Unknown patterns of regimental filtration….

Ffolkes,
Today is the last day of leisure for this week. Tomorrow I should be able to pick up the keys to my new place, and start the moving process. I’m hoping it goes as smoothly as the packing has done…. Using the most useful advantage of age, foresight, I’ve been packing little by little, until there is now only the daily use items left to go, and they’ll get done on the last day, anyway…… Not too bad for an old fart with flat feet and flatulence, eh?….

“He is never less at leisure than when at leisure.” — Cicero (106-43 BC) — De Officiis, iii, 1

For those who enjoyed yesterday’s story beginning in the intro, I have already started on that, to turn it into a whole story, whether novel, novella, or short story length. The story is yet a bit unclear in my head, other than the beginning, but it will solidify as it percolates in the back of my mind for the time being; when it gets a bit more solid, I’ll outline it, so I know where to go with it….. should be fun. Hope so, anyway….

As I mentioned before, I may have to miss posting this blog on Friday and/or Saturday of this week. I’m not sure at this point whether I’ll have internet service right away in the new place, so I’ll have to go to Starbucks or somewhere else with free Wi-Fi…. and no telling how long I’ll have to do that, so I could conceivably get lazy and not go at all…. time will tell, as always.

Now that all the housekeeping chores have been completed, I think it’s time to go look for some material, just for fun. It’s certainly not for profit…..   Shall we Pearl?…..
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“I haven’t killed anyone yet. Help me keep it that way. I mean, what hope is there for the world if I die?” — Smart Bee

The above line from Smart Bee is actually two separate aphorisms that popped up one after the other, and were obviously (to me) meant to be together…. As it is now, it perfectly describes how I feel much of the time, especially pre-rant…. I have a small problem today, though, so I’m morphing right in front of your eyes….

I tried to write a rant, but just couldn’t work up the strong outrage that is needed to get fully into the flow of a full-fledged rant; even I fall prey to human nature at times, and rationalize my laziness as either fatigue or indifference… In this case, I’ll be honest, and cop to it….. I’m feeling lazy, so an old-school pearl will have to do for the nonce…. There IS a point to all this….. if only I knew what it was….

“I was contemplating the immortal words of Socrates, who said… I drank what?” — Real Genius

I don’t suffer from insanity–I revel in it! — Smart Bee

The seven eyes of Ningauble the Wizard floated back to his hood  as he reported to Fafhrd: “I have seen much, yet cannot explain all. The Gray Mouser is exactly twenty-five feet below the deepest cellar in the palace of Gilpkerio Kistomerces. Even though twenty-four parts in twenty-five of him are dead, he is alive. “Now about Lankhmar. She’s been invaded, her walls breached everywhere and desperate fighting is going on in the streets, by a fierce host which out-numbers Lankhmar’s inhabitants by fifty to one — and equipped with all modern weapons. Yet you can save the city.”  “How?” demanded Fafhrd.  Ningauble shrugged. “You’re a hero. You should know.” — Fritz Leiber, from “The Swords of Lankhmar”

Forever never lasts as long as you think it will!! — Smart Bee (Especially if the grammar police catch you using multiple exclamation points)

“It may be that our role on this planet is not to worship God but to create him.” — Arthur C. Clarke

“Make no judgments where you have no compassion.” — Anne McCaffrey

That should do it…. it’s a pretty simple puzzle, all things considered….. If it is too obscure, don’t fret, just eat some chocolate…. that fixes just about anything……
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I’ve indicated previously how much I like the poetry of Emily Dickinson…. below is one of my favorite of all her poems, because of the sheer power of her words, few as they are…..

A word is dead
When it is said
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.
— Emily Dickinson

Below you will find a poem by another poetess of great talent….. and you will find my comments directly below that…. no rolling your eyes like that!….. Pay attention, please…..

Under the Rug

I knew him for too many seasons. So when
the hot fury of summer finds me, or
when winter’s ice freezes my bones to
my skin, I smell him in my fingertips.
I wear him to bed.
I hear his laughter echoing through the night,
the night….

the nights come heavy with dreams that
wet my eyes, that drown my blankets with
sweat,
an old premonition.

