Friday, July 31, 2009

If That Is How It Is

If that is how it is, then there's no negotiation.

If that is how it is, then I am surely saddened.

If that is how it is.

You gave your heart to another and now it's in his hands.

If the circumstances had been different ... yes, I know ... but I wish you hadn't said that.

You know, honey, I had a dream once.

You were wearing a medieval dress and standing in a tower. I climbed the tower and embraced you from behind. Your knight for you, fair lady.

But it won't be. Can't be.

You see, honey, what I wanted to do was to break through to your privateness, your withdrawl from the world, and take it from you.

Or did I want to join you there?

It would cover me with comfort like a blanket, true.

It would've been nice. But would it have worked?

I tell myself I'm not ready for sleep yet. And I don't when that will be.

Maybe never.

Goodbye, honey. I wish you well.

Take care, honey, Watch out for life's griefs.

And what about me? O, don't worry.

This'll hurt me -- hell, NOW it hurts me -- but I'll get past it.


Drive Time

This happened during September 1985.

I drove west on 38th Street in Indianapolis and had passed Keystone Avenue before I noticed that the buildings were old and some were vacant -- shells of the businesses that had left them.

I imagined how it was 60 or 50 or even 40 or 30 years ago, when the street was the main business through a neighborhood, with groceries stories, cleaners, hardware stores, and other businesses within easy walking distance of the residents. Now it was inhabited with people of various social and economic levels, most of them low.

I thought the windows of the buildings looked like sockets for dead and gone eyes and the buildings looked like skulls. I shuddred.

By then I had passed the grounds of the Indianapolis Art Museum and immediately rolled through what looked like a park but what was the museum's' grounds, the former estate of a pharmaceutical tycoon and his family. I noticed trees which were about five to 10 years old according to their height, planted in rows like a nursery.

I went under an overpass and saw car lots, strip malls, and the rest of a transient commercial area where businesses were here today and gone six months from now after a decision by the central office -- usuall somewhere out of state.

I compared this area to the area along Shadelane Avenue between Washington and East 38th streets and decided that the only way this section was better was that the asphalt of the srtreets wasn't crumbling.

By then, I had driven past where west 38th Street intersects Interstate 465. The cars in the opposite lanes reminded him of insects and their headlights of bug eyes.

I had driven past my destination, so I turned around.

Reading The Shakes

Ace: You know I never read any plays by Shakespeare before, so I went to the library and took one out.

Deuce: Which one?

Ace: Romeo and Juliet.

Deuce: What did you think about it?

Ace: I wasn't impressed.

Deuce: What? Why not?

Ace: The play was full of cliches.
"But soft -- what light through yonder window breaks?"
"Romeo, Romeo. Wherefore art thou, Romeo?"
"A plague on both your houses!"
I've heard them before. That Shakespeare's a damn thief. He stole those quotes from other people, put them in his plays and called it his own work.

Deuce: Shakespeare wrote those lines, idiot. Back in the 1590s.

Ace: So he didn't take those lines from other people, but they took those lines from him?

Deuce: Right.

Ace: Well then -- never mind. Guess the joke's on me.

An Incident

He went into a tavern on a dark, damp night when halfway wanted to go home and sleep, but his soul felt darker than the night and he wanted the two of them to be equal. He though a few beers and some food would help the balance.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw people scattered throughout the tavern. He took a seat at the bar.

As he drank a beer and ate a sandwich, he looked at the liquor bottles behind it, then at his reflection in the mirror behind them.

In the mirror, he noticed that a man who was sitting at the bar was holding a shot glass and toasting his own reflection. The hand that held the shot glass was trembling as the man lowered it to the bar. Then he leaned his head back and whipped it forward, quickly but awkwardly.

He saw the man's flushed face and red eyes.

That man has just walked in the door of the House of Intoxication, he thought. He'll stay there for a while, stumble around and hit the walls, then fall asleep with his hangover around him like a sleeping bag. He was trying to stop his awareness if only for a short time.

He wondrered if if should help the man, but decided he wouldn't because the man wouldn't want it. The best way he could help was not to end up like him.

