Tag Archives: Death

Improbable cavaliers under the influence of Jell-O…..

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Ffolkes,
Fingers itching to stroke the keyboard, I burst from under the covers and head for cyberspace, with ideas bubbling up, and a mass of new euphemisms to try out on unsuspecting readers. It’s a grand day for writing, cold and nasty looking weather outside, nice and toasty in here. Now all I have to do is keep myself from running it all together; there’s so much waiting for its turn to shine, I hardly know where to begin…. I suppose I’ll have to abide by traditional format, and begin at the beginning….. so be it…..
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Winter Haiku

Apple blossoms cry out
desperately,
Spring can’t be so far away!

gigoid

And on the other side of the coin, we have this….. and, yes, it’s a strange world I live in….

SHIN: a part of the body useful for finding tables and chairs in the dark, and for stopping pucks.
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“When the first living thing existed, I was there waiting. When the last living thing dies, my job will be finished. I’ll put the chairs on the tables, turn out the lights, and lock the universe behind me when I leave.” — Death

Death…..a subject which has crossed my mind more in the last two years than in all my years before. For most of my life, I have had the invulnerable armor of denial working for me regarding my own demise. I figured it was something that would take care of itself in time; all I had to do was to live my life well enough that when death comes, there will be no regrets over love never shown, none over help withheld, and no regrets over duties undone. But in the last two years, as I approach ever closer to a more intimate relationship with Death, I find my denial to no longer be a viable tool; it is that or spend all my time fighting a battle that cannot be won.

I can’t say I’m particularly afraid to die; I’ve always been more curious about the unknown than afraid of it. But, with one’s final breath there is an effect on those people whose life we are a part of; there is no way to soften the blow for either of my children, any more than I could be shielded from sorrow upon the death of my own parents. All I can do is provide them with an example of how to die with dignity, and for that I have had the perfect role model myself, in my own father. It’s comforting to know that what he passed to me is something that will be passed on to my kids, and that is the knowledge that they are loved, and will live in our hearts forever…..or at least until all the lights are turned out, and Death takes a holiday…..

“Death, the most dreaded of evils, is therefore of no concern to us; for while we exist death is not present, and when death is present we no longer exist.” — Epicurus
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“A certain person may have, as you say, a wonderful  presence: I do not know. What I do know is that he  has a perfectly delightful absence.” — Idries Shah

I think we all have a list of folks who would be on such a list; in my case it’s practically a battalion. Here are just a few names from my list of folks who are made more attractive by the mere act of leaving a room….

Rush Limbaugh
Any ex-president named Bush
A very long list of televangelists….
Lady Gaga
Madonna
Ronald Reagan, the Great Deceiver
Bill O’Reilly
Ann Coulter (what a waste of sperm!)
Anyone who claims “diva” status
Anyone named Kardashian (who could possibly care?)
and, in the interests of moving this along…our final candidate….

Geraldo!….. there are more, but I could add to the list all day….’nuff said. Too close to bad karma….
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Most people make sense, I’m not one of them.

I originally intended to be one of them, but I found there was no audience for that. Nobody wants to hear anyone else make sense; it just challenges their own misconceived preconceptions. So I have studiously engaged in a program designed to turn the most staid, straightforward statement of common sense into a more palatable form, more like lime Jell-O than filet mignon. Lime Jell-O is the world’s most versatile food, because there is no way to make it anything but what it is, i.e., silly. So, next time someone accuses you of either making too much sense, or not enough, just refer them to Lime Jell-O. It’s the least anyone can do, given the state of reality…..

I support everyone’s right to be an idiot. I may need it myself someday.

“When the dream came, I held my breath with my eyes closed. I went insane, like a smoke ring day when the wind blows…….”
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Man was born to love–
Though often he has sought
Like Icarus, to fly to high.
And far too lonely than he ought
To kiss the sun of east and west
And hold the world at his behest–
To hold the terrible power
To whom only gods are blessed–
But me I am just a man.
— Patton

I know not if this is General George Patton; I found it like this. If he is the author, he has a lot more sensitivity than he is given credit for. In my reasonably humble opinion, this is a very good poem. And like any good poem, it needs no adornment, so, enjoy!….

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So ends another episode of the adventures of gigoid amid the wonders of culture, or lack thereof. It’s been a tough row to hoe, but perseverance wins again….this one may not be up to my usual standards; it’s hard to tell with my mind in the semi-soft state that comes after creating Pearls. We will now enter the fray out in the Big Blue Room; well, maybe a nap first…. Y’all take care out there…..

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

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

Penguins are never quite sober……

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Ffolkes,
From a purely subjective viewpoint (which, if you think about it, is all we really have) I am not a crook…..no, wait, that’s for another group. Okay, try this….from a purely subjective viewpoint, people suck major waste. They create major waste, too, but it doesn’t fit the image I’m creating. No, really, I mean, how hard can it be to be nice to each other? But, noooooo, people have to piss all over each other on a regular basis, as if they didn’t know any better.

