Thursday, June 23, 2016

Understanding What You Don’t Have

Hello, welcome to the place where if's and but's are cuts and everyone bleeds; a horror shop for words and punctuation. Relax, have a seat, your waitress will be with you shortly. If you need to freshen up, the semi-colon is in the rear. And please, no picture taking or using your phone during the show.

Okay, here’s what I’ve been thinking about lately: instead of calculating all the things I have, I’ve decided to make a list of what I don’t have. My hope is/was that just maybe; it might help me better understand myself and the world. (I’m laughing on the inside, crying on the outside, because of what I am about to write.)

Here’s the list of what I don’t have:

Stacks of money in my basement, fame, a gold watch, a friend, a pool in my backyard, a boat, a maid, a plane, a scandalous past, an interesting present, a foreseeable future, an iPhone, a horse, an endless supply of rum, a dog, a cat, an assistant, a personal chef, a jumbo shrimp platter, authorization to enter an Authorized Personnel Only area, a large enough bathroom so I don’t have to step in sideways to pee, and . . . um, hold on a sec.

Pick Me Pick Me Pick Me!

I just realized that there’s a lot of stuff that I don’t have; I think this will be an extremely long list if I keep going. Actually, now that I think about it, I believe I already have everything that I truly need and the things that I don’t have aren’t really that important; are they?

I got it now. The things I don’t have are the things people tell me I should have even though I don’t really need them. Then why should I have them? To be awesomely awesome? To feel like a complete person?

Program note: I’m not sure if this was a good idea. You're probably wondering, as am I, what’s the point of all this. Guess what; I don’t know. I just started typing and one thing lead to another, and pesto; I wrote a bunch of meaningless stuff.

Ah, now I remember why I wrote this.

Worrying about what you don’t have is like a pot of boiling water, eventually it evaporates. Nope!

The pursuit of happiness comes with an owner’s manual and it should not be tossed in the garbage because you were too lazy to read it. Nope, that’s not it either.

My tolerance does not mean I agree with you, but only that I respect your way of life even if it differs from mine, and in return, I expect equal regard to be given. Getting closer.

Literary perfection is only achieved when the content to write about is extraordinary! Yeah that's it, and I sure blew it today, eh?


Sunday, June 19, 2016

Odd Generational Names

While taking a break, I came across some thought-provoking information. The denoting of generational names. I find it peculiar how the media (or whoever does it) tries so hard not to put a label on things for fear of offending, but yet they have no problem labeling entire generations of people. Not only that, they aren’t very imaginative when it comes to the naming.

Gee, Dad; is fresh coffee really that important? 

In the interest of Sociocultural Anthropology, I decided to label them myself. I’ll be using advanced scientific methods to come up with makes-no-sense alternative names, so for your own protection, please put on your goggles. Warning: This is for amusement only!

The Lost Generation: 1890 – 1900  Louis Armstrong born in 1900, still the best there ever was! The Anchor Generation

The Interbellum Generation: 1901 – 1912  Invest in trains and banks; you’ll be rich!  It Only Hurts When You Laugh Generation

The Greatest Generation : 1913 – 1925 No Food, no Job, and no Booze, but let’s make a baby? The Survival & Persistent Generation             

The Silent Generation: 1926 – 1944  Cars are for back seat bingo! The What Were We Thinking Generation

Baby Boomer Generation: 1945 – 1964  I went to Woodstock, where were you? On the moon.  If You Build It, They Will Come Generation

Generation X: 1965 - 1981  Now what are we supposed to do? Take a Time Out. The Sit in a Corner Generation

Generation Y, The Millennials, Gen Next: 1975 - 1995   Gimme gimme gimme! Where’s the free stuff? Dawn of the right fielders, blood sucking vampires, zombies, Alphabet Soup kids, Demonic iPhone and laptop people, and I need an assault rifle to go grocery shopping. The Need to Decompress Generation.

Generation Z:  1995 – 2015   Which bathroom do I use? I’m so confused! It ain’t my fault. The iPhone community college Generation

Social Science is tons of fun, eh?

Happy Father’s Day! Keep smiling dads, and act like you know it all even if you don’t!


Saturday, June 11, 2016

Frozen Mud Soup

It’s snowing, yippee! What a cold and miserable day, but a good day to stay home and write. Well, truth be told, it’s June and blistering hot outside, but a certain someone has the air conditioner set at -2.

5 more months of winter!

Here I sit, all alone, sipping my bowl of Frozen Mud Soup on a hot, late spring day, with nothing to do but tickle the keyboard. Important pondering's torment me. Should I choose the cheese & meat pizza or the veggie one? How much fertilizer do I use on my bald spot? Do butterfly’s fart . . . and if they do, do their farts smell like flowers? How many pigs went to the market and who stayed home?

Inspiring Words: Reflect less, speak less, do more.  

Combating Boredom: Having thoughts about other worlds; squirrels are the dominate species; they all bury nuts; a trip to the grocery store is digging up the nuts. More on this as it develops.  

I don’t believe in opposites, because opposites are supposed to be attracted to one another; right? No one is attracted me, therefore everyone is the same as me; right?

Obituary; The Exaggerator, nee Bullshit Artist, born a very long time ago, died recently. They were some of the finest story-tellers for hundreds of years, reciting amazing tales at every cave, party, tavern, and street corner. They enjoyed taking a truth and over embellishing it. They were preceded in death by Medieval Bards, Poetasters, and Snake-Oil salesmen. Those they leave behind, Supermarket Tabloids and many others, too numerous to even list. Their families would like to thank every pub, saloon, hostelry, roadhouse, and bar for their attentive kindness. Memorials may be made by telling a tall-tale whenever possible. Condolences may be expressed here or wherever good bullshit resides. Friends may stop by any local watering-hole to pay their respects; Joe the bartender will be officiating.

I am an ordinary shadow by day, a banished soul by night
I am triviality, in search of significance
I am the seeker of truth, lost in a sea of lies
I am a servant of time, awaiting the day it ends

What are you currently working on? Good question. My nefarious thoughts are presently being documented. I think I shall call it a novel.

My Weekly Horoscopic Outlook: Aries – Stress is not your friend this week, stay in bed. Play with balloons. Find a new bad habit and quit one of your old ones. Take pictures of random objects, spontaneously dance, and eat a fish.

Okay, time to go. Icicles are forming all around me. Winter is coming!

Have a nice day.


Saturday, June 4, 2016


Refiguring is what your body does when you eat too much

Non-fictional activities produce real fictional stress

If you don’t see me, I’m not there

If I’m not there, you should probably look elsewhere

Writing about what you don’t know is called fantasy

Rereading about what you don’t know is called forgetting

A garage sale is how old people recycle

Shhhh! Genius at work

Dogs barking, clouds sparking, hot rain pounds the ground

Constant worry, hung jury, blood clotted life, living in fictional strife

Walking shades, endless fades, cranberry dreams in milky streams

Early morning scripts, never repeat the inky drips 

sun all gone, must wait for another dawn

No tapering thoughts to spare, unpromising consequences always unfair   

Counterfeit emotions, predictable devotions, a life full of constant notions

Once upon time I thought I was a writer, but then I realized making such a claim would be an insult to anyone who is a real writer. I was once a tad without a pole, now I am a toad.

A joke without a punch line is a zebra with no strips, otherwise known as a horse.

They walked for what must have been hours, and when they got there, they pushed ahead through the endless darkness, stumbling blindly in a void of cookies. It was horrific and really bad. 

Sorry, but I cannot confirm nor can I deny my ignorance.

Have a great weekend!