacher came into the class and told us we would perform a musical for the whole school. I didn’t understand what that really meant, but I listened. I can’t remember how this happened, but I ended up with the lead part of George Washington. Of course, since this was a musical, the lead role required me to sing. I didn’t sing then, and I don’t sing now. However, I figured my refusal to sing would indeed send me to the back, where I could pretend to sing along. As it turned out, my teacher had other ideas.
She decided I speak all the parts of the lead role. I was terrified, but somehow I got through it. Unbeknownst to her, this brilliant move launched my public speaking career. I’m indebted to her for that. It has served me well over the years. Thanks teach.
Are you a good judge of character?
I would like to think I’m a decent judge of character overall. However, there have been occasions over the years where I have been hoodwinked. I’m sure most you may have experienced this phenomenon and probably don’t like it anymore than I do.
Because of being hoodwinked in the past, I’m not as trusting of people as I had in the past. Despite this, I try to keep an open mind. I have found that there are times when I have been surprised by people. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen.
People are going to be who they are. I just hope I’m not hoodwinked.
PROSE
My response to RDP – Tuesday prompt: Comedy
Perhaps it’s the absurdity of the sign. Are we to believe this man will actually pay for Karate lessons? Perhaps, on some measures, we respect his creativity. I’m reminded of a conversation I had with a panhandler. He approached me slowly, which put me on guard. Slow moving objects make me nervous. I must have given him a look because he stopped in his tracks. He asked for a cigarette; I nodded and signaled him to continue approaching. I handed him a cigarette. He looked at the cigarette and said he didn’t smoke non-methol. I started laughing and asked if he was serious. He handed me back the cigarette and said, “Hell yeah!” I shook my head and walked away.
I was at the car show working, and suddenly, this Yahoo told me to take his picture. I didn’t pay attention to the photo until he asked if I looked at it. Well, when I did, I saw this. So tonight, we were giving each other a hard time, and I told him I would post this photo. I always try to be a man of my word.
I’ve learned something over the last few months, life can be the greatest tragedy or a joyous comedy. The person living makes the choice.
What’s your favorite cartoon?
I watched so many cartoons as a child I can’t remember them all. Of course, the classics like Scrooby-Do and Bugs Bunny. However, there was one cartoon that appeared later. GI-Joe ended up being my jam. It might have sparked from having the action figure GI Joe with the kung-fu grip. Whatever the reason, I enjoyed every episode I was able to catch. What’s cool is that YouTube has all the episodes.
Here’s my response to pensitivity101‘s Share Your World
Here are this week’s questions:
Gratitude:
Knowing you’re loved is priceless.
Over the last several weeks, I’ve had a rough go of it, to put it mildly. What I have learned and been reminded of is that I’m loved. There is no doubt about that.
What is your idea of a good holiday? Seeing the sights, lazing on a beach, hitting the night spots, getting away from it all……………….
My favorite holiday in the U.S. is Thanksgiving. It’s all about the food. Dishes you haven’t had all year are waiting for you to gorge yourself into oblivion. There are no diets or anything like that. In short, it is the ultimate cheat day. Another thing about this holiday, perhaps the most important, is being with family. It doesn’t get any better than that.
You are offered tickets to a show. Which would you prefer, Opera, Play, Cinema, Entertainment, Ice Gala, or something else?
During my 50th birthday celebration, a friend took me to see Cirque du Soleil. I remember complaining the entire trip to the show. Grumbling nonsense about any and everything. My friend stood her ground and let me rant. She had gotten us incredible seats, and the show was amazing. The gracefulness of the performers was breathtaking. It was an ice show, so I kept waiting for someone to face plant. Didn’t happen. I would watch something like that again.
Have you ever won a sports trophy (or something similar for a particular achievement):
I was a jock during my youth, so I picked up a few trophies here and there. My mother kept them in a bag. I received awards while serving in the military. I used to call the wall my wife hung them on “The Wall of Shame.” Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud of the time I spent in the military. There is no question that it helped shape me into the man I am today. I never did buy into the whole medal thing. It was more about what we were doing and its importance. However, there was an occasion when I was recognized for an achievement. I got no medal or ceremony, just a simple handwritten thank you note. That gesture means more to me than any awards.
What is your dream car (fact or fictional):
As a child, I remember being enthralled by several cars before settling in on my favorite. I still can’t pick a definite favorite, but two stand out. In 1979, the cult classic Phantasm was released. It was a tripped out movie that didn’t make any sense to me at the time. However, my friends and I still talk about that movie. Not as much as we did as kids, but now and again, someone will mention a line at the perfect moment, and we just laugh.