That’s what really gets me about most of what goes on in the world at large; people do know what is right, and they just refuse to do it. They would rather lie, cheat, and steal from their fellow man, just because they think they can. It’s enough to make a strong man turn to drink, and send a weak one to the grave. There are days when I am glad I’m currently stuck here at home a lot; it keeps me from having to go out and deal with the great unwashed masses too often. Such interactions tend to be bloody, and I don’t need to get summoned to court to answer why I was beating that young man to death with his own leg…… I’d best dive in before I commit perjury or something…..
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Creation sleeps! ‘T is as the general pulse
Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause,–
An awful pause! prophetic of her end.
— Edward Young (1684-1765) — Night Thoughts, Night i, Line 23

Mr. Young seems to have been feeling a bit prophetic himself. If we consider this to have been written halfway through his life, then it was created somewhere around 1720, just the very beginning of the Industrial Age, when mankind first left the path of sustainability. The sky was still unrelieved blue, the waters were clean, and the sunsets were still the same colors they had been for a million years.

By the end of the century, London, and a few other cities of its size around the world, were beginning to see the first effects of pollution, with a rise in such diseases as TB, cancer, and respiratory complications, and the disappearance of a multitude of water-living creatures due to the poisons being dumped into the Thames.  Between the fireplace in every house, the trains, and the factories now blotting the horizon in all directions, the air in London was practically unbreathable at times, until Mother Nature took pity and sent some higher winds or rain to give them a break. One of the most lucrative of employments was that of window-washer, as it only took a day or two for a window to gather so much dirt and smoke as to be impenetrable to light or sight.

This phenomenon was not confined to London, and by the end of the next century, in 1900, the planet was starting to reel under the assault of particulate matter being pumped into the environment by the industrious little parasites crawling over its surface, still reproducing without restraint, oblivious to the harm they cause, merely by being born. The pollution not only continued, but increased by factors of 10 regularly, until, at the end of the twentieth century, we have reached a point of no-return.

The planet’s capability of dealing with what is poured into it is reaching a critical flash point; within the next century, it is a certainty that major environmental events will occur, as the planet begins to slough off the poisons we have created. The polar ice caps are melting and shrinking, at a rate which will only grow faster exponentially; as time goes on, it will increase at an ever-increasing rate, a rate that will effectively halt any more pollution by us, as we will be busy trying to survive the earthquakes, floods, famine, wars over food and clean water, unpredictable extreme weather, and other phenomena we cannot predict. These are merely the ones we KNOW will happen.

So, how do we survive? We don’t. As far as I can see, it’s too late; not enough time left for us to fix what we’ve broken.  Deal with it. Mankind has signed its own death warrant, and there is no court of appeal. We will join the dodo, the saber-tooth tiger, and T-Rex in the ranks of evolutionary dead-ends, another failed experiment.

The only way that this won’t happen, is if one of two things happens, soon, like yesterday: 1) The beloved ruling class comes to its senses, and stops trying to control everything to their own benefit, immediately begins to take steps to discontinue the destructive mind-set they have, and learns to share, or 2) The rest of us rise up and force them to do that, in spite of their stupidity and greed. I suppose those two things are actually one, but the point is that nothing else will work. There is no other way to survive. The people in charge MUST make these changes, or we are all going to die, not with a bang, but with a whimper and a cry of despair……
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“Emily Dickinson didn’t even publish books, she just wrote these demented little poems with a quill pen and hid them in her desk, but they still fought their way into the world, and lasted on and on and on. It’s damned hard to get rid of Emily Dickinson, she hangs on like a tick in a dog’s ear. And everybody who writes from then on in some sense has to measure up to this woman. In the art of book-writing the classics are still living competition, they tend to elevate the entire art-form by their persistent presence.” — Bruce Sterling

Mr. Sterling makes a valid point here. I have noted this feeling in myself, particularly after reading some Oscar Wilde, or Hemingway, or Poe, some Mark Twain, or Dorothy L. Sayers, Bob Heinlein, or Arthur C. Clark (yes, I know, very eclectic. I prefer to call it psychotic…) Just a couple days ago, I commented on this over a phrase from the pen of Mr. Wilde, of such great beauty it beckons like a lighthouse in a dark, moonless night at sea. I can only hope that my attempts at emulating the luminaries, like Emily and Oscar, elevate my art to a level approaching theirs……
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In the worlds before monkey, primal chaos reigned.   Heaven sought order, but the Phoenix can fly only when its feathers are grown.  The four lands formed again and yet again, as endless eons wheeled and passed.  The wind, time and later (??) all worked upon a certain rock, old as creation, and it became magically fertile.  That first egg was called ‘thought.’  Tagahatha (??) Buddha, the Father Buddha says, ‘with our thoughts, we make the world.’  Elemental forces caused the egg to hatch.  From it came a stone monkey.  The nature of monkey was IRREPRESSIBLE!

