Saturday, March 26, 2016

Hello

Hello.

It's such a little word. 
Just five letters, two vowels.

Yet it travels farther than any other.
Reaching across canyons that divide us.

Where we sit alone, aloof, waiting to be rescued.
By the brave ones, the ones that dare risk the jump.

We watch and wait for them, in readiness to catch -
the life preserver that saves us from ourselves.

I'm grateful for all the brave souls.
Souls who reached out to me.

Souls like yours.
Bearing a word:

Hello.

Monday, March 14, 2016

This chick is nuts.

I'm waiting for a friend at this topless damn you smartphone spellchecker! I mean tapas bar. I'm sorry but I've been having knock down drag out fights with lady in my phone and I think the cyborg you know what is resorting to sabotage. She's extremely territorial and gets jealous at the slightest provocation. I decided to use the rental car's GPS lady rather than her (she's been deliberately routing me onto giant traffic jams because I turn her off at night but I have to, she won't stop beeping) and she threw a cyborg hissy fit. I'm searching for a nice boring Midwestern man avatar. This chick is nuts.

The Chain

He couldn't make the Wise One understand.

The chain was biting into his ankle.  The unbreakable chain that bound all the Continental children.  Up until now, it had been loose but some of the others had tipped over the edge into the abyss and now it was getting tight.

"Well of course there are problems" the Wise One said in an exasperated tone as he bit into a ripe peach he had just plucked from the tree. "Look at these peaches!".
"Yes, but the chain."
He looked down at the links around The Boy's ankle and their taughtness that stretched off into the distance connected to their friends and their friend's friends and others who were already gone. He looked at his own, which was as loose or looser than than The Boy's had been and shrugged.
"You worry too much."
"But it hurts!" The Boy said, straining against the chain. His shoes skipped a fraction of an inch as he pulled.
"You must be exaggerating because I don't see Cal or Jurgen squawking....." tossing the now exposed pit aside. "Things are just like they've always been, have a peach" proffering the ripe, beautiful fruit to The Boy who had both hands around the chain and his feet jammed and scrabbling the ground.

Off in the distance they could hear Cal and Jurgen laughing and calling back and forth to each other.  They were lying on the ground and their respective chains were dragging them slowly, ever so slowly but they didn't seem cut into their ankles the way it did The Boy's and anyway, they didn't seem to mind.

And the Wise One was right:  things were beautiful.  The trees were filled with fruit, the sky was a sparkling blue and there was a babbling brook darting and dancing all the way down to the abyss. The roar of the water as it fell in almost drowned out the cries and moans of those inside. The Slavic kids scrabbling at the steep sides, trying to stop their slide, the Asians, almost all boys, grim jaws set, climbing over the bodies of others clamped to the wall and the Bantu wails from all the little ones at the bottom - too young and weak to even begin to escape the dark, cold water.

A number of the children walked over to talk to The Boy and The Wise One - the ones without chains.  "Why do you have a chain?" they asked.
"Because we are Continentals!" The Wise One answered proudly.
"But you'll end up in the Abyss"
"No we won't" The Wise One said a little too defiantly as one of the littlest fell screaming down the side.
"Why don't you just unlock your lock? Take the chain off?"
The Boy winced but not from the pain of the chain in his skin but from the mention of the treason he planned.
"There is no key", The Wise One said.  "Well, to use a key wouldn't work", he finally admitted "because all of those other kids further down - the ones that don't realize what is happening to them - would fall in all the faster" he said with an intensity that belied his feigned nonchalance. "There is no choice, we must remain linked no matter what".
"Do you think you're your brother's keeper?" said the Free Leader incredulously.
"Yes, of course, we're the responsible ones"
"Then why are you letting the chain drag you all down to the abyss?  Do you like cold and darkness?"
"No, of course not. But this is what we've always done"
"That's a lie" shouted, The Boy - "There never used to be these tight chains, we all stayed together in the meadow and played but it's only been a little while since we were all chained together, ever since the abyss opened in the middle."
The Wise One rounded on him "for your own good, so you wouldn't stray. Please be quiet, you're making things worse" as The Boy's straining legs and shoes skipped again.