There were several notable characters in that film, but it wasn’t a character that caused the movie to be bookmarked in my mind; it was the car. A Plymouth Barracuda raced away, rescuing the characters and taking them to safety. From that moment, that was my car. I did my best to learn about that model car, but I discovered something different that I loved even more. A 1968 Plymouth Hemi Cuda became my jam. Take a look
As I got older and started my journey into becoming a mechanic with my father, I learned more about cars and their capabilities. My father was aware of my infatuation with the Hemi but schooled me about the other muscle cars of that era. My appreciation grew for American Muscle. I had the privilege of building and repairing several different ones with my dad. I’m more of a circuit head than a gearhead. Yet, I love mechanics; it’s in me bones. After Pop went to the otherside of the veil, I found myself watching old movies with car chases: Smokey and the Bandit, Dukes of Hazzard, The French Connection, and finally, Bullitt. I found my second love, a 1968 Ford Mustang – GT-500. Let’s take a look at the scene that grabbed me.
However, a different year model of Mustang, the movie Gone in 60 Seconds, the remake with Nicolas Cage, featured a 1967 GT-500. The original featured a 1971 Mustang, a beast in her own right but not as sexy. Here are two clips that express my love for this car.
It would seem my idiocracy has no bounds. It’s like I’ve become the type of person I never wanted to be. The kind of person I typically avoid at all costs. There are those among us who refuse to look at things thoroughly. They have a slanted view of the world and the events that occur within it. They refuse to accept certain truths and live in an alternate reality. It’s not even a cool one where there are flying cars and no sick people. It is a place where we live in harmonic lives, and “Rex,” the family golden retriever, always brings the ball back.
Now, life isn’t that way. There aren’t any flying cars yet, people get sick and sometimes die, and Rex, even though he still has the heart, doesn’t bring the ball back because he doesn’t have the legs for it anymore. In this reality, we face what comes: we laugh, we love, we cry, and most importantly, we fight. We do this for no other reason than to prove our time here mattered. Even if it only matters to ourselves. Trust me, it’s enough.
For the past several weeks, I’ve been ignoring the obvious. I’ve been ignoring; there’s a price to pay for my arrogance. When my health went into the toilet, I made several lifestyle changes and figured I would be good from there as long as I continued on the right track. Well, it didn’t quite work out that way. Yes, I must stay the course with the changes I made, but the negligence that caused the changes in the first place has done more than I had anticipated.
In short, pay attention to your body. Please don’t dismiss certain things as testaments of getting older. Yes, some things are due to age, but others aren’t. This isn’t something I read somewhere but something I learned the hard way.
Stay strong…Be Blessed…
Image Credit: by Mangus Khan. Last year when my body was talking to me, but I wasn’t listening.
What is your favorite place to go in your city?
As a child, I developed a fondness for spending time in the parks. I would ride my bike to the different parks in my hometown. Each time I relocate, I drive around the new location to find the parks in the area. I search the surrounding areas for national parks, wildlife refuges, or reserves. I loved spending time in nature. It helps me to clear my head. I’ve written some of my best story ideas in these places. One of the reasons I love my iPad.
So, I take my trusty Nikon and cell as a backup to capture the glimpses of the world that usually only reside in our memories that fade over time. From time to time, they appear in fragments that invoke smiles whose warmth melts away the grime.
I love to combine challenges, so I took the opportunity to participate in a challenge I came across earlier this month. Here is my entry for XingfuMama’s Pull Up a Seat Challenge
I’m unsure if you have noticed, but I haven’t been posting a lot over the last week or so. It wasn’t due to the holidays, but I wish it had been. Despite all the progress I’ve made regarding my health, I developed a new issue. If I’m being honest, it’s that sporadically appeared over the years I just ignored. However, now it can’t be ignored. So, like a good little boy, I’m addressing the issue and taking it seriously. In case you were wondering, I’m also eating all my vegetables and stuff.
Despite my current challenges, I’ve been reading and attempting to develop new content for the blog. Yes, I’m aware some of you are waiting for me to finish several projects that currently exist on the blog. I assure you I have every intention to finish them, but I’m a bit scattered brain at the moment. My senior editor would say being scattered brain is normal for me, but even she had to admit the other day that my current state is a bit peculiar.
“Hush, and go to bed,” I believe were her words, but I have to admit there is a possibility they could have been harsher. She gets testy when it comes to my health. It’s weird. Yet, the writers among us, there are hardly many things worse than a testy editor.
Yet, I wonder if I continue being a good boy, will my lady pat me on the head and give me a treat?
I feel next door to nothing.
Image Credit: Ashkan Foroduzani – Upsplash – original
Image Editing: Mangus Khan – Monochrome conversion
unsplash.com/photos/grayscale-photography-of-beer-tap-handle-eQ366XJRgu0
It’s never too late to believe
What’s your favorite month of the year? Why?
I had to think a moment before answering this prompt. There are several months of the year that hold a special place.