He drank his beer, ate his sandwich, paid his bill and left the bar -- for bed, for sleep, for waking and for action, so he could live another day and drink another might at a nother tavern.

A Very Naughty Girl

Dave once dated Paula, who was a freak.

One time at his place, he was sitting on the couch when she came up to him and said, "Look!"

She lifted up her dress.

She wasn't wearing any panties.

And she was as bald down there as Charles Barkley.

Dave looked, swallowed strongly, and told Paula, "You've been a naughty girl ... go to my room."

When they got there, he spanked her with a peacock feather.
By the way, Dave called the situation where a woman had shaved her pubic area a A.A. Bottom, because it was the opposite of Z.Z. Top.

Dragon Flies

Some people only skim
the surfaces of life --
touching only lightly,
and never deeply,
from fear of drowning,
the death that can make you
sink you from sight,
and therefore from memory,
or from fear of burning,
the death that can make you
like ashes, to be blown away
and gone and forgotten,
with nothing to show for
a memorial.
They are like dragon flies.
They glide over the top.
They never give back,
but always take, And sometimes,
they leave behind
a great pain.

Where Superman Shops

I just figured out where Superman shops.

Where else but ... Super Target.

Clark Kent, however, shops at regular Target. That's to protect his secret identity.

I wonder if the same thing applies to cuts and Supercuts.

And don't you wonder why you never see any supermodels at Supercuts?

Home Depot?

A lot of white kids in the burbs act gangster as a joke.

They call themselves Home Depot.

They think it's ironic, but it's not. It's sarcastic.

Irony is sarcasm, but with a college degree.

Some Possible Friends Of Your Girlfriend

When you're dating a woman, you might get involved with her friends.

If you do, beware of those friends who have been impregnanted and/or incarcerated.

In other words, they've been either knocked up or locked up.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Some Cheesecake And Some Details

Before you is the latest piece of cheesecake from my blog's bakery and kitchen.

Her name is Marcy Hanson. I found her picture on the net and downloaded it my hard drive.

I put it before you because I've written 12 posts today --that's a lot more than what I've written during the last few months -- and I bet you could use some sweetness in your life. I know I do.
Posting will be irregular in the future -- at least for the next month -- because I'm still involved with matters -- some personal, some related to the health of some relatives -- that keep me from my home base.

So this is all for today and probably for sometime soon.

Goodbye for now.

And please -- keep watching this space.

A Few Things At The Gas & Go

The time was nearing 7 on a weekday evening, and Art was late getting home. After work, he had browsed a bookstore, then stopped to buy some grtoceries.

As he was driving home, he saw that his gas tank was about three-fourths empty, so he stopped at a convenience store to buy some fuel.

As he stood in line to pay for his gas, he realized that he stopped at convenience stores for one big reason:

Restrooms accessible to the public.

And when he used the restroom of a convenience store, he often bought something. It was usually a candy bar or a soft drink. If he used the restroom of a fastfood place, he usually bought a small drink to go.

He did that as an obligation that he must fulfill. He used their services, so he had to buy something. If he didn't do that, he often felt guilty because he was ripping them off.

He didn't know how or where he ever got that idea.

As he got closer to the clerk at the cash register, he moved by a food display case that contained sandwiches made at the store and ready to be eaten after they were bought. Often when he was hungry, he bought one of them, but usually didn't do that because the bread in the sandwiches was dry and white and the meat was often tasteless and sometimes a sickly shade.

He saw one of the sandwiches had been squished into a shape that resembled a ball.

Then he chuckled at a memory.

In high school, he played halfback on the freshman football team. A teammate who also played halfback had a bad habit; he didn't carry the football close to him, so when he was tackled, he often fumbled.

The coach, Dan McGraw, would scream at the player:


McGraw was nicknamed Goon. He was a minorleague Woody Hayes. He thought yelling and screaming at his players was the best way to motivate them. This was during the time when half the high school football coaches in the Midwest were minorleague Woody Hayeses.

