stress in the rear view mirror

Things are looking up... man, vacation week is looming and it's time to take a well needed rest doing whatever comes to mind and off schedule. Starting in 24 hours we will be 80 miles away immersed in fun and frolic with old friends who are crazy enough now to farm the kids out to Grandma for a few days and let the dogs loose. Adults only acting out suppressed energy in the sun, sharing food and games just being ourselves for once without any serious responsibility oh the highway humming on the road back home in no hurry for a change.

born out of grief

The kids are alright. Yep. I can see it. Feel it. Life goes on and smiles are returning to the cell phones and a generally springyer step across the way captivates. Lo the wariness tempered with determined fire is penetrating and sharing a communion of like spirits and there is hope breaking out all over after all. The concept of random death at inappropriate intervals just got hammered home. That future looks pretty important now that now is here.

Good morning children. And how was our little nap? Oooh, cover mouths when we yawn. There, there that's good. Okay, now today our lesson is "The Art of Living" by a well-known author that you are all familiar with; B. T. Love a.k.a. yourself. Please open to Chapter One.
Remember my little darlings that there are no problems, only opportunities. No need to nod curtly back to a passing nod but rather return it with a clear steady gaze, one of knowledge and wisdom forged from despair, horror and the keeping in mind precious lambs it can be far, far worse.

Now then, let's begin anew shall we?

faith in a can

And I was sitting here taking in this not so glorious day thanking my lucky charms it was Saturday watching a deer in the yard when I stumbled upon a Test of Faith in the on-line edition of the local right-wing rag. Having come from a church going family whose head of the household was also the head of over a dozen parishes in my hometown, Bible studies were sort of expected of me whether I liked it or not. Mostly not. I was force-fed the New Testament, Western Civilization, cathedrals built to the glory of God on High out the WingWang, how to swear like a sailor before I was 18 and other hubris that somebody thought I couldn't live without. My dad was a multi-talented old sop with a yen for gin and communion wine on Sundays. Mom was a chirpster in the choir who wielded a leather belt with the best of them on Saturdays. The old man on the other hand cleared the air with a glance. The following link is to a vanilla extract quiz that asks nothing outside the bounds of daily headlines.

http://www.statesman.com/life/content/life/interactive_sm/04/042107_faithquiz.html

If you think Joan of Arc married Noah Ark and they had a son Bois D'Arc who later moved to the south of France and became the Architect for the Arc de Triomphe, you need to call me for some clarification... hark.

I might add here that after I took this so-called test of faith (missed 4 out of 10 because they were trick questions) I was informed by the author that there is more to it than praying for the Longhorns to win. Whaa, wait a minute, this is bullshit what's college sports got to do with it anyway?

lost at sea...

Yeah, the world is still a mean-ass bitch, brimming with resentment, still looming without remorse to beat you down at the top of your game. The light and passion extinguished under a hoard of senseless and random acts of violent nature, the warnings ignored, never saw it coming. Look up one morning bright and cheery into the path of a bullet before your coffee gets cold just days away from a new life all full of promise. There is no reason, the motive now dead.

Another shred of innocence died within me as did those bright and vibrant minds in Virginia. The children caught in the vortex of insanity, lives cut short...
The warnings were all there.
Are we to become tattle-tales to maintain civility? Are the terrorists coming out of the backyard home grown and bitter? Should we watch each other for danger signs?

http://www.statesman.com/news/content/shared-gen/ap/National/University_Bomb_Threat.html
http://www.statesman.com/news/content/news/stories/local/04/18/18stedwards.html

The outpouring of support for one another in the student body of that campus reminds me of another generation before them, mine. Seemingly self-centered this generation, they truly love one another and maybe a new foundation of trust can come from this tragedy. I hope there is a lesson here somewhere, the days are short and there's much to see.

I looked at the students at UT Austin today and remembered a shooting on that campus when I was younger. My heart went out to them. I remembered the hopelessness and waste. Today, 24 hours after their world changed forever, I look upon these bright young minds now with compassion and wish them well. I'm confident they will emerge even stronger from this horror and more determined to make their world a little better than the mean-ass bitch that was handed them and hopefully, God help 'em, they will start looking both ways before crossing the street while they still can.

