While casting about for some idea, some thought that might strike my imagination, something catchy but somewhat limited in its ability to express the letter F, I “got bit” by the big one ! Fishing, the act and the idea,more than demonstrates the scope and power that can be exemplified by a single letter from the alphabet We can fish for words , thoughts, ideas and compliments. Personal information,hugs and kisses, and critters from under the water can all be gathered by fishing ! Until the day…. Oh, F….. ! That one got away !
Normally movie watching takes up a small portion of my time. Not that I cannot find pleasure indulging in anothers perspective of comedy, or reality, or drama, or really, any portion of lifes’ travels or goals. For instance I just viewed an offering dedicated to the prevalence of “good versus evil” and in my mind the outcome was righteous though a bit scary. The premise of the movie did not worry me so much as the acknowledgement of how the authors of this screenplay forced my face into the reality of how powerful the media of the time is in using propaganda as a driving force to shape and control the way people see the world around them.
Too many as’es , I know, but while I dwell in my excitement and realization and understanding, the nuances of literary rule will be laid aside until I rid my mind of this thought; this thought that I would like to think everybody else has already thought .
Most of the worlds differences are propagated by misinformation , or information conveniently packaged and distributed by “the powers that be”. For this “understanding ” we are promised certain things , whether they be physical comforts , emotional comforts, spiritual comforts, or simply the comfort of not being plagued with the discomfort of not possessing any of these comforts.
Alrighty then, I have stated my revelation, and therefore sounded my eccentric horn. I have no answers that might help alleviate this dilemna, but I think I might know where a few brighter minds than mine can be found, who could aid us in finding a solution to this conundrum !
Feel free to comment , but please do not count overly much on me for solutions as I cannot decide even which side of the bed I should arise from tomorrow !
Is it my turn to take the plate? Can I swing away without direction? Just in case I hit it out, I promise not to scream and shout, I will just nod at the crowd as if to say, ” I could have done that any day. “
Having a short memory does not mean that things are easily forgotten ! Having a short memory means not slamming doors that can be left open.Having a short memory means giving second and even third chances. Having a short memory means locking the doors tight when the door needs shutting. Having a short memory means rarely having to say you’re sorry !
Does there exist in math or nature a truly straight line ? Is there any real, point to point, shortest distance path in the universe ? Outside of theory, I cannot conceive one.
Roads give way to the terrain encountered. Planes fly in arcs, though the objective route is directly penned, and even a laser must give way to gravity and friction and electromagnetic waves.
So why do people speak of ” the straight and narrow ” as the desired path through life. To hold up a standard as a guide to follow is a noble, if unattainable, gesture. I am sure that even the “judges” who rule on the violations of these standards step out of bounds occasionally.
A”point to point” assessment seems to me a reasonable target, though I realize that deviating thirty minutes on a two minute trip is mostly unacceptable.
The gist of this rambling composition can conclude with one straightforward conclusion. What is the point of a straight line approach to life if the line misses the target? target?
I have carried with me for the past few days a feeling that I was forgetting something. I have been checking my pockets, Searching through my pickup, Looking in my drawers, [ My dresser drawers ! ], etc. Today I realized that one year ago I dreamed up a name, filed a password and wrote my very first blog.
One year in the life of a man is a very short time so making a big deal of such a minor event seems to me a bit pretentious. So why is it that as I write these words, right now , my eyes well with tears and all the memories of the blogs, and the feedback and the sharing, overwhelm my senses ?
Could it be that the folks who have read me, communicated with me, disagreed with me and smiled with me are really REAL people ?
Thank you all from the depths of my very soul for inviting me and my ideas into your den. I refer to the blog as my den for here I am free to acknowledge my every whim, to vent my every frustration, to match hearts with some of the most giving REAL souls I have ever had the pleasure to meet.
Fellow READERS, and I say this because anyone who writes must therefore read, Thank you all for sharing your feelings, thoughts , fears and celebrations with me ! I am a better person for having met you all .
BTW I do not intend to go anywhere that I cannot climb into the ‘net, so You will all have to put up with me for the forseeable future. [or not] Damned philosophy!
While thinking of relationships the past couple of days, a simile of sorts occurred to me, a mental picture if you will, that depicts various relationships in a mental picture. Perhaps some of my more artistic friends could illustrate my thoughts better than I can word them.