I found this gem without attribution, so I don’t know who to thank for it; it’s delightful, if only for its sense of fun. Irrepressible indeed! Plus, in certain ways, it is as logical and plausible as the claims made by some of the other religions floating around out there, isn’t it? The logical procession it displays is almost believable, and the mixing of myth, magic, and reality shows a mastery of both logic and its antithesis, intuition.

Living as I do in California, I could say with complete confidence that there is most likely one or more alleged “churches” in Southern California whose tenets of faith resemble this paragraph quite closely. Probably one with a fast-growing congregation, all of whom drive BMW’s or VW beetles. Those who don’t ride donkeys, that is…..
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Calvin: People think it must be fun to be a super genius, but they don’t realize how hard it is to put up with all the idiots in the world. Hobbes: Isn’t your pants’ zipper supposed to be in the front?  — Calvin (Bill Watterson, “Calvin and Hobbes”)

A fine example of how all of us are our own best source for laughter. As a matter of fact, it reminds me of several occasions in my own life in which I held this conversation in my own head, with myself playing both parts. SIGH….. gotta say, though, Calvin and Hobbes is the best cartoon to come along in a long time; sometimes it seems as if Doonesbury is the only really witty one left. Ah, for the days of Pogo, and Odds Bodkins!  Bloom County was also great, but way too short-lived. Hopefully, we will always have at least one cartoonist to help us stay sane when reading the news…..

“Creation is a mighty joke, but the laugh is at my own expense.” — Meher Baba
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“The basis of action is lack of imagination. It is the last resource of those who know not how to dream.” — Oscar Wilde

Sometimes Oscar cracks me up…..this, for example, produced a quick sardonic grin on my face, immediately followed by the thought “that sounds like something W.C. Fields might have said when he was soused”, which was most of the time, if one can believe of him what he so arduously sought to have others believe. Maybe that tenuous self-confidence, that almost shyness, made so obvious in the outer persona of each of them, by the very volume of the oddness, or uniqueness they espoused as a public figure, is what reminds me one of the other.

Both tried very hard to have others believe of them more than they thought of themselves; it seems to me that is what gave them purpose, for without it, the darker, depressive sides of their nature tended to drag them into emotional bogs. Probably why one drank so much, and one chose a more convoluted path to self-destruction, both men’s wit and imagination, and inner-terror, acting as methods of coping with a world that would never really understand them…..
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Whew….that took awhile; close to three hours this morning, and haven’t even looked at email yet; I’m falling further behind as I type, but what are ya gonna do when it flows? Go with it, obviously….. any who, let’s go see what the rest of the world is up to, shall we?….Y’all take care out there…..

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

gigoid

Kowabunga!

A budgie in the hand, and two more on ice….

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Ffolkes,

     Part III of Repercussions….

On a day in mid-August of 1984, I was working once again at Napa State Hospital (NSH) as a Psychiatric Technician. Since the adolescent program where I previously worked had closed, I was assigned to a unit designated T8. The T-building is a two-story edifice which encompasses enough space for 10 units housing up to 45 adult individuals each, an industrial kitchen with two separate dining rooms, serving meals in both rooms in rotation, for eight of the units, and several program offices for the Program managers and support staff.

The population was all male, in a program whose purpose was to treat a variety of different diagnoses. The residents of the program, who were diagnosed with Schizophrenia, Bi-Polar Disorders, Personality Disorders, along with a wide variety of other psychiatric conditions, were housed together on eight units with dormitories where they slept at night. On this particular late summer’s day, the men on T8 were relatively quiet, as everyone tried to cope with the stifling heat common to the area at this time of the year. The buildings at NSH were built in the 1950’s, all of concrete, and could be very uncomfortable.

A couple of hours into the shift, we escorted our charges out the door, downstairs to the hallway leading to the dining room for dinner. It is always the most dangerous part of the shift; the residents are hungry, and the walk to the dining room necessarily leaves the staff spread apart in order to keep an eye on everyone. The team I worked with was a good one, and with all of us staying alert, we got to the dining room and supervised the clients, who were conversant with the routine, until all were seated and eating, except a couple of stragglers still in line.

The phone on the wall rang, and one of the kitchen employees picked up to answer. She listened a moment, then turned to quickly address us nursing staff, saying in a strained voice, “T6 needs help, stat!” “Stat” is the medical code word for an emergency situation, requiring staff to respond as fast as possible to lend assistance. Two of us immediately broke into a run, out of the door to the left down the hallway to the stairway door leading up to T6. We hit the open hall door at a full run and bounded up the stairs, slowing as we came to the doorway to scan the situation before entering into the main day hall of the unit.