By the by The Wise One wandered off to debate with the Free Ones, he had so much slack in his chains he could walk the entire meadow.  The Boy, exhausted from his fight looked around furtively and digging in his pocket retrieved the golden key that they all had before they accepted the lock and the chain.  But many of the children had been careless or improvident and had lost or sold theirs.  Not The Boy. He looked at the key's gleam - it read in finely etched letters:  "Liberty".  All of a sudden a wail went up among some of the other tightly dragging children who jealously pointed at The Boy, chanting "key, key, key".  He frantically began trying to fit the key in the lock and release it but his hands were tired and bloody from the fight with his chain and he kept dropping it.

The Wise One looked up from his reverie, and called out the alarm to his still loosely chained friends.  As The Boy finally recovered the key one of them kicked it out of his hand and it flew far away....out of reach for the tightly chained Boy.
"Please, he begged, please give me my key back".
"No, you're not allowed to flee."
"For God sakes! I'm going to be dragged into the abyss, don't  you understand?  Please, please give me my key! It's mine! I saved it."
The Free Children came over, looking pensive.
"Well surely you'll help me, please just go get my key - it's right over there.  There's nothing they can do to you".
But they just stood there, staring.
"Why won't you help me?" The Boy cried out.
"We can't" Said the Largest of their group "Every child has to choose to be tied to a chain or to become truly free of their own accord.  We can't do anything except encourage.  It's every child for themselves".
The Boy sobbed as his shoes finally broke their friction connection with the ground and he landed unceremoniously on his back - moving a full half a foot Abyss-ward in the process.  He lay there softly crying as the chain dragged him towards his end.  After a while he began humming and laughing, talking to himself and smiling.

The Wise One turned to the Free Ones "See, I told you he wanted to stay chained" and walked away with his steadily shortening chain in tow.

Sunday, March 13, 2016

Chainsaw Juggling

So I'm doing some chain sawing today - it's tough work cutting shrub branches - and I got to thinking about all of those other burly lumberjacks out there in their burly lumberjack outfits with matching burly lumberjack shoes and this is the thing: I don't think juggling running chainsaws is nearly as hard as they make it out to be. In fact I think it's quite simple: you just take a couple of chainsaws like these. Then you fire 'em up and duct tape the button thingy down so the chain keeps moving even though no one is holding the handle - what the faint of heart call a 'safety' feature. You do it just like this....then you hold them like this and toss one and then the other lickety split into the air and....oops.....dang.

Monday, February 29, 2016

Are you still?

For my daughter Amelia.

Are you still as beautiful as when we last met?

No. You are fairer still.
And filled with light and whimsy.

You wear beauty gently.
A gossamer gown flowing with light.

I stop. I stare and stutter.
Beauty overcomes and my joy is complete.

Where did such wondrous grace emerge?
What sorcerer conjured you from dust?

It was God and Nature and Truth together.
For none could by themselves.

I revel in your shadow.
And wonder that you are my child.

No one deserves such bounty.
No man could hold such wealth.

All one can do is to love and be loved.
By that which cannot be possessed.

To love my own blood. To love you. My Amelia.

Thursday, January 21, 2016

Die drones die?

I walk on a golf course in the evening, which this time of year means in the dark. Recently one or more drones have been following my progress. At least I think they're drones. I certainly hope they are. Anyway, I assume these 'drones' are being piloted by neighborhood lads who got them from Santa. Incidentally, I have a similar issue with Santa as he flies around willy nilly on one of the heaviest drinking nights of the year, inevitably scaring legitimately drunk revelers into premature sobriety. And now the Kringlemeister is indoctrinating our youth in unauthorized fly bys.Honestly, the geezer is beginning to grate and I hate grated geezer. But I digress. What I really wanted to know is: 1. Do you think that I'm right about the neighborhood lads dealing the drones? And 2. If so, is it considered overly sensitive to shoot the sumbitches out of the sky and 3. If not, should I use a Twelve Gauge with a Varmint round or some other ordinance for optimal drone death dealing. And 4. What happens if I'm wrong and it's aliens or the CIA? but I repeat myself.
Sincerely,
Trying to be Tolerant of the Tykes New Toys in Texas. And Failing.

Thursday, January 7, 2016

Rainy days and first days always get me down

So I left last Friday morning to go to the board retreat for my first official day working with this left coast software business I've been fooling around with. Mom drove me. I've been staying with my parents to help dad deal with his various cancers and other maladies only to watch him set land survival records and threaten to outlive his doctors (that'll wipe the smug off their faces). It's not as bad as it sounds: I have my own floor and since my mother threw away everything I had ever owned the day I left for college and then promptly moved to Houston (without leaving a forwarding address I might add), I'm not forced to sleep in my old room. But I am forced to sleep while being stared at by many copies of my leering adolescent self. How I got it into my head that I was good looking back then I do not know.