The young people that died this week are gone. They are lost but they will live on in the reactions of their colleagues and their families so that their deaths will not be in vain.

whose life is it anyway?

There is a local woman in the news lately. She has a terminally ill 17 month old child. He has Leigh's Disease, a neurometabolic disorder that causes the central nervous system to collapse. The boy is blind, deaf and on a respirator. Has been for weeks. An MRI indicates his brain is as close to dead as dead can be. The medical staff wants to let him die with dignity. His unmarried mother wants to prolong his suffering because to do otherwise would be akin to murder. She can no longer conceive because of complications during child birth. May be a good thing to keep her out of the gene pool anyway. Where is the father of this child in all of this? Prison? On the run?

http://www.statesman.com/news/content/news/stories/local/04/15/15emilio.html

http://www.statesman.com/news/content/news/stories/local/04/15/15bioethics.html

In my opinion, this woman is not only selfish but stupid. This is not a baby doll like the one she had when she was a little girl. There are hundreds if not thousands of children alive and well who need adopting in order to have a normal, loving upbringing. But no, she wants this child. A child that will never know life in the sunshine of childhood. Never grow up to love and enjoy his time amongst the living. He is broken and cannot be fixed and his mother is killing him softly.

Let this infant have peace and while your at it you stupid woman, get a life of your own and stop abusing the staff and this infant with your immaturity. It is not murder to let Emilio go.

It's shit like this that jacks up medical costs for everybody and causes undue stress on those who are trying to do the right thing. Not to mention my blood pressure. I have zero tolerance for the stupid.

highway love

Love. Ya gotta love it. My faithful truck went into surgery today for suspension work. We made love all the way home. We were One with the road. Every delicious curve rose up to greet us with a caress and a sigh. We were an item without an audience.

and your point is...

Okay so what's this anyway me wonders. I mean who really cares about some guy posting personal observations and ruminations, canting along about foibles found in and around about. Politics? Romance? Technology? Naahh. Who cares? I think the Blog has become a cultural icon. More like the cordless landline of yore and maybe not. I hesitate to compare it to the CB radio craze in the pre-cell phone age. But money and endorsements have generated a niche market for less than profound writing in some blog realms. I know I'm wrong somewhat about that but who wants to read the minutia of some other bloke's life anyway? What else is new? Maybe I'll find out. I don't want to look like one of those people who have to see themselves in print. Unless I do. If I wanted that I would write to newspaper editors everyday and include the latest pic. I'm the other somebody living along at a slow gallop sending back dispatches from the frontier. My observations from the daily breath. My postcards from the edge. I can't talk to myself and expect a return unless I'm just crazy after all and that takes practice. So hither I go.

In writing this blog I set out to find an interesting seat in the bleachers and focus on the inter-relationships my brain chemistry has with the oxygen 2 rich world just outside the calcium barrier. Within a hydrogen 2 + oxygen 1 rich environment the relationship is even more primordial but that's another story.

With that in mind, my musings bear no more resemblance to full contact journalistic bombast than I do but dishing them out to a soup line keeps them going like pilgrims.

One way to bring these minglings along is to inject a convulsive reactionary stimulus into the core transmission thus causing a polar conduction and discharge of excited molecules. By doing so, the influx of oxygen 2 into the organism heightens universal arousal of the senses and improves overall performance at rest, provides clarity where there was none and reduces arguments with the wallpaper. (sorry Oscar)

So here it is, 6 weeks into the back country of post-literary obfuscation without a pot to piss in. I could do a lot worse.

I got yer fundamentalism...