To the left was the medication room door, bottom half closed, top open to the room. A female staff member in the open upper half pointed across the day hall at a resident there, saying only, “that’s him” In the middle of the room, near the chairs grouped in front of the TV, lay another of the residents, curled into a ball and shivering violently. A female staff member could be seen in the nursing office, still calling for help. No one was in the TV area; most of the clients were on the way to the dining room, as were most of the staff, so my teammate, named Lee, and I were the first responders at the scene. I looked straight ahead from the door as I moved into the room, and saw a sight I will see in dreams for the rest of my days, burned indelibly on my memory in an instant that lasted forever.

I saw the body of a male staff member, obviously unconscious; he lay on his back straight in front of me about 10 feet away. I recognized him as the T-6 shift lead, a friend named Al, who had oriented me to the program when I first came on board. I observed that he was breathing, but his complexion had a very bad looking, chalky grey cast to it. Another 15 feet beyond where he lay paced the apparent perpetrator, who immediately began yelling at me in a threatening voice, shouting, ” Yeah I did that, come and get me!.” He was about 6’1″, approximately 190 lbs., appeared to be in good shape, and very obviously was in an agitated psychotic state, just coming down after an explosion of rage, and still pumped up to fight.

As I approached him, I had to step over the body of my friend, and very carefully moved toward the agitated individual, on full alert and fully adrenalized. Time had slowed to a crawl, and I could hear the harsh breathing from the aggressor as he paced in a tight circle, mumbling to himself between yells in my direction. Lee, the other staff who had come in with me, is an experienced PT, and like me, a veteran of such situations.

     He silently crossed behind me to the left, quickly circling around to the opposite side, so we could approach from both directions. As I stepped up to the aggressor, I casually took his left arm, just as Lee did the same on the other side. Both of us had been trained to use a special hold which allows control of the arm without stressing it by putting it in unnatural positions, allowing you to use your weight to control the arm, quickly tiring the subject. He began to try rip his arms from our grasp, yelling obscenities at us, and flailing about.

Lee was experienced, but only weighed about 110 lbs. dripping wet, and I could tell he wasn’t going to be able to hold the right arm much longer, and I would then be the unhappy recipient of an attempted blow to the head. I had to think fast, so I dropped my weight while holding his arm, then lifted him upward until his weight went onto his toes, just enough that I was able to control the direction of our movement.

     I quickly directed all three of us right into the chairs a few feet away, knowing that I could direct him hard enough to cause his legs to run into the arm of the heavy chair, causing him to imbalance and fall over to the floor, with me still on top grimly keeping a death-grip on his arm. This unfortunately left Lee underneath him, but as I knew he would, he wriggled free, still holding the right arm, and we were then able to use our combined weight to hold him securely on the floor until more help arrived.

Very soon after we got control of the still wildly struggling individual, more people arrived, helped us to restrain him, then per procedure, move him to a secure room, where he could be restrained with leather straps on a bed until he regained control, as the psychotic rage passed. Once he was secure, Lee and I returned to the day hall where Al still lay, being examined by the on-duty physician, surrounded by silent and worried looking staff. A paramedic team arrived with a gurney stretcher, Al was lifted onto it gently, and rushed to the emergency room at the nearest hospital a few miles away. The doctor was only able to stand there shaking his head sadly, with a grave expression, saying over and over, “it’s bad, it’s bad”. After writing up the incident reports, Lee and I finished our shift on our unit, quietly raging inside but still outwardly under control.

After our shift ended, we went to the hospital to see if Al had been stabilized and/or had regained consciousness; before we left work, we had heard only periodic updates that told us he was still in surgery. When we arrived, we were told he was in a coma, in critical condition, and being monitored for fluid pressure on the brain. His prognosis was serious and guarded, meaning the doctors didn’t know whether he would recover or not, only time would tell.

Four days later, Al died without ever waking up. The doctors explained that he had apparently been struck full in the face, a massive blow to the nose. The doctors related he had received in essence two blows, one to the face and nose, and one to the back of the head when he fell to the floor. In reality, he never stood much chance of a full recovery; even if he had lived, the likelihood of a severe loss of brain function would almost certainly have made him a full-time bed patient, requiring full nursing care to survive. He would never have been able to speak, or walk, or hold his family again.

   Al was survived by his wife and four children. At the funeral a day after his death all of us who had worked with Al stood by his casket at the memorial service as we and his family bid him a tearful farewell. We could but stare in shock, and wonder at the terrible waste of a good man’s life, silent as the sadness filled us.

And I, I was filled with a such a sense of rage and sorrow, such waves of pain and anguish that I could barely speak for the clenching of my jaw. For the first time in my life and career, I had been unable to protect someone I had cared for, and I was filled with an immensely deep sense of regret for having arrived on the scene too late to save my friend…..

     My equilibrium was completely shattered, and I could not find my center, nor even momentary peace, despite recognizing that we had done as much as we could, and held no personal responsibility for his death. That knowledge gave me no comfort, and I entered the realm of the “walking dead”, gripped by madness and and soul-deep pain….