November is special because it’s officially sweater season, and my sweater game is ridiculous. Early April is nice. It’s the beginning of planting season. I love digging in Spring dirt, hoping something magical will occur in a few weeks.
May is my favorite month.
What book are you reading right now?
Typically, I read several books at once. However, lately, I’ve slowed down quite a bit. Over the last few months, I’ve been reading one at a time. This month, I’ve been reading crime noir novels. One of the best crime writers in the business is James Ellroy. He created a series called the L.A. Quartet. I wasn’t aware of this before I started reading L.A. Confidential.
This book is a solid read so far. I will write a complete of the book upon finishing it. Yep, I’m feeling another installment of the Knucklehead Report.
I’m brilliant on most days and an idiot on others. However, there are special moments when I’m both. Life balance, I know, crazy, right? However, what makes today one of those special moments is that I failed to consider the depth of concern others had for me. What I just said doesn’t make sense, but work with me for a moment.
I knew they were concerned, but I hadn’t realized it had approached the fear level. As we know, some people get mean when they are afraid. They can’t allow anyone to see them vulnerable. I can’t blame them; society has indoctrinated us into believing fear is evil and should be eradicated at all costs. So, I get it.
I certainly didn’t intend to worry anyone, but it happened. Now, I wonder how to fix it or make things better. I suppose the answer is simple. Take care of yourself and listen for once. For I would like to point out for the record, I am an amazing listener; I just do all the things I hear.
Once, I mistakenly made my wife aware of my superpower of being able to repeat verbatim what she’d said. In my mind, this was the move to shut this nonsense down. What was to follow can only be described as a teachable moment.
1. Do not under any circumstances let your wife know you can remember everything she says. STOP! I DO NOT CARE! We have an acceptable preprogrammed excuse in play. Learn to roll with it. By all means, keep your mouth shut. I know this is difficult. Especially, when you are troubled by responses you made to her during the conversation she had with you in her head.
Acceptable exceptions for the display of your superpower. The sweet, cute, thoughtful, and aww-evoking moments in life. Use your powers during these moments and all life will be infinitely better. Let me be clear at this point. There can be no good to come from pointing out flaws in their logic just for the sake of doing so.
I learned this lesson from a friend, an old-school cat daddy, who took me under his wing and started dropping jewels. He had one eye gone, and the other looked as if it had seen better days, but they were fearful. So, I figured he might have something important to say.
“Youngblood, hey, Youngblood,” he said motioning for me to join him. I stood there momentarily considering what he could possibly want.
“I know you see me, get over here, before I got to get up.” He threatened. Dante’ Mays had done time in at least three different states on multiple occasions. The chances of him making good on his threat were good.
For the next 45 minutes, he explained his version of life lessons. This happened some time ago and I still find myself referring back to the conversation that day. I had seen his wife, she was the sweetest woman you would ever want to meet, but she had this gaze. I wondered if she might have been the reason he lost his eye.
Pay attention to lesson one. Learn it, Know it, Live it.
Always listen to the whispers of the dark. They just might save you.
What will your life be like in three years?
If I’ve learned anything as of late, it is life is the uncertainty of life. However, if things go as planned, I will be retired in decent health. Decent health because good health left a few years back. It didn’t even leave a note. I think I feel some sort of way about the whole affair. Often, I wonder what I will do with myself during retirement. The short answer is … Whatever I want.
First, I will buy a support truck filled with motorcycle parts. I will be the last to retire, and we plan to drive the historic Route 66 on motorcycles. My job at this point is to drive the support vehicle to handle any maintenance issues that may arise. All of us are former mechanics, so no worries about being able to handle any issues that may occur.
Next, I will ensure all camera equipment is ready to document the trip. This list includes video camera, DSLR, dash cam, and spares of all the accessories. I will bring plenty of notebooks to record my rants. It’s sacrilege to have a good rant go undocumented. I will also include an iPad and laptop for those lazy days. Well, that’s the plan anyway.
However, who knows?
How do you manage screen time for yourself?
The first time I noticed my iPad notifying me about my screen time usage was disturbing. I didn’t know it was a thing until that point. I wondered why it tracked this information and what it would do with it. So, instantly, I pulled out my journal and started hashing out theories about what “The Man” would do with this information. Tracking my screen time, what? They better get out of here with that mess.
Of course, I was in a full PTSD episode, and my paranoia was out of control. Despite this, I took steps to limit my screen time. I still use most of them.
I manage my screen time the old fashion way. I pick up a book. I have no problem getting lost in a story of another design. However, if I’m working on a story or an idea for an article, I write down things down in a journal. I practice stream of consciousness writing. This exercise frees me from the confides of my mind. It allows me to forget about time and distractions. I usually have a audiobook playing in the background. Interesting enough, research suggests that visual reading and audiobooks stimulate the same region of the brain. Crazy, I know.