Let’s start with the idea that a house represents a person. Not a family or roommates but a single person is a house. Let us say that when two folks meet and decide that time needs be spent close to the other, these dwellings move closer to one another, neighbors indeed. These new neighbors enjoy the closeness and decide to plant a vine between the buildings and tend too it as a team. This creeping idealization spreads and links the two homes in a physical embrace and is tended to by the homeowners. Gradually the foundations sport the greenery and show of this blooming relationship with the glory of newly blossomed petals, and the tendrils continue crawling up the walls , thusly holding the houses together in a show of the strength this relationship has built. As time passes and the owners grow closer with the maturation of their vine, the thing is allowed to grow unabated, to peek into the windows, to slip under the doors and the siding, perhaps even rise as tall as the roof, as the relationship moves into a certain nonchalance, or maybe a cocoon of comfort , if you will. As long as both principles involved remain content , this scenario is certainly viable, and mayhap even desirable! But let’s say that one of the partners in this endeavor decides that more freedom of movement is wanted,indeed more autonomy is needed, to retain the individuality originally brought into the neighborhood, and feels the need so strongly , that the only recourse is to trim back the crawler so to allow the windows to open, to strip some of the glory from the covered walls and allow the oneness of the house to show , to clear the walkway so as not to trip when stepping out for some fresh air; would it be imaginable that the partner , the home next door, might feel threatened ,nay fearful for the existence of the neighborhood and lash out without method and subsequently destroy the vine, the glory of the partnership, leaving naught but the wisping tendrils of a once mighty binding,simply waving to and fro in the breeze of the arguments that ensued over the tending, or lack thereof, of a once strong relationship ?
My room of lifes’ floor lay covered in carpet and rugs scattered
Whole and tattered, yet soaking the warmth from the door,
Where I stand looking out to the street,
Hoping for friends, or wishing strangers to meet!
My entranceway respects all who enter my place,
Till I determine how much humaness they wear on their faces.
Walls covered in drapes and highlighted by hangings greet all the souls,
And soak up the heat radiated from warm, caring folks.
I bask in the glow of the smiles and the laughter
Left after, the people have gone back to from whereever they came.
The couches recall long, all the pleasant repose
And comfort I glean when I recline back on the pillows,
While gazing to the rafters and roof made of leather
Below where soft cobwebs catch dust rattled down by evenings thunder.
My cozy hiding nest though can get very cold
If the draughts brought in by frigid , hard feeling asses
Cannot be warmed by the candles left by the masses.
So, no matter what my overall vision,
I stand at the door guarding my comfort, my warm, glowing prison!
I nearly let my 200th post go by unnoticed! Though this is not an extraordinary accomplishment, The number seems to qualify this as a stepping stone of sorts. I may have kept banging on these keys and achieved this number, but I know that having many distinguished readers reading and liking my style of writing, as it is, compelled me to write and read the blogs inherent on this forum.
Ok, now that the fuss and bluster are done, I must decide what to write about on this most illustrious occasion! A love poem perhaps?
The noble eagles in flight across the blue, cloud studded skies cannot see what I see when I gaze into your eyes. Of emerald green or dark naughty bronze or sapphire brilliant, I can rise no higher, for past the hue of the outward eye, the third eye that peers out and sees my soul, makes me whole and sets my heart afire!
A philosophic statement of sorts may fill the bill.
We can do much better than run from zombies. After all they walk soo.. sl.o..w …l….y!
We must not ,however, ignore Real danger! We should muster our forces into a large safe spot, gather together in a line, squat low to the ground with our heads between our knees, and kiss our cowardly asses good-bye! [ I know, not much of a philosophy , is it? ]
Or I possibly could toss words around till they fall into form and lie properly and neatly to form a story of sorts.
Great torchieres cast phenomenal shadows beyond the planets’ orbit till, blotted by the solar light, a reversing polarity hums them hither to scare our children into eating their supper!
Mayhap the answer lies within a comment made simply to crawl under the skin.
” Do you itch? Man I sure do! It must be them oak mites that been chewin’ on folks for the past couple o’ years! Man I sure do itch! Want me ta scratch yer back for yeh?”
Well , the gist is taken, and I really must say, I have written better and had more to say,but that was a while back during better days. That being said, I would like you to know how I appreciate all who write their ideas and experiences down for me to learn from and enjoy. And the appreciation for those who read other authors’ ideas and ideals are equally loved by bloggers , novice or professional! Thanks y’all! williamleeone ; )
Searching fer gold really aint all that easy, I done it afore I got the proper devices.
Ya gotta look and pry in all the proper crevices,
And all ya see aint really gold, they got a name for it and its called fools!
With that real gold yeh gotta speculate and dig out there where nobody else aint.
And ya gotta have a lot of special tools, like hammers and picks and dynomite, hoohee!
Now yuh can find some gold if yuh look real sharp, in the city on the corner
or in walmart. If gold there aint your type I reckon, yuh could find a woman goin your direction.
Found me a goodin’ once upon a time and I thought that I’d lost her
on the night before. Then I ‘membered that she’d passed clean out on the bar room floor.
So i hadn’t fergot, Ah jus’ didnt ‘member and she’s plumb tickled to get a ride home anyways!
Now all this tomfool talk ya think has got me away from lookin’ fer gold but yer wrong I say.
When I took ‘er home to her momma and poppa, she gifted me a three ounce golden chain !
I sold it at the pawn shop for a hunerd fifty dolla!