To be continued…..

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

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

Political rhetoric for sale or lease: Entropy spoken here….

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Ffolkes,
I’ve been bitten by a tsetse fly….in the past three days, I have slept as much as I’ve been awake, but not in a normal pattern. About every 5 hours I start yawning and looking for my pillow, and go down for a 2-3 hour nap. Then I’m up to almost midnight, and up again at 5 AM, wide awake. It’s a bit strange, almost like some of the weird hours I kept when studying for finals at Berkeley.

I don’t know if they still do this, but one schedule I tried, thought up by a friend in the cooperative dorm I lived in, was perfect for finals week. One would go to bed (for the day) at about 3 PM, getting up at 10 or 11 PM, to start studying all night. At dawn, with the study material still fresh in the mind, one goes to take the final exams for that day. Afterward, a small meal, engage in a bit of business or recreation, then back to bed for the day, and up again at 10. A reverse cycle, as it were, and once accustomed to it, one became almost used to working in the quiet of the early morning hours, and always having an open seat wherever one went, as everyone else in the world was asleep.

But it got kinda lonely, too….it’s not a good schedule for anyone who wants a social life……thank goodness for no more final exams (except, of course, the ultimate final exam, requiring no study, and which everyone passes…..)
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“The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed (and hence clamorous to be led to safety) by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary.” — H. L. Mencken

Mr. Mencken’s insight was first published back in the early twentieth century, and was actually less of an insight as it was an eerily accurate observation of American politics in the last hundred years. Since the end of the World War II, (the last time Congress actually declared war, as justified in the Constitution) our country’s leaders have involved us in at least five “police actions” (Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, Iraq again), all supposedly necessary to protect us from the evils of communism, tyranny, or terrorism. Hundreds of thousands of young Americans have been sent to their deaths in far away places, all to make the old men back at home feel more comfortable in their insulation from reality.

I’m not the first to take note that young men die because of what old men believe, and hopefully I won’t be the last. This country has been hijacked by the 1%; they are no longer even trying to conceal their control over the rest of us. They have forgotten what one of their own said about 50 years ago: “Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.” — John Fitzgerald Kennedy (1917-1963), 12 March 1962  For myself, I intend to enjoy watching the 1% reap the whirlwind they are creating……. which is a cleverly disguised euphemism for helping the whirlwind spin faster…..
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“It is inaccurate to say that I hate everything. I am strongly in favor  of common sense, common honesty, and common decency. This makes me forever ineligible for public office.” — H.L. Mencken

Some days, H. L. just makes a lot of sense. I admire his perspicacity, and his unadulterated courage to say exactly what he believed, without compromise. A hundred years from now, his words will have the same weight, but hopefully, won’t be a common response to what is real. It would be nice to make this sort of joke a thing of the past, but I don’t see much chance of human nature changing anytime soon, so common virtues will probably remain uncommonly sparse among the denizens of human society…..
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What happens to your fist when you open your hand? — Zen Buddhism

In one sense, this koan is but a simple puzzle; the answer, obviously, is that the fist goes to the same place that our lap goes when we stand up. Now, you may ask, exactly where is that? Good question…..so, what do you think the answer might be? Another response might be, the fist is transformed, changed from a state of limited purpose to one of unlimited possibility. A fist can only be used in a small number of ways, but the open hand has few limits to its utility.  Perhaps one might say that the fist moves from the realm of reality to the confines of memory, abiding there until needed again.


This is the beauty of a Zen koan; it poses a question that sends the mind on a journey toward illumination, suggesting little-known paths in our own minds that can lead us to deeper knowledge of ourselves, and of reality. It is not the easiest path to self-improvement or self-growth, but then, the human mind gets lazy if things are too easy. We do better if we  push ourselves, at least a little, and goodness knows we all can find ways to do better in life…..anyone who doesn’t think so is only fooling themselves…..
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Farewell, Love, and all thy laws forever:
Thy baited hooks shall tangle me no more;
Seneca and Plato call me from their lore,
To perfect wealth my wit for to endeavor.
In blind error when I did persevere,
Thy sharp repulse that pricketh aye so sore
Hath taught me to set in trifles no store
And scape forth, since liberty is liefer.
Therefore, farewell: go trouble younger hearts,
And in me claim no more authority;
With idle youth go use thy property
And thereon spend thy many brittle darts:
For hitherto though I have lost all my time,
Me lusteth no longer rotten boughs to climb.
— Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542), Farewell, Love

Sir Thomas must have had a really bad break-up to get this despondent and cynical. But he sure made a good poem out of it; I hope that was solace for him in his despair……
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“When they took the fourth amendment, I was silent because I don’t deal drugs.  When they took the sixth amendment, I kept quiet because I know I’m innocent.  When they took the second amendment, I said nothing because I don’t own a gun.  Now they’ve come for the first amendment, and I can’t say anything at all.” — Tim Freeman

I sincerely hope that y’all don’t get tired of hearing about this, because I have every intention of harping on it until the Bill of Rights has been restored. If you weren’t able to figure it out before now, I’ll make it clear…. I’m pissed. I’m royally and truly pissed off at our so called leadership; they have led us straight into voluntary slavery, and we have no one to blame but ourselves. I’d be glad to discuss this with anyone who can present a logical argument, or even an illogical one; we all have to find our fun somewhere.