Listening to audiobooks for me took some getting used to. I found myself getting distracted. However, over time I use as an exercise in active listening. Well that’s it. That’s all of it.
As many of you know, I like to combine challenges. So, today we are combining Six Word Story and #WRITEPHOTO – Tour. Let’s get to it, shall we?
I don’t care, not riding that!
What was your favorite subject in school?
I could lie here, but I won’t. I could spin a fantastic but believable yarn about something that has nothing to do with the question. I’m a fiction writer; it’s what I do. You know, it’s my jam. One might even say it was my birthright. There are several writers in my family and all. I love learning. But school? I needed that like I needed another hole in my head. So, like any other flagrantly bored kid, I became a miscreant. A chatterbox, class clown, or any other thing I could think of that keeps me entertained. I considered my antics to be my responsibility to keep things lively. Until one day, my actions had reached their limit.
My mother tried to call my father, his secretary, a battle-axe of the highest order, my father’s description, not mine. I was too young to know what battle-axe meant and refused to disturb dear ole’ pop. So, my mother hung up the phone. By her expression, trouble was afoot. When my father came home, I was dismissed from the room. My mother started in on my father before he read his newspaper, a cardinal sin. Ticking off my mother, however, was a deadly sin. As I listened through the vent, I heard my mother go into lurid detail about her dissatisfaction.
Allow me to provide a snippet …
Mother: GGGGRRRRRRRRR!!!!
There might have been flames. I couldn’t be sure. Once, during a bedtime story, Mother confessed to being part dragon.
Father: But…But … But … I can explain.
By the sound of his voice, it was apparent my father was miserable. I remember being scolded by my mother, and it wasn’t anywhere close to the level of what I heard. I felt miserable.
Afterward, Father came into my room and gave me the look. You know, the one parents give their children that lets the child know whatever reason they are showing that look stops now. Then he followed it with the look that only evolves in the following.
Action One: The head immediately drops down and avoids eye contact.
Action Two: Shoulders droop with the execution of a defeated sigh. There is a slight hesitation between the droop and the sigh. Timing is everything.
This is the most crucial of the actions. Execution is paramount. One could have nailed the first two actions, but bugger the third. It’s over. Here are a few suggestions I have witnessed and used in the past.
Now, my father stood there looking at me strangely. I knew my execution was flawless. Yet, I wondered why he hadn’t left the room. I had to resist the temptation to speak. It might ruin the effectiveness of my performance. Finally, he said.
“You know,” he started. We are aware that nothing good comes from sentences starting off like that. I attempted to settle as I thought, “Oh Boy!”
“When I was young, I always wanted a knucklehead son and look a knucklehead!” he said, gesturing towards me. He turned and headed out of the room.
“You know,” he said. There’s that phrase again.
“The apology was good. Very good, if I’m being honest. I almost bought it. Your timing was off. You’ll have to step up your game to fool your mother.” he finished and walked the room.
I never did fool my mother. I think my father derived a bit of pleasure from watching me try. In the present, I can say that English was my favorite subject. I used it to become a decent storyteller. I enjoy putting words together like a puzzle.
I’d like to thank Cyranny’s Cove for doing us the courtesy of providing inspiring words that shaped this story. If you haven’t checked out the site, get over there.
I hope you enjoyed today’s story. Trying to make the words fit the story in my head was hard. But I had a blast.
One of my favorite forms of writing is poetry. For years I have been trying to figure why? Perhaps, in it’s many forms it represents the truth of us. The truth that is only told within the lines we write. There’s something majestic about poetry that can’t be explained in words no matter how hard we try. But at least we can do is highlight one of its many forms.
Acrostic poems are a unique and creative expression used for centuries to captivate readers and convey profound messages. In this article, we will delve into the format of acrostic poems, exploring their structure, techniques, and the power they hold in making meaning come alive.
What is an Acrostic Poem?
An acrostic poem is a type of poetry where the first letter of each line when read vertically, spell out a word, phrase, or name. This format adds depth and meaning to the poem, as the chosen word or phrase often serves as a theme or central idea.
The Structure of Acrostic Poems:
Acrostic poems typically consist of multiple stanzas, with each line beginning with a letter that contributes to the hidden word or phrase. The number of lines in each stanza can vary, depending on the poet’s preference and the length of the word or phrase used.
Techniques for Crafting Acrostic Poems:
Choosing the central word or phrase: The first and most crucial step in creating an acrostic poem is selecting the word or phrase that will be spelled out vertically. This choice sets the tone and theme of the poem. Brainstorming: Once the central word or phrase is chosen, the poet can brainstorm words, phrases, or ideas associated with each letter. This helps in constructing meaningful and coherent lines for the poem. Wordplay and creativity: Acrostic poems allow for wordplay and creativity, as poets can experiment with different ways to express their thoughts and emotions within the constraints of the format.