And now, after all those years, in front of Art was a loaf of bread that looked like it had been carried like a football.

Then he remembered that the player was often nicknamed Loaf or Loafer or Light, as in light in the loafers -- a slang phrase for an effeminate homosexual.

When Art got to the clerk, he decided he wanted some change for a $20 bill. He asked for two $5 bills and ten $1 bills. Then he said, "I'm not going to use them all at a titty bar."

Right after he said that, he wondered:

Why the hell did I tell him that? He didn't need to know what I was going to use the bills for. Besides, if the clerk had been a woman, I wouldn't have told her that.

The clerk gave him the change and then replied:

"Hey, if you were going to a titty bar, you'd want all ones."

As Art drove home, he thought:

I told that guy what I wanted out of habit. I usually tell people why I do something or what something done to defuse their possible objections. because they have objected in the past. Because what I want from life is often different that what most people I know want from it. So I must explain so they might understand it and therefore approve it because most people usually don't approve of things they don't understand.


From now on, if no one asks me for a reason or an explanation of my actions, I won't give them one. And if they want a reason, I'll tell them the truth, no matter how they'll react.

And another thing: Quit feeling guilty for using the rest rooms at those convenience stores. That is what they are there for. If they weren't for the public to use, they wouldn't be so easily accessable.

After Art made those decisions and followed them, his life became a little less smooth that it was before. But he felt more satisfaction as he lived it.

A Very Good Reason For Shaving

Ace: I'm shaving.

Deuce: Well, I never would've noticed if you hadn't told me that. And by the way, I don't remember if you ever grew a beard or a mustache before.

Ace: Nah. I'm shaving somewhere else besides my face.

Deuce: Where, by chance?

Ace: My genitals.


Ace: It makes me look bigger in the bedroom.

Deuce: Yeah, it helps you find your goddamn dick when you jack off.

Ace: Hey, what the fuck you mean by that remark?

Deuce: If any one has less luck with the ladies than me, it's you. And you better not have used my razor for that bullshit.

Man And Basement: A Book Review

Recently I've been reading a lot more books than usual. I'm doing that to decide which ones I want to sell or donate.

A book I read was The Man In My Basement, by Walter Mosley, probably better known as the author of the Easy Rawlins mystery series. In the book, a man named Anniston Bennet imprisons himself in the basement of a home owned by Charles Dodd-Blakey, who lives in the Sag Harbor area, which is near the Hamptons in eastern Long Island. Bennet did it as a form of penance. He was a player in international political economy, for lack of a better term, and he committed many, many evil deeds.

I will donate the book. It was interesting enough to read once to pass the time, but not for another possible read in the future.

However, Mosley had several passages that caught my attention and gave me new angles on and explanations about life. So I'll post them here.

Here's the first. In it, Dodd-Blakey meets a neighbor, a young white woman:

She was from a local family and therefore accepted me as part of the community. Being a Negro, I was different. We would never be real friends. But neither of us really wanted that, nor did we feel left out of something. And so it was pleasant when we did cross paths. Good morning meant just that.

Here's one where Dodd-Blakey is watching some deer:

I loved to watch deer watching me. They were so timid and ignorant of everything but the possible threat. People think that they're cowardly, but I've been charged by a male or two. I respected them, because with no defense except for their quick feet they lived out in the wild with no law or protection. I once saw a group of 15 or more of them swimming out to Shelter Island. Their heads were just above the water, they looked frightened and desperate out there. Cowards don't face terror. Cowards live on back roads, behind closed doors, with the TVs blasting out anything to keep the silence and darkeness from intruding.

A third one is when Bennet explains love to Dodd-Blakey:

"Love, as the poet says, is like the spring. It grows on you and seduces you slowly and gently, but it holds tight like the roots of a tree. You know until you're ready to go that you can't move, that you would have to mutilate yourself in order to be free. That's the feeling. It doesn't last, at least it doesn't have to. But it holds on like a steel claw in your chest. Even if the tree dies, trhe roots cling to you. I've been men and women give up everything for love that once was."