If you don’t think you’ve lost any of your freedoms, try saying the word “bomb”, in any context, while standing in line in public. And get ready to spend the next hours in police custody, trying to convince them you’re not a terrorist about to blow up a bank. Think I’m kidding? Read the news……

“None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free.” — Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)
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Well, here’s another fine mess I’ve created. I’ll have to start handing out brooms with each day’s offering…..ah, me, “.. 

I think I’d better go back to my DESK and toy with a few common MISAPPREHENSIONS…” — Zippy the Pinhead

T’would be best for all, methinks…..y’all take care out there…..

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

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

The Forgotten Art of Juggling Cats…..

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Ffolkes,
But, he asked himself, what if…….?……

“Great tranquility of heart is his who cares for neither praise nor blame.” — Thomas a Kempis

One might think, if one were so inclined, that Mr. Kempis has delivered just another worn-out maxim to an uninterested, apathetic audience; the structure alone is pompous enough to turn off the most sober of readers. One could also say that it sounds like something I might say, were I so inclined; in this they would be correct. I am not currently so inclined, but I will admit that it does resemble my somewhat top-heavy, sturdy style of expression. And the message is certainly one I can get behind, as it mirrors my own mostly-serene existence, which I see as a direct result of not giving a s__t about what other folk’s think I should be, or do, or take, or give, or any other preposition not of my own choosing.

Sure, like everyone, I observe the laws of custom, but with a slight difference from most folks. I observe the laws of custom, as long as they do not in any way produce a conflict with my own moral/ethical position. If they do, well, tough. I don’t need to be praised for doing what I believe to be right; that just leads one to a swelled ego, which makes for difficult relations when it bumps into other egos. Nor do I need to be chastised or blamed because my actions don’t meet someone else’s notions of what is correct or appropriate. Mrs. Grundy, the little old busybody who lives next door and sits in judgment of everything she sees as she peers out her windows, is not welcome in my world……
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“And what is good, Phaedrus, and what is not good, Need we ask anyone to tell us these things?” — R. Pirsig

Another statement to put in the Obvious category….of course we don’t need anyone else to tell us what is good or bad. Those common but essential antonyms are entirely subjective judgments. One may accept and believe a proposition as being one or the other from what they are told, but the ultimate decision for each of us gets made inside our own head, not someone else’s. Lots of folks don’t like to think; but, like any other part of the human body, the brain requires exercise to achieve its full potential. So those who are too lazy, or too lacking in self-control (aka self-esteem) to regularly put their mind to work become accustomed to letting other folks do their thinking for them. It’s just easier, and most folks are so tired by the end of their day from struggling to survive in this complex, fast-paced world, they don’t want anything more than a cold-adult beverage and some mindless recreation.

Another time we’ll explore this concept in more depth, but for now let it suffice to say that this societal tendency, to allow others to decide what is right or wrong, has led us to the brink of societal collapse. The reins of the team pulling humanity’s wagon are in the hands of people who are, a) not going to allow anyone one else to have the reins, and b) going to make the decisions about right and wrong according to THEIR OWN self-interests, not anyone else’s. These choices are not going to help us; they will only guarantee that our species will pass into history sooner, rather than later…..
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Some people have a way about them that seems to say: If I have only one life to live, let me live it as a jerk.

We all have someone who we are convinced are assholes, (I thought and thought about what word to use here, and this one just says it too precisely to not be used, just because it is considered vulgar or ‘dirty’), people who spend their entire lives making other people uncomfortable because they hate themselves. We all have a list of folks who would be on this list……here’s my current top ten choices for inclusion on the list of people or organizations we would all be better off without having to be subjected to their drivel on a daily basis…..

Rush Limbaugh–Proud Misogynist. The champion of deliberate ignorance, lifetime sufferer of FIMD (Foot in Mouth Disease).

Ann Coulter– Rush’s female clone. Sounds smarter & has better make-up artist, but in reality just has more money and a better spell-checker….

Arnold Schwarzenegger– A clone of Ronald Reagan, but without a USC degree. (Though he did marry well…..and proceeded to cheat on her with the housekeeper….)

Madonna–An icon dedicated to the gods of ambition, makes a mockery of virtue and honesty.

Barney–Don’t get me started on this insidious little nightmare…..even kids find him creepy. If our species ever comes to resemble this creature, I’ll start the nuclear war myself…..