The Power of Acrostic Poems:
Expressing hidden meanings: Acrostic poems provide an opportunity to subtly convey hidden meanings or messages within the poem. This adds an element of intrigue and depth to the reading experience. Engaging the reader: The format of acrostic poems engages the reader’s curiosity and encourages them to actively participate in deciphering the hidden word or phrase. It creates a sense of interaction between the poet and the reader. Enhancing memorability: Acrostic poems have a unique quality that makes them memorable. The deliberate arrangement of letters and the challenge of uncovering the hidden word or phrase leaves a lasting impression on the reader.
Wailing
Howls
Incongruity
Solitude’s
Perdurable
Exemplary
Resolve
What’s the coolest thing you’ve ever found (and kept)?
As a child, I could be classified as strange or weird. I spent a great deal of time alone riding my bike or sitting by the lake staring at nothing. One day, I noticed a radio on bench. I waited all day for someone to come back for it. It was nice and fancy radio. I was sure someone would return for it. However, no one ever did. I took the radio home, but my mother made me return it. We waited until dark and no one came back. So she let me keep it. I played that radio every day until one day it just stopped.
I learned how to repair radios after that. I’ve built them out of spare parts. I’ve listened to radio broadcasts from around the world.
A few years later, my mother made me change schools. I wasn’t a problem child or anything so I couldn’t understand I had to leave all my friends. It seemed like the end of the world, but it wasn’t. I swore I didn’t belong there and would never make any friends. However, one kid took upon himself to be my friend. While everyone else treated me like a pariah. This kid did his best to make me feel welcome. I don’t think I ever thanked him for that.
One day, we found a rabbit’s foot by the school we so excited. About what I can’t remember why, but none of that matters. What matters is at that moment we made a lasting memory. Something I didn’t know until decades later. Well my friend has kept that rabbit foot all these years. When he told me he still had the rabbit’s foot I couldn’t believe it.
It’s cool finding a radio would change my life. The coolest things I’ve found are a shortwave radio and rabbit’s foot
I’ve been a history buff my whole life. I can quite literally spend emerged in the annals of time. Who, what, and why, the unsolved mysteries, or trying to separate truth from legend. My first love affair started with the Old West: the hats, the six-shooters strapped to them, and the steadfast sense of justice.
One can’t talk about the Old West without talking about the trains. I remember as a boy walking the tracks; my arms outstretched while I tried rather unsuccessfully to keep my balance on the track. When I got older, I would jump from car to car. I still have an extreme fascination with trains. Let’s take a few moments to discuss the creation of the railroad.
The Transcontinental Railroad stands as a monumental achievement in American history, forever changing the landscape of transportation and communication. Completed in 1869, this groundbreaking project connected the eastern and western coasts of the United States, spanning nearly 2,000 miles. In this post, we will explore the significance of the Transcontinental Railroad and its impact on the nation’s development.
The construction of the Transcontinental Railroad was no small feat. The task of laying tracks across vast terrains, including rugged mountains and scorching deserts, required incredible engineering skills and determination. Thousands of workers, including Chinese immigrants, Irish immigrants, and Civil War veterans, toiled under harsh conditions to make this vision a reality. They faced numerous challenges, from blasting through mountains to traversing treacherous landscapes. The railroad’s completion shortened travel time from coast to coast from several months to just a matter of days, revolutionizing trade and commerce.
One of the most remarkable aspects of the Transcontinental Railroad was its role in unifying a divided nation. At its completion, the United States was still recovering from the wounds of the Civil War. The railroad acted as a symbol of progress and reconciliation, connecting the once-disparate regions of the country. It fostered economic growth, encouraged migration, and strengthened ties between communities. People from different backgrounds and walks of life came together to work on the railroad, forging new connections and friendships. The Transcontinental Railroad became a powerful force in promoting a sense of national identity and solidarity among Americans.
The Transcontinental Railroad had a profound impact on the nation’s economy. It opened up new markets and facilitated the transportation of goods across the country faster and more efficiently. Farmers and manufacturers now had access to larger consumer bases, leading to increased production and prosperity. The railroad also played a crucial role in the growth of urban centers along its route, stimulating the development of industries and creating new job opportunities. The Transcontinental Railroad transformed the United States into a global economic powerhouse, with goods flowing seamlessly from coast to coast.
The construction of the Transcontinental Railroad brought together people from diverse backgrounds and cultures. Former Slaves and Chinese immigrants played a significant role in building the railroad, contributing their expertise and labor. Their presence and contributions had a lasting impact on American society, shaping its cultural landscape. The Transcontinental Railroad spurred innovation and technological advancements. Engineers and inventors developed new methods and technologies to overcome the challenges of building the railroad, leading to advances in engineering, communication, and transportation that had far-reaching effects beyond the railroad itself.