The following link goes to an essay in the Guardian from Martin Amis. He pretty much sums up what I've been thinking all along about all Fundamental Religionism wherever it hides. What a bunch a sore heads.
I will confess here however that some of my best friends are Vegetarians.

http://observer.guardian.co.uk/review/story/0,,1868732,00.html

Obsessed with dying to meet God and live in splendor forever is a concept that's been around since dirt but is a not an all together healthy point of view in my estimation. Are they so bored and lonely they have to take everybody else with them for company? I think it's pathological, an organic disorder teetering into homicidal psychosis. Salvation through intimidation and murder is abhorrent behavior and blaming the West for the world's ills is a congenital defect of mind and symptomatic of developmental immaturity of culture and remission of civilization. One does not kill for God. Suicide is killing God you eediot.

a bunny day

Easter. A good day to hang. It's cold and wet and pretty much miserable enough outside to match my mood inside. Poised here on the brink, time to gird my loins again so to speak for combat in the early morning mist of Monday. Back to the mill house of pointless endeavour we call working for a living. It aint fun this constant push-pull making money to pay the government so they can waste it blowing up deserts somewhere killing things that never met me coming or going. The fucking bastards. Quit complaining already.

They let those British sailors go home. Ha ha just kidding we weren't going to hurt you just you know teach your boss a lesson about diplomacy yeah that's all. No big deal. Go home, kiss the baby hug your mother. All is forgiven. Meanwhile, dark steel hulls of instant death gather in the shallows locking in co-ordinates for their little birdies to fly to just in you know, case they try that shit again, we'll just blow 'em the hell up. Yep. And so it goes. The thuggery continues unabated while God snoozes somewhere and the lost Easter eggs rot in the rain. The priests and rabbis are working overtime expressing their brand of calmness. What do we need to do? Forgive ourselves and move on? Why yes indeed. If you love yourself then everything else sort of falls into place. Right? I guess. Whatever. Quit complaining already.

I went to see my father the other day. He's still reclining there on his back looking up past the sky dreaming. Says he's doing alright considering. I picked up the litter around him deposited by the other less than considerate breezes among us. The grass is of course in it's seasonal brown cloak but the riding mower's tracks indicate that somebody is at least getting paid to watch over it. I couldn't stay long and told him so. Thought about my mother. How she had become quite the pill now forgetting everything. How she longed to join him but I think he preferred to remain alone. No nagging that way. No more screaming suicidal threats or promises to move in under the Congress Ave. bridge just out of spite. She's mostly passive now I thought mostly over burdened.

Plenty of basking time with forever without interruption now boy. I think my father is bored though. He repeats himself. We had this conversation before and he understood my haste to leave. There was living to be done elsewhere and now see where it gets you. Besides I have to piss. Bye daddy...so long member of The Greatest Generation. Until the next time old man. ta...

So the day drags on. CNN spewing it's informational bile in a crawl across the room. Laundry appearing in piles to be folded and put away. Dinner defrosting on the counter. Shades of gray with a hint of green staring back at me through the windows hybrid Afro-Celtic music drifting in-between. Typical Sunday options however limited. Quit complaining already.

I look forward to a sunny day.

who ya gonna call?

I hear tell the Iranian Disposable High Command bestowed upon some maritime coasties the (gasp) Medal of Honor for capturing those cowardly Royal Navy and Marine personnel found loitering in rubber boats. Man, what a heroic struggle that must have been. What a diplomatic waltz of brinkmanship.
Had my man Hornblower been there, those smirking Persians would have been shark shit.

drenched in photons

What effulgence doth hover and I thought last Sunday was the day. Today I'm the windshield and light is the bug. The air is locked, refracting it's wares on my tools and beckoning like a Siren on a sparkling waterfront, winking and smiling re-arranging my past.

I'm ready to withdraw my synapses from the over-charged influences of metropolia and immerse myself in the bounty of muted organisms and dappled shadows. The weather extremes serve as a reminder of the timeless quality of life or Otherwise and the futility of over-involvement in the world's funereal mass for solitude is the source of all wisdom, that for which I strive as concentric ripples on a pond in my midnight might strive; a constant coming and going, the past and the future co-mingling and enabling companionably in measured rhythms and silent communion.

To breathe the Present, to know the Future, to predict the Past and Divine the structure, essence, the fiber of Being. To put language to the muse, to see the machinations as a world in it's own globe of swirling wonderment and know as a distant star cluster knows, that which we are we can become and we have a choice between gods and cannibals and the quick and the dead are one and the same.