Okay, only five, but I’ll stop there, as the list kept growing the more I considered the parameters. Easier than I thought, and a list more populated than I had hoped, ‘cuz it’s probably not too good for my karma to focus on negativity……
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How dieth the wise man? As the fool.

Death is the great equalizer….all of us, of every creed or color, will die, and it won’t matter at all whether we die rich and miserable, or poor and happy. It won’t matter whether we are well-esteemed or reviled in the eyes of our fellows, or whether we want to or not, we are all going to eventually travel that road. It’s rather humbling when I stop to think about it; hell, not just humbling, but downright terrifying. The greatest unknown is our final destiny, and our fate afterward is the ultimate question. But it is not only humbling and scary, it is also a comfort, providing us with one more very strong reason to embrace living, for as the Scots are wont to say, you’ll be a long time dead….

You may be a king
Or a little street sweeper,
But sooner or later
You’ll dance with the reaper. — Reaper Rap
(Grim Reaper, “Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey”)
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A thing of beauty is a joy forever;
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness.
— John Keats (1795-1821)
— Endymion, Book i

Seventeen words. One rhyme. And an expression of the joys of perception and memory that would take many hundreds of words to fully describe in prose. I’ve always wanted to be a poet; seeing the universe in such a way that it lends itself to poetic expression is, to me, one of humanities most precious gifts.  But, my attempts to produce poems generally fall well short of the level of quality or expertise that I would feel comfortable showing to the world at large, so I mostly stick to prose.

I do enjoy creating what I call ‘poetic prose’, a sort of free form style wherein the images created by the words are so powerful and elegant that it might be construed as poetry, and give the same feeling upon reading it…..I guess I can just be glad that since the world’s human population is now over 7 billion, even if the percentage is small, it still makes for a lot of poets. The more we have, the better chances we have to survive, I think….. straightforward prose doesn’t seem to be getting the pertinent information out into the public consciousness. The people need poets to lead the way to a new way of thinking, about life, the universe, and our place in it…..and they need them to do that soon…..
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There you have it. Another fine mess, but at least you don’t have to wipe anything up….y’all take care out there….

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

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

A swift passage to melancholy…

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2

Ffolkes,
I once read an article or essay somewhere that made the claim that when we cry or feel deeply sad over the death of a loved one, we are really crying for ourselves, not for the departed. In at least one respect, that is true; the person who has passed away is no longer suffering, and presumably has gone on to a better place, so in truth we ought to be happy, not sad. But we are sad, because it hurts to know that one in whom we have placed our trust and love will not be around anymore for us to be with, to talk to, to enjoy. So in that sense we are crying for ourselves, in lamentation for lost love. But, unlike the author of the piece I was reading, I believe that is okay. It is, if nothing else, a completely human reaction to feel pain at a loss, and to a certain extent our reaction may be called selfish; no one can deny that selfishness is purely human. But it is more than merely selfish, because humans are never just one thing at a time. We also feel our loss in other ways, and with other feelings. There is relief, for the ending of whatever pain the loved one may have been experiencing. There may be guilt, too, for taking the presence of the loved one for granted, or for not telling them they were loved. All of these differing reactions, and the many more I haven’t mentioned, only prove our humanity more, for in spite of what some would have us believe, we are not simple creatures. The relationships we build throughout our lives are held together with a myriad of feelings, all relating to the other person and the time we have shared with them. Our feelings don’t occur alone; there are always more than only one, for when they occur, they engender other feelings, which will then cause another, and another, and so on.


These thoughts, and a million more, have been circling around in my head for about a day now, since my brother called yesterday to let me know that our mother had passed away at about 1:00 pm. It was not unexpected; she was 90 years-old, and had been in the hospital for a week after suffering a massive stroke. I am sad, of course, and will miss her very much, but in truth, I don’t think it has really hit me yet. When my father passed away, 20 or more years ago, the full reaction didn’t come until weeks later, and I have the feeling that in this instance, it may be some time before I can grieve fully. It’s just so hard to accept their absence; there is never any real belief they are gone until one day, all one’s feelings just crash in at once. So, I have that to go through yet, which is okay by me. I have enough problems just now, and can’t really afford to fall apart at present.


Today’s Pearls were picked out before I heard about my Mom, and so have no particular point in light of that. They are. however, well able to make their own point…..

“A ‘No’ uttered from deepest conviction is better and greater than a ‘Yes’ merely uttered to please, or what is worse, to avoid trouble.” — Mahatma Gandhi

“He who is most slow in making a promise, is the most faithful in the performance of it.” — Rousseau

“Here I am in the POSTERIOR OLFACTORY LOBULE but I don’t see CARL SAGAN  anywhere!!” — Zippy the Pinhead

“If you never assume importance you never lose it.” — Lao-tzu

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total oblivion. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and
through me and turn my inner eye to follow its path. When the fear is gone, there will be nothing. Only I will remain.” — The Litany Against Fear (Frank Herbert, -Dune-, 1965)

Before you speak, just remember that you will not be asked to explain what you did not say!