The completion of the Transcontinental Railroad was a monumental achievement that forever changed the course of American history. It not only connected the nation physically but also symbolized unity and progress. The railroad revolutionized transportation, fostered economic growth, and played a crucial role in the nation’s development. The impact of this extraordinary engineering feat can still be felt today, reminding us of the power of human ingenuity and the boundless possibilities of collaboration. The Transcontinental Railroad is a testament to the vision, dedication, and hard work of countless individuals who came together to connect a nation.
Name the most expensive personal item you’ve ever purchased (not your home or car).
For most things, I’m a tightwad, even described as squeezing a penny so tight you can see the booger in Lincoln’s nose. There’s truth in that statement, with one exception. When it comes to my tech, I Typically spare no expense.
I don’t run out buying tech all willy-nilly. There will be none of that nonsense. Each piece of equipment must be researched again and again before purchase. Despite this rule, I keep equipment long after it should be replaced or upgraded.
Examples of this devotion to all things frugal: I shoot most of my photos with a secondhand Nikon D3200 and process video on a MacBook Pro. The MacBook Pro was ridiculously priced but is worth the coin. I’ve worn out three Windows boxes since I purchased my Mac.
My Sony FS5 was by far the most expensive equipment I own. She is old but gets the job done. I’m looking for a new camera body to possibly replace my Nikon. It’s going to cost an arm and leg, but what am I going to do? I have no choice, you know? Men and their toys and all.
What is good about having a pet?
I know there are people in this world who don’t entertain the idea of having a pet. I get it. They can be messy, expensive, and a lot of work. They even of the nerve at times to look at you as if you have done something inappropriate.
Let’s not mention, talking to them and they completely ignore or disregard what your saying to them.
Seven years, I been dealing with this fella. Not so much as peep. You’d think if you dig holes in a guys years for that long, you could be at least friendly.
Sophie was a rescue and we have been together for two years now. I truly believe we rescued each other. I have bad days sometimes and she seems to understand when I’m having a hard time and comes to me. It’s quite amazing if you think about it.
Now, I going to provide some general information about ESA’s and their benefits.
Emotional support animals play a crucial role in providing comfort and emotional stability to their owners. These animals are not just pets; they are certified to provide specific assistance to individuals with mental health disorders. ESAs can help alleviate symptoms of anxiety, depression, PTSD, and other emotional conditions. They offer unconditional love, companionship, and a sense of security, which can greatly improve the overall well-being of their owners.
There are numerous benefits of having an emotional support animal. Firstly, the presence of an ESA can help reduce feelings of loneliness and isolation. Many individuals with mental health conditions often struggle with social interactions, but having a loyal companion by their side can provide a sense of belonging and comfort. ESAs can also help regulate emotions by providing a source of calmness and stability during times of distress.
Moreover, emotional support animals can help individuals cope with stress and anxiety. The simple act of petting or cuddling with an ESA has been proven to release endorphins, which are known as “feel-good” chemicals. This natural boost in mood can help reduce anxiety levels and promote relaxation. Additionally, the responsibility of taking care of an ESA can provide a sense of purpose and routine, which is particularly beneficial for individuals struggling with depression.
It is essential to understand the legal rights surrounding emotional support animals. In many countries, including the United States, ESAs are protected under the law. This means that individuals with valid ESA certifications can have their animals accompany them in housing that otherwise has a “no pets” policy. They are also allowed to travel on airplanes with their emotional support animals without having to pay additional fees.
However, it is important to note that emotional support animals are not the same as service animals. Service animals undergo extensive training to perform specific tasks for individuals with disabilities, while emotional support animals provide emotional comfort. Understanding the distinction between the two is crucial to ensure the appropriate rights and accommodations.
The message couldn’t have been clearer
it was like a strobeing neon sign…
or looped playback of an unwanted message
The sulfur fills your nostrils and you’re mesmerized by the dancing flame
Why did you foolishly believe in this?
why where so easily taken in by its lure?
why did you allow yourself to breath life into boyish fantasy?
The amber light severed the darkness for a moment as you took a drag
Shaking your head, you exhale…bathing in the realism of the moment
You step back into the shadows…..step back into the known
step back before you become a victim of the voracious nature of life
You thump the ashes from your cigar in the darkness ….safe and free
There is a silence in the room
No words spoken, emotions so thick one could smother
Fighting back the tears, as you look back at her face.
She’s sitting on the steps, glowing in the sun.
Your bag is packed, yet you search for a reason not to leave.
Standing the final stance before departure…knowing too well it is time
Feeling the tenderness of her touch
Followed by the warmth of her lips.
Exhaling in the moment, the next is unknown
Walking out the door, never turning around
Not wanting your tears to show.