In this one, Bennet explains how people are motivated:

"My actions were ... evil, criminal. But it was not me; it was the world around me. Not me but the commerce and the language of our world ... Death and starvation are integral parts of our language system, our form of communication.
Do what I say or else. Do your job or you're fired. These words carry consequence. To avoid pain we comply. Or we don't and then we die, Our logic is evil, so the the smartest and most successful are devils. Like me, I am a good citizen ande the worst demon."

And the last quote is Dodd-Blakey's casual thought while reading a science fiction book:

Why was I alive and seeing and thinking and dreaming if everything was just stoplights and television, test and failures, red wine and death?

I've wondered something like that many times and found that quote was an elegant way to say it.

Brooklyn FTW!

To him, there was only two true boroughs in New York City.

One was Brooklyn, where he was born and raised and lived. The other was Manhattan, the true capital of the world.

The Bronx was the home of the asshole Yankees and their asshole fans.

Staten Island was really New Jersey.

And Queens thought it was in New York City, but it really part of Long Island -- half suburbia and half farmland. If you gotta live in the city, he thought, you gotta go full force -- all out and gritty.

While Brooklyn was a good place to be born, the true city of Manhattan was south of 14th Street. That area was more like a burg, a village, an intimate town.

The rest of Manhattan was full of grids: Lines upon lifeless lines. Nice to use to get around, but as for the rest of life ... not so much.


A white man, a black man, and an Indian walk into a bar.

The white man said, "Man, I've had it hard in my life. My grandparents came over from Europe and lived in poverty. I grew up in a trailer park and had to work very hard to make something of myself."

The black man said, "Hey, motherfucker, what about me? My ancestors didn't come over on their own; they were kidnapped from Africa and turned into slaves. And after the slaves were free, my people suffered from racism and segregation."

The Indian said, "Cry me a river, white man, black man. Cry me a river as long and deep as the Mississippi. MY PEOPLE WERE HERE FIRST. And look what happened to them after your people came here."

A Puzzle About Crosswords

How do we know if the crossword in yesterday's newspaper is new? That it wasn't printed before -- say in 1957?

Does the crossword puzzle industry police itself? Or are there independent monitors?

Do the crossword puzzle creators follow a sense of duty and of honesty to be original? Or do the folks that syndicate the crossword puzzles have records to check?

Carpe Carnum

Carpe carnum is Latin for seize the meat.
It's all fun and games until someone brings out the firearms.
It's interesting how young poets think about death while old poets think about girls.
--Bohumil Hrabel, Czech poet.
A new word I heard is vulturing; it's waiting for your parents to die so you can get your inheritense.
He wasn't reading the book. He was moving his eyesight over the text on a page. Also, he just wasn't understanding what was written, although he tried.
If it's better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all ...then is it better to have children and then neglect them than not to have had children at all?

I ask that especially about a lot of fathers.
I've never seen the word ensue, which means strive to attain, used except in the phrase hilarity ensues. I don't know why. I don't know if I want to find out why.
I had some Canadian Mist.
I mixed it with some Canadian Club.
And with it I ate a Canadian bacon sandwich on the side.
I also had some maple syrup.
Then I watched a hockey game.
Truly True North, eh?
O Canada ... by the way ... why are your people so polite ... and your geese so rude?

The Dog In Every Man

When I was 20 years old, a guy once said one of the wisest things I've ever heard:

"Harrison, every man's got the dog in him. Ya gotta know when to let him run loose and be a wild wolf, and when to let him be a playful puppy."

Society and religion want to kill off, if not spay, the dog. They use the pressions, which my friends Alf and Zed had once explained.

All of those often lead to depression.

As for the balance between the wild wolf and the playful puppy: every man must figure that out for himself.

Thanking And Fucking

If you substitute the word think for the word fuck, these statements sound very offensive:

  • Thank you.
  • That you very much.
  • Thank you in the mouth.
  • Thank you in the ass.
  • Thanks a lot.
  • Thanks a whole hell of a lot.
  • I thank your mother every day.
  • I thank your father every day.
When that happens, people will call thank the T-word, and it joins the T-bird, the T-bill, the T-ball -- and especially the T-bag.

