blog for your
Today I want to dedicate this poem to those immigrants who sacrificed their lives to come to America because they believe coming here is the answer to their
prayers
A better life
Toot toot as you run through the fields
And u run through the fields
With your heart beating
Don't you look back
Don't you look back
Swish swish as the water hits the boat
And the boat is sailing, the wind is singing
You can't turn back
There's no turning back
Whir whir as the helicopters dive
And the gunshots fly, hits the whites of their eyes
Time won't turn back
Time can't turn back
Yum yum as the blood drowns the sea
And the sea holds a space for another tragedy
Time must go on
Time just goes on
Sunday, December 11, 2011
The Secret of the Tree
Today in HermanVille I was told a story. I was peacefully reconnoitering our wonderful gardens. I was stopped by a citizen who sat me down on one of our beautiful cedar benches and began to tell me the following story. It left an indelible mark. I'll share it with you.
The Secret of the Tree
Once, years ago, there stood a half-man by a tree contemplating the meaning of life. He came up with no conclusion and shed no tear for he was only half
of what he was supposed to be.
He began to walk away from the tree wanting to just fade into the horizon he saw up ahead. But suddenly he could go no further for he had come upon a fork
in the road. And being only half of the what he was supposed to be he could not divide himself and take both paths simultaneously. To this the tree just
laughed at the half-man's dilemma. Such a sound it made. It's only purpose seemingly was to echo inside the half-man's brain at a pitch so loud as to cause
a tear to be shed.
The tear rolled down the half-man's cheek and landed on the dusty ground. In its place a flower grew. The half-man became awed and within him began to
swell the feeling of the possession of beauty.
He bent down and picked the flower by the root and put it in his pocket thinking his possession would be the safest there.
Suddenly finding courage, the half-man took a path to walk..The tree replied with a chuckle and a rustling of its leaves.
And the half-man walked and walked and walked, fading into the horizon, losing the courage he once possessed.
He stopped, feeling old and tired. He decided to take his flower out of his pocket for more inspiration so he might go on. But when his hand went to grasp
it, the flower, dried and dead, crumbled through his fingers.
Suddenly a high pitch echoed through the half-man's brain. He turned around and saw the tree that he had once stood by and contemplated the meaning of
life.
The half-man realized that he had wound up exactly where he had started from.
Once again the tree emitted its unique tone only to again cause a tear to roll down the half-man's face. But this time the tear did not fall to the ground
for the half-man caught it in his hand and he became whole.
The Secret of the Tree
Once, years ago, there stood a half-man by a tree contemplating the meaning of life. He came up with no conclusion and shed no tear for he was only half
of what he was supposed to be.
He began to walk away from the tree wanting to just fade into the horizon he saw up ahead. But suddenly he could go no further for he had come upon a fork
in the road. And being only half of the what he was supposed to be he could not divide himself and take both paths simultaneously. To this the tree just
laughed at the half-man's dilemma. Such a sound it made. It's only purpose seemingly was to echo inside the half-man's brain at a pitch so loud as to cause
a tear to be shed.
The tear rolled down the half-man's cheek and landed on the dusty ground. In its place a flower grew. The half-man became awed and within him began to
swell the feeling of the possession of beauty.
He bent down and picked the flower by the root and put it in his pocket thinking his possession would be the safest there.
Suddenly finding courage, the half-man took a path to walk..The tree replied with a chuckle and a rustling of its leaves.
And the half-man walked and walked and walked, fading into the horizon, losing the courage he once possessed.
He stopped, feeling old and tired. He decided to take his flower out of his pocket for more inspiration so he might go on. But when his hand went to grasp
it, the flower, dried and dead, crumbled through his fingers.
Suddenly a high pitch echoed through the half-man's brain. He turned around and saw the tree that he had once stood by and contemplated the meaning of
life.
The half-man realized that he had wound up exactly where he had started from.
Once again the tree emitted its unique tone only to again cause a tear to roll down the half-man's face. But this time the tear did not fall to the ground
for the half-man caught it in his hand and he became whole.
