The small man, now trembling with the force of whatever deep emotion held him in thrall, stood quivering in the doorway, moving his eyes from face to face, starting on his left, and working rapidly around the room. As his eyes came to rest upon a party about half-way down the aisle between the counter and booths, just being served at a table by the window, his expression hardened, and he started toward the object of his search, now appearing to glare at the people at the table with the sheer intensity of hatred and loathing.

I, along with the rest of the diner watched in rapt fascination as he came to the table, where he stopped, gazing down at the four well-dressed men who sat there, looking up at him with expressions of polite disinterest, somewhat incongruous, considering the drama of the small man’s approach, and the threatening, hateful visage that he now presented. For a long moment, he stared at each face in turn, then, in a surprisingly soft, lilting voice, he spoke, “Zo! You would send your assassins to the house of Giaccomo, eh? Your trained killers, zo dangerous, no? I will show you dangerous!”

On the last words, he reached into the pocket of his grimy coat, and pulled out a small, indistinct object. “Here….I give you back your assassins, both of them!” With that, he threw down what he held onto the table in front of the four silent, now grim-faced men. They looked down, shocked eyes wide, to where lay two human ears, covered in dried blood, looking a bit worse for wear. “Next time, send more! You will need them, and my garden can use the fertilizer!” Before they could move, the man swept the flatware, dishes, and glasses into the laps of the seated men, who reacted not at all, but merely watched, silent and still, as the small figure turned, and walked out the door, into the night. Inside the diner, silence held reign……

Once more, my manic-depressive Muse has taken over my fingers, to lay out the preceding paragraphs for your reading pleasure, or confusion, as the case may be; I’m tending toward the latter. I hope it does give pleasure, though… because it’s a little weird, having to sit here while words go down on screen that have never passed through my creative filter…. an odd feeling to have one’s subconscious mind playing tricks like that so early. I barely got a sip of coffee down before the Muse just took over, so I’m going to take a short break to soothe my nerves…. be back shortly…. I wonder who Giaccomo is?…

Okay, all better now…. I sure wish I could get my subconscious to quit doing that; it’s a bit disconcerting to have one’s volition so rudely usurped in such a cavalier fashion. It’s not like I wouldn’t share screen time….. ah well, I guess it will all come out in the wash. Let’s Pearl, shall we?……
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“The ideal life is in our blood and never will be still. Sad will be the day for any man when he becomes contented with the thoughts he is thinking and the deeds he is doing — where there is not forever beating at the doors of his soul some great desire to do something larger, which he knows that he was meant and made to do.” — Phillips Brooks

I’ve been pushing this quote forward every day for a week, since I found it and copied it here for discussion. I keep putting it off. I haven’t figured out why that is, but I’m sick of dealing with it, and it’s too good to throw out, so…. deal with it, Ned…

I think the problem here is that I agree with this, and really couldn’t say it much better. And, it’s such a great little piece of insight disguised as a homily, it doesn’t need any expansion to increase or enhance its positive direction. So, I’m going to use a bit of cosmic Judo, and go with the flow… just enjoy it, and its message, which is, essentially, “Carpe diem, as soon as you recognize which diem you’re in!”…..
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“[The artist] speaks to our capacity for delight and wonder, to the sense of mystery surrounding our lives; to our sense of pity, and beauty, and pain; to the latent feeling of fellowship with all creation — and to the subtle but invincible conviction of solidarity in dreams, in joy, in sorrow, in aspirations, in illusions, in hope, in fear which binds together all humanity — the dead to the living and the living to the unborn.”     — Joseph Conrad

I can state, with some confidence, my belief that this is what most of us are shooting for as artists. Few of us can express how we approach our Art, or why, or easily answer any such pertinent questions, but all of us can feel what we wish to share, impatiently waiting for our keyboard/camera/computer program/clay/other artistic medium to be applied to the task at hand, giving to the Universe a small piece of our Soul, pieces that cry out for release, eager to be off to be consumed by other ears, other eyes, other minds.