The ride to post was longer today than any others
Your brothers and sisters in arms have the same upon their faces
Equipment and manifest checks … moments away from destiny
Chatter fills the room, but no one speaks of why we are here
As if you speak its name, you give it power.
To speak its name, the illusion would be over
We muster on the flight line, trying to stay strong
We look through the crowd, watching your brethren summoning the courage
Moments away from fighting an unknown cause
Fighting with undying zeal and without pause
The plane is loaded, and slumber takes over
Getting all we can get while we can
Waken by the plane’s descent, our nerves on fire
Knowing that the illusion is over and dues need to be paid
We flick the switch ….
Boom boom….boom boom ….boom boom
Can you hear it?
Boom boom…boom boom ….boom boom
War drums sound off
Boom boom…boom boom ….boom boom
Our soul screams!!!!
YEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!
Now we embrace our beast and let them out
Fighting relentlessly ….
Stained with essence ….
Innocence shattered ….
Desperately searching for the next thing that is keeping you away
Through bloodshot eyes, we see all the enemies have vanished
No one else to fight … no more orphans caused
At least no more today
We flick off the switch ….
Leaning in the doorway, standing there looking
Looking at the most breathtaking thing that these eyes have seen
In what seems to be a lifetime
I see you ….
Glowing in the sun
I woke up this morning fired up. Another glorious day to be above ground. I started this off like this …
I jammed this song before many missions
Here are this week’s questions about shopping habits:
1. When food shopping, do you prefer to shop online or in person? I do a great deal of online shopping for convenience, but I prefer to walk the aisles and see the things that aren’t on the website. Plus, you have an opportunity to examine your purchase before leaving the store. I can’t count the number of times I’ve purchased something online and be disappointed when it arrives. It’s almost like they have a magic camera when taking photos for the website.
2. Do you take/stick to a shopping list? I’ve always made a list in my head. I typically purchase only the things I intend to purchase. Online shopping makes the need for a list easier to stick to.
3. Do you shop around or are you store loyal for convenience? I’m pretty loyal if the service and they have the product I’m looking for. However, I believe in having a backup plan, so I often look around at several stores before settling down with a single store.
4. Roughly how long does it take you to do a weekly shop? It depends on what I need to purchase. Typically it takes me about two hours.
Here’s my response to Pensitivity101’s Share Your World
This week on her is a lovely tribute. It is in the memories of others that we truly achieve immortality. May we all become immortal.
Do you ever feel more excited about getting the package in the mail, rather than the item that’s in it? Yes, there have many times I received a package and wondered what goodies am I about to receive. I’ve been let down too many times, to be specific.
What is the difference between your ideal self and your real self? (i.e. what attribute or physical feature would allow you feel the ideal ‘you’?) I wish I saw myself as something else. I wonder who I would become? What would be the ideal version of myself? Would I be suave? Charismatic? Perhaps I would live on a mountain in an unknown region, communing with the birds. Wouldn’t it be cool to learn a bird language? In this ideal version of myself, would I still be a writer?
However, I’m not that fortunate. I am just a simple man living my life as best I can. I embrace my faults and learn from them. Some lessons are costly, and others not so much. Yet, no matter the cost, each is full of wisdom. I need the patience to listen. Who I am may not work for some, but it’s good enough for me. Everyone else is already taken. This includes any fantasy version of myself. I’m a writer, so I can make myself pretty sweet. However, The Madre has always urged me to use my powers for good. If I’m nothing else, I strived to be a good son.
If you found $2,000 on the ground and there were no witnesses, what would you do with it? I would turn it to the local authorities. Some folks are looking at this answer and saying, “Yeah, right, you would turn it in.” But I would. I’ve lost money before, and someone turned it in. I’m very thankful for that honest person. So why not pay it forward?
Are you ever morally obliged to take action? Under what circumstances? Yes, whenever I can assist people in need. As long as it doesn’t interfere with my responsibilities to my family. When this occurs, it usually affects how much I can assist. My code doesn’t allow me to say no.
What does it mean to be a kid at heart?
Sometimes, it’s hard for me to remember what it’s like to be a kid at heart. Lately, I’ve been reminiscing about childhood. I have had several random memories.
I remember pacing endlessly, wondering if my latest crush was into me. I enlisted help from my friends to discern my plight, but they weren’t any help. Then, a girl from the class appeared out of nowhere. She was known to accomplish this feat regularly. There was talk if she was some sort of fairy or some other mythical creature. Putting aside her unknown origins, she offered a probable solution to my crisis. There was a daisy in her hand.
She began plucking the pedals one by one, uttering, ” She loves me,” “She loves me not.” We waited as she continued plucking as if the fate of the world rested on the result. When she finished, I had a new love. However, this result was the farthest from the truth. I remember playing this game. It gives me a hardy laugh.