Such a fine group of Pearls really deserves some witty or profound remark in response, but I’m afraid that may be asking too much of my Muse today, so we’ll have to make do with this…..y’all take care out there….and don’t forget to tell the people you love that they are appreciated. Ya never know when they might not be there any more to tell…..

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

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

An Ode To Noah

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Noah came to live with us when he was about 10 months old; we rescued him from taking the long walk at the Humane Society kennel in Santa Rosa. It was my son’s fifteenth birthday, and he wanted a dog, swearing up & down that he would take responsibility for its’ care. Pets were always part of family life when I grew up, and our last dog had been gone for a bit over a year, so it was time to expand the family once again.

As Cory and I walked down the aisle between cages at the kennel, a large variety of dogs started a welcoming cacophony of different barks; shrill tiny ones, deep booming ones, polite yips, all blended together in an almost desperate frenzy, as each animal, many of them almost frantic, tried to get our attention. Some pawed at the gate, some jumped up, some looked nervous, others looked friendly, and all of them, it seemed, were making noise. As we drew near the last cage in the aisle, we saw a medium-sized black and white dog, not barking, not jumping, just sitting down, leaning against the wall by the gate. He was looking me right in the eyes with an expression on his face that just said, “get me out of here, please!”. What could we do? He was obviously our dog, and he realized it too. We told him we’d be right back, and went back to announce our choice, and complete the paperwork.

The attendant brought Noah in to us just as I finished. He still looked a bit nervous, but calm. That is, he was calm until I clasped his new collar around his neck and hooked on his leash. All of a sudden, he realized he wasn’t going back into the kennel, and he was immediately a new dog, wagging his tail furiously, looking at us with his eyes shining, almost dancing and vibrating in his eagerness to go. As we walked back to the van, he walked proudly in front of us, looking back every few steps to make sure we were still there, tail and ears up, a very happy dog…..

Noah settled into the family immediately. He proved to be very well-mannered, both with people, and in his habits. When on walks, he would stop to sniff, and lift his leg, on every interesting bush and tree, just like any other male dog. But when he had to do his secondary business, he made it clear he preferred to go behind a bush, or somewhere out of the way, and preferably out of sight. He would assume a very embarrassed expression when not sufficiently hidden from sight, and would turn away, as if he felt guilty. A very private, discreet individual, to say the least. If he had been overlong between walks, and was so much in a hurry that he made a mistake on the sidewalk, he would act just like a cat, and pretend that it had not happened. What mess? Who me? I don’t know what you’re talking about…..
Noah was an extremely intellingent dog; I’ve known a great many animals in my time on this old planet, and he’s one of the smartest I’ve ever been around. When he came to live with us, he already knew how to sit on command (both voice and hand), to lie down, and to stay. Actually, he had a little trouble with the whole concept of stay; he didn’t like being left alone, and would often follow after a minute or two; it’s like he just didn’t want to believe we really MEANT for him to stay. He figured he should be with us so he could do his job. As long as he could see us, he’d stay where he was; if he couldn’t, he believed it was his place to find us, and we just couldn’t come to terms; on this point he was firm.

We also never had to teach Noah any tricks, as he seemed to have figured stuff out on his own, and his way was definitely cool….the first time I ever gave him a treat (a milk bone), I showed it to him and told him to sit. He sat. I told him to speak, and he gave one quick howl. I held out my hand, & he offered his own to shake. I straightened up, tossed the treat in the air, and watched him not just catch it, but after making the in-air snag, he tossed it back up into the air. He watched it hit the floor, whereupon he dove on top of it, rolled over, and did a happy dance, by twisting his back and hips as if scratching his back on the floor. I swear, he looked just like Snoopy doing the Dance of Joy. When he was done dancing on his back, he rolled over and proceeded to enjoy his milk bone, with a big twinkle in his eye. I always wanted to video the move to submit it for Stupid Pet Tricks on the Letterman Show, but never had a camera handy when he performed his feat, so Noah missed his chance for stardom.

Noah’s gotten old now; we just observed his 17th birthday in February of this year, so in dog years, he’s going on 120 or so. He can’t hear anything but very loud noises, and can’t see more than a few feet, and I suspect that is mostly shadows and moving light. I’m afraid he will be passing on soon, as he can no longer get up without assistance, and cannot control his bodily functions. I sometimes feel like I should have him put down, to ease his pains, but he doesn’t act as if he is hurting, and I can tell he enjoys just lying around and sleeping, as long as he knows I am near. For his entire life with us, over 16 and a half years, he has been a true and loyal companion, and observed with honor the pact that was made between man and dog many thousands of generations ago, and taking care of him in his declining years is both a privilege, and an honor. In my entire life, I have never known anyone more loyal, more compassionate, and more courageous in standing up to life. He is by far the best friend that any man could hope for, and by far the best person I’ve ever known……