Writ On Water

When I saw this picture, I was reminded of this quote by the English poet John Keats. He wanted to have it on his tombstone:

Here lies one whose work is writ upon water.

It isn't a putdown of his talents and his works. It was a statement that he thought his work would only last for a brief time.

In a way, you could say the same thing about the Internet. Here today, gone maybe in a week if not less. And it's not writ on water but on electrons.

(At one time, Keats was my favorite poet. Although I haven't read him in years, I still like his work. Also, the phrase from La Belle Dame Sans Merci -- made sweet moan -- is one of the best euphemisms for making love that I know.)

Five Women

As he drove one night, he thought of five women for whom, at one time, he felt some sort of attraction or affection, if not love.

A. was a cat in the worst way. She was one of those women who was protected by her parents from the time she was young. She spoke in a little girl's voice -- breathless but without the hint of sexual innocence that some women project. She was one of those women who would turn on a person in less than a second. She had long fingernails, and that didn't surprise him. You would expect them to become claws, best used for gouging out eyes.

B. was rich. It was good that her family had money because she wasn't smart enough to make a living on her own. Because of her high social and economic class, he thought she would meet and marry a man who would take her in like a pet, if she hadn't done so already.

D. spoke in italics. That would've been tolerable since those who did that wanted to make a point. But she spoke italicized words, like those in a J.D. Salinger story, and not sentences, as if she questioned the words said to her to see if they were correct. Because of that practice, he learned to despise her.

H. had a face that looked cruel and hard. But that was a defense. Someone some time in the past had hurt her and probably enjoyed her pain. But the flip side of the cruel and hard face was a look and a smile that would welcome you -- if she wanted to do that. Such a face, especially if it had large eyes, can be enchanting. as time goes on.

P. had seen a lot of shit in her life, especially when she was young. And when she was a teenager, she had decided that enough was enough. And she went beyond it without knowing what she did and why she did it. She had too much pain to tolerate in her life. Her wisecracks and cynicism masked a deeper hurt. It got so that you couldn't tell if the laughs would turn into either tears or screams of anger. He guessed that she would've killed herself by now, or had gone insane.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Brides And A Specific Piece Of Clothing

Note: Years ago -- I don't know when -- I wrote these words. I post them here for you to ponder, like I have.
How many brides have walked down the church aisle during the wedding ceremony without underwear?

Why do they do that? For the hell of it? The last yell of a free spirit? Defiance of the parents for putting on a big ceremony that wasn't wanted?

And how can you or I or anyone know how many brides have done that?

That's impossible to know, but I believe you would get some very interesting stories if you asked why the brides did that.

But if you post a request like that on the internet, it sounds creepy.

I guess we'll never know.

One Smokin' Reunion

During the summer, many families have reunions. Mine had one last year, when some cousins, their spouses and their children visited from the East Coast.

Now if you have a reunion and the people attending it include:
  • You;
  • Your parents;
  • Your stepparents;
  • Your siblings;
  • Your stepsiblings;
  • Your grandparents;
  • Your stepgrandparents;
  • Your cousins;
  • Your stepcousins;
  • All their spouses and exspouses;
  • Everybody's inlaws and exinlaws;
  • A couple of families from their neighborhood who are there because you're so friendly with them that they're like family;
  • The local mailman because he's a good guy;
  • And at least four dogs;
Now, that's a reunion.

And, with all that, if you have these things:
  • At least two bowls of potato salad;
  • A place where oldtimers can sit and talk about the past;
  • And a place to play croquet with serious wagering on the results.
That, dear readers, is one seriously smokin' reunion.

Water On Mars

Science always revises theories and premises, based upon new information and proofs.

I can think of two examples in astronomy.

The first is the change of category of Pluto. It's no longer consider a separate planet in the solar system. Instead, it's considered to be more like an asteroid or a moon of Nepture.

Here's a picture of the second:

Proof positive that there is water on Mars.