So where was I? Ah yes, with mom on the way to the airport. I thought dear old mom might be regressing a bit because she bought me new underwear. Which is what she used to do every fall when school started. Fortunately she didn’t insist on taking a picture of me with my pencil box and everything before I got on the bloody plane.

Out of the car and into the terminal. Past the huge new International Terminal project. This for the second 'domestic' airport. I'm sorry but I'm afraid this whole "Houston Boom Town of Destiny" thing is getting out of hand.

Beyond that the Southwest greeter was shouting "check in left, bag check only right!" at the top of her lungs. Being a seasoned (basted and roasted) traveler I moved right while avoiding eye contact (of course). Offended by my lack of Texas neighborly-ness, she stopped me and shouted "hey! bag check only" while I nodded and tugged my forelock. It's embarrassing enough, that I, who have been diamond and platinum clubbed the world over had to check a bag, but to be herded. Well let's just say I know how steers feel just after their “steerage” ceremony. Or do I? Because I then was processed through the TSA - or as I like call them: the one percenter's - chute. I call them that not because average comp for these minderbinders crests above $100K but because by my reckoning they will uncover a whole one percent of the security threats that go through an airport. Now follow my math here: according to their own 'quality control' report in the last comprehensive multi airport test they missed 95% of the fake bombs, guns, rocket launchers, bushel bags of Semtex and other ordinance that was lugged past them by bushy bearded guys in man dresses while catching 98% of the little old ladies with weaponized titanium hips. But that's only the beginning of their security theater virtuosity.  One of my favorite pastimes while waiting to be "processed" is to think of all the ways I could get a bomb on a plane without going through the chute. And that's what gets me from 5 to 1 percent effectiveness.

Of course today they had a bomb sniffing dog (who as a Federal Dog was probably pulling down 30Gs with low deductible Veterinary care and retirement to a luxury kennel after five years tossed in) so maybe that doubled their effectiveness to...2%. But in fairness to the TSAistas, I think the existential pointlessness of their job is finally beginning to sink in, because after being directed by a ($100K) federal employee who was literally looking at a screen that alternated a large left and right arrow and then pointing left and right with it (I kid you not) I ended up going through the "Aw fuck it, who gives a rip" or as they euphemistically put it: "Expedited" line. What's next? The pre-cleared terrorist line? "I'm sorry sir but this line is only for pre cleared terrorists from Federally Accredited terrorist organizations like Al Qaeda, Al Ansar, Boko Haram and ISIS. I'm sure you understand that the Federal Government can't accommodate every Tom, Dick and Crazy that wants to blow up a plane."

Incidentally, a couple hours at an airport listening to the omnipresent happy talk drone of CNN is enough to make you want to shoot that sonofabitch Ted Turner.  My God, My God why have you forsaken me? I blame Jane Fonda. But it's my own fault - tempted by filthy lucre not to mention justifiably showing up for work a few hours late - I took the oversold deal.  The gate agent said "you're in luck Mr. Reeves! Your new flight will get you in ten minutes before this one plus you get $366 to boot!" Which I suppose is "good news" unless you were hoping to screw around in the Las Vegas airport for a few hours the way I was.  Smug bastard.

Speaking of smug bastards, while being forced to listen to CNN, Bill Clinton came on saying something in that sobby voice of his about how wonderful it was that South Carolina was pulling old Dixie down (so to speak). This of course is the same Bill Clinton who as a four term governor of corrupt one party post segregationist Democrat Arkansas signed a flag law and accompanying statement specifically describing how the Arkansas flag had a large single star " to honor our Confederate heritage”. Like with Gay marriage where Obama, Clinton (his and hers) and almost all other prominent Democrat pols were agin’ it for “deeply held religious reasons” until the precise moment is became useful to be ‘for’ it (I mean God doesn’t even vote, so screw Him), the Confederate flag has only become anathema since the voters who consider it part of their heritage stopped voting….Democrat. The Port Side party really should change their motto from “Happy Days are Here Again”(because they’re not) to “You tell me what gets me money, power and (if you’re Slick Wilbur) babes and that’s what I’ll say I believe.” Until the moment that some other belief system (Islam?) looks like it will get them more money, power and babes, that is.

At that point I got on the plane and breathed into the airsickness bag until I stopped hyperventilating. God I hate first days.  It's probably going to rain.