One of my friend’s mother asked me once if I was part squirrel. I didn’t know what she meant, but looking back, I can see why she asked that. I would scurry up a tree in a heartbeat, leaving her son looking up and complaining until he found the courage to climb up with me. We were kings, looking down at the world. We would pack sandwiches and comic books, staying there for hours.
I remember spending hours on various swing sets around the neighborhood. This photo reminds me of an old swing set where I used to sneak and swing. It was something sitting there gathering my thoughts about what mischief I was going to into next.
The bottom represents the playground swing I played with as a child. The swing I used to court my latest crush. The laughter, how I remember the laughter. It was almost like we didn’t know fear. We shared interests, fears, and passions. We never considered whether or not the information we shared would be used against us. It was friendships forged from innocence.
When I can, I think about those moments and smile. Because we used to swing and climb trees.
What are your favorite websites?
There are far too many quality websites to call one my favorite. However, there are a few I visit regularly. I understand this might be the time to publicly admit. [Clearing my throat] My name is Mangus, and I’m a bookworm and shopaholic. Because of this compulsion, I spend a considerable amount of time on Amazon. I just can’t help myself. I have one of those Kindle Fire things, so I buy books all the time. To make matters worse, I acquire most of my provisions from there as well. Not to mention office supplies, electronics, and ridiculous whatnot that one buys on a wimp.
Until recently, I spent a great of time on Goodreads. A social media site for bookworms. I admit the idea is exciting. However, I have purposely been weening myself from Goodreads in hopes of somehow curving my book buying. Then there’s Abe.com; where can you believe this madness; people post books for sale. There are first editions and the lot waiting for me to enter my credit card information. Thriftbooks.com has reasonably priced books and a points system so you can get some discounts. So not fair.
Wish me luck in my pursuit of curving my addictions. I’m running out of space for bookshelves and my Kindle is almost full.
I always enjoy discovering new ways of pushing myself as a writer. Every sentence is an opportunity to redefine my limits. Often, I find myself struggling with who I’m becoming in the wake of my existence. There was a time when I felt certain who I was and my purpose. Now, with age and health issues, I wonder…
What kind of man are you?
PROSE
The beginning of my psychosis … sighs!
When I was young, I approached life without fear
With hopes as bright as the sun
When it came to worries, I had none
I’d never thought I’d end up here
Sitting here remembering what I saw in the mirror
Realizing what I had become
All the things I had done
My soul and eyes fill with tears
At me, I look
Just one look
And all my dreams
Are scattered
My head hangs low
Despair has begun taking its toll
I have no place left to go
For it holding me here
At me, I look
Just one look
And all my hope
Is shattered
Thunderous dreams on whispering wings
That no one can hear
These pages are soaked from the tears I cry
I hope to survive this pain. I scribe
As I scream
AAAAAAAAAAA HHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
At you, I look
Just one look
For I have lost
The thing that matters
Here, in the chambers of my madness, I am showered by my decadence. The weight of my arrogance bears heavily on my soul, dropping me to my knees, beaten and shallow.
The eyes of my damnation have opened. From its lips, a howl is released that cringes the wicked.
In a fleeting moment….
I believed someone wanted to hear what I had to say.
Believing I had something worthy of saying.
For a moment….
I believed my words could inspire and ignite,
Yet they are daunt and douse.
I believed my words could teleport you from drab and mundane,
to the majestic and climatic
For a moment….
I believed I was good enough to defend the faith, which gives us breath
I believed I was that breath, filling the lungs of the passionate.
For a moment…
I believed the faces of the slain would fade,
Yet I drift deeper into a sea of their weeping souls.
Believing I was strong enough to let go of the things that bind me.
Though I await sadness to draw life that remains….leaving me hollow.
Bound by lunacy’s chains, I am danging in its web, screaming…
Liberating my sanity as I stare into the fright and pain.
Knowing I can’t let go of the hope … of grace.
For my fortitude must be unwavering.
If I’m lucky, my courage will be limitless
Yet, I must be careful, for I hope for….
For it might destroy it all.
Yes, I must be careful …
For it might destroy me.
In the twilight of this revelation, I slump, weakened…
for I am dying.
From my lifeless lips, I speak Passion’s name
Breaking the chains, I rise untouched by the flames of Madness.
holding on to the dream that I’m powerful enough
Powerful enough to scribe in lines of the destined.
Wise enough to scribe the words that will bring us home.
Strong enough to wield the words that will bind our drifting souls.
Bringing us to a place we all belong, united and strong
A place where our words cast out the darkness that sometimes fills our hearts.
Yet, I must be careful about what I long for….
Careful for what I yearn for ….
I might get things I don’t want
Yet, I pray hear you my plea
Just before the dawn of this …
Epiphany of Madness
Memoirs of Madness 