For some of us, it is therapy. For others, it is the creative impulse. For still others, it is ambition, or outrage, or pride of accomplishment, or the desire to be understood. For a million and more reasons, our Art forces its way past our fears and denials, to find the light it must seek in other’s eyes. It is, to me, more proof of humanity, for the impulse to create Art is proof of our innate need for each other, and our need to be acknowledged, and loved. This is why we place our hearts, and souls, firmly in our work, and then give it away, gratis……
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“I wanted a perfect ending … Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity.” — Gilda Radner

Why do the best of us have to die so young? “Delicious ambiguity.” What a brilliant summation of a wonderfully wise statement! One wouldn’t normally expect a woman known for her comedy to have such insight into Life, but then, there certainly are precedents for it. Will Rogers, Lenny Bruce, George Carlin, Lily Tomlin, Dick Gregory, even Steve Allen, all were best known as comedians, and justly so. But all of them are also some of the most lucid, intelligent, and erudite social critics that ever lived, and they were certainly the most accurate, and important voices of that genre in the last century.

It makes one wonder, what our world would be like, if the love of humanity, the brilliant political and social conscience, and the acerbic wit, shown by these few masters of innuendo and sarcasm were to be set as the rules governing society at large. I know one thing for sure…. there would be more smiles seen everywhere, on the faces of children, adults, and elders, and it would be considered a social faux pas to darken another person’s attitude with sobriety…. much healthier for all of us, don’t you think?……

How he lies in his rights of a man!
Death has done all death can.
And absorbed in the new life he leads,
He recks not, he heeds
Nor his wrong nor my vengeance; both strike
On his senses alike,
And are lost in the solemn and strange
Surprise of the change.
— Robert Browning (1812-1890) — After
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…I’ll sulk for the rest of your days and make your life a living hell. So there.

Wait a minute! Who let my ex- in here without telling me?….. ah, okay, it’s only a random memory stim….whew! I thought for sure I’d gone back to Hell on Earth, where I resided for several years prior to her dramatic departure….. I never did get what I did to her that pissed her off so much, but I guess if I had a clue as to that, things would be different….no sense in living backwards, is there?….

But it does bring up a subject not often discussed, or even considered, due to its volatile nature; the impulse to hurt others, for perceived injuries of whatever nature, revenge, at its most petty. I suppose it is mostly a natural response, arising from the basic instinct to preserve life, but it seems to me it gets carried a lot further than necessary; the responses are usually much more powerful than the initial events that cause the perceived injuries.

For some reason, an attack on personal beliefs or self-image is less easily dismissed as are less personal affronts, and there seems to be no limit on the degree of intensity one may use in these instances. For example, it seems a bit harsh to me to throw silverware at someone’s head as a response to being asked “How are you this morning?”, or to scream uncontrollably at someone for being tardy for a meal by less than a minute, because of having paused to pick a flower for the screamer (both of which I have been treated to on more than one occasion….) But, maybe it’s just me….

“We need to talk.” — The scariest words known to man…. as engraved on the Tomb of the Unknown Husband….anonymously, of course….

SIGH… I guess it just goes to show, that everyone has their own idea of what love is, and finding someone who feels exactly the same is still a matter of chance. I’ve always preferred to approach it from the direction implied by the following little piece of common sense…. (well, it’s common in my world…..) It is a sentiment that naturally predisposes one to avoid those sorts of things that one would potentially need to be sorry about….

“There is never anything to feel sorry about with love. Never.” — Robert Heinlein

Curse on all laws but those which love has made!
Love, free as air at sight of human ties,
Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.
— Alexander Pope (1688-1744) — Eloisa to Abelard, Line 74

Weird….sometimes after I finish a discussion, a number of good pearls on that jump out at me in the search for the next… hmph! Good thing I’m easygoing…. wait, no I’m not!….. oh well, screw it….
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Boop Boop Bee Boop – Betty Boop

I saw a werewolf drinking a piña colada at Trader Vic’s; his hair was perfect.–from “Werewolves of London”

Some things are just perfect the way you find them…. and serendipity is real!

“I just can’t help myself!” — Standard disclaimer — Babs Bunny
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Well, I’ve probably done enough damage for one morning, and I’m running out of hit points, so I’ll bring this to an end here…. timing, as we know, is everything…. Y’all take care out there…..