I remember before he went,
his hands were as wide as my eyes,
sliding across my cheek,
his blue eyes flashed a promise at me

and in my fear, he stayed.

Then, he tugged at needles and
flossed with weakness
and they took him. The dark angels of
forever took him
beyond touch, or sight, or scent

and I went off to Dr. Steve.
I found him with his plants and his leather
and I found
the bottom of the rocks.
I spent my nights with Love’s thick hands
strangling me, and my
days with Dr. Steve’s hands turned upside
down, proving that authority was a soft side.

I gave his magazines a thought,
I gave his theories a thought,
I gave him every last piece of vulnerable paper
I had sitting around from the past 4 years,
and after he poured my heart into his
plastic plants,
I poured out my last ounce of attempt to stuff
struggle into the shadows.
I lifted his rug, and I crawled underneath it to
hide myself from the fury of the seasons.

~~ maggiemaeijustsaythis

http://maggiemaeijustsaythis.wordpress.com/2012/08/26/under-the-rug/#comment-20671    Following this link will take you to the original of this poem by maggiemae, as posted on her site, maggiemaeijustsaythis, a WordPress blog site; you will find many other poems there, equally as powerful and elegant as this one.

Maggie Mae is, in short, an astounding talent. I firmly believe that her work will someday be included in college and high school educational courses as one of the most important poets of the first part of the Twenty-First century, just as her favorite poet, Emily Dickinson is considered for her own era.

Seriously, she is that good. Her poems are filled with images of great power and metaphor, and reading one of them can leave you breathless in awe, as well as breathless from the sheer roller-coaster feeling of following her thoughts and words…. It is a truly amazing experience….. and one that promises to bring her unique passion and vision into the public eye for a long time to come, to our everlasting joy and appreciation. Please visit her site, and prepare to be amazed…..
___________________________________

I wrote this poem in reaction to some of the news stories I’ve been reading on the upcoming election battle….. which gives me the right to call it a pearl….

Modest sounds of impatient concern….

Crowds converge at the raw and grisly scene,
comatose to compassion, curiosity tugging at the hem
with sharp, oh, sharp tools made obscene,
filing the essence of future hopes in spite of them.

Yet who has won the keys to the treasure,
who whipped up the fear of another brother?
Who spent the dreams of the old in selfish measure,
with such arrogant blindness grave issues to smother?

Fateful decisions may prompt still another pause,
to catch and release collective images of insanity.
Surely legitimate anger arises with ample cause
wallowing in self-made entrepreneurs, fluent in profanity.

A quartet of eternities must pass to guarantee change,
regardless of need, or desire, or autonomous manipulation.
Ancient rules and modern aggression is only passing strange
when golden delusion grasps futilely at its related illusory station.

~~ gigoid

A bit ambiguous regarding any hope for change, but all in all, not bad, I think…. hope you enjoyed it….
___________________________________

Such as it is, it is done, and that may be the best we can say of it….. Y’all take care out there, and May the Metaphorse be with you…..


Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

5 thoughts on “Unknown patterns of regimental filtration….

  1. Good luck with the move,it is a very stressful time moving! I hope you survive. Like you I find Maggiemaieijustsaythis an amazing poet , and I also love Emily Dickinson she has a poem for every occasion! I love your poem too so it has been a fabulous post for me anyway! I love the line “Surely legitimate anger arises with ample cause
    wallowing in self-made entrepreneurs, fluent in profanity.” it says it all. Again good luck and stay sane 😉 xx

  2. Good ’bout doing more with that story; should be good..!
    Well, here’s hoping all goes well with the move. Take it easy, mellow out, and don’t let the bed bugs move with you…!
    You know; there have to be days when the angst just ain’t with you. After all, my friend, isn’t that the purpose of writing; to reach a stage, if not only occasionally, when the angst no longer pervades..? Tell me it isn’t so, my friend. You may have to engage in writing poetry, or short stories, or, good grief; jokes…! Ah well; there comes a time in every man’s life when, if all else fails; take the shorter route…!

  3. Thank you very much my friend! I am without words. This is a very high compliment coming from you, as I have great respect for you opinion. Thank you again!

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