Rocks
today's weather: gray with chance of falling rocks
Today I was walking around and noticed someone sitting on a bench biting his fingernails and shaking his left leg. I went along and saw a bunch of people
by a tree smoking weed. I kept along some more and noticed a girl crying hysterically into a bunch of crumpled tissues. I noticed a psychiatrist sitting outside his office with a sign written in red with two words "help schism". At his feet was an assortment of different legal narcotics that got dispensed depending on the situation. He kept picking up one bottle at a time and letting the rainbow of colored pills just slide through his fingers and cascade into a pyramid onto the floor. Behind him we can see that his office that was once proud is now in shambles adorned by pretty flowers or weeds depending on which side of the coin you are on today. The distant look in his red rimmed tired eyes let you know that he's gone elsewhere. What is going on? Everyone seems
to be stressed out and anxiety ridden running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Are our heads cut off? Has society gotten so complicated that
we are not able to cope with it anymore or are we just not emotionally wired for the future? The one's who help may sometimes need help too and they don't know where to go.
Hey, we have a drug for that! Is the food that we eat killing us or has life just become a giant conspiracy for drug companies? Too many questions, not enough answers. In my years in
this place I've learned that we can only control how we behave towards others and ourselves. If you realize that you can create something you should also
realize that you can stop it. The next time I see someone in that state I am going to stop and try to help.
In the meantime I will lament through song and poem so that even one person might feel that they are not alone:
"Why am I always tired
Always cold and uninspired
Is it the air that I breathe
or the things that I believe?"
Today I was walking around and noticed someone sitting on a bench biting his fingernails and shaking his left leg. I went along and saw a bunch of people
by a tree smoking weed. I kept along some more and noticed a girl crying hysterically into a bunch of crumpled tissues. I noticed a psychiatrist sitting outside his office with a sign written in red with two words "help schism". At his feet was an assortment of different legal narcotics that got dispensed depending on the situation. He kept picking up one bottle at a time and letting the rainbow of colored pills just slide through his fingers and cascade into a pyramid onto the floor. Behind him we can see that his office that was once proud is now in shambles adorned by pretty flowers or weeds depending on which side of the coin you are on today. The distant look in his red rimmed tired eyes let you know that he's gone elsewhere. What is going on? Everyone seems
to be stressed out and anxiety ridden running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Are our heads cut off? Has society gotten so complicated that
we are not able to cope with it anymore or are we just not emotionally wired for the future? The one's who help may sometimes need help too and they don't know where to go.
Hey, we have a drug for that! Is the food that we eat killing us or has life just become a giant conspiracy for drug companies? Too many questions, not enough answers. In my years in
this place I've learned that we can only control how we behave towards others and ourselves. If you realize that you can create something you should also
realize that you can stop it. The next time I see someone in that state I am going to stop and try to help.
In the meantime I will lament through song and poem so that even one person might feel that they are not alone:
"Why am I always tired
Always cold and uninspired
Is it the air that I breathe
or the things that I believe?"
Art of Procrastination
Today in Herman Ville, it's cloudy with a chance of procrastination.
Let's say you know someone. You know this person really well. In fact you can say that you are intimate with this person. Dare I say that you are lost twins. When you look in the mirror, that almost looks like you. You differ in one important way, the other person knows better than you when it comes to certain things. Like not putting things off for so long that you wind up carrying it around and becoming an emotional hunchback. Today I am the hunchback. I put off for so long to blog that it made me sick and tired of myself. I'm tired and so fed up today that I need to wipe away the cobwebs, open the blinds, let some air in and just let it all go. Whatever that may entail I just don't want to choke on my dusty thoughts. To many ghosts in this film. Best part about this is that I already wrote a bunch of things that I for whatever reason just never got around to posting. My mind is my full of stuff and today we are having a garage sale of sorts. Everything must go. Buy one get one free and cyber Monday will be extended till the new year where lots of specials will surprise and amaze!
Let's say you know someone. You know this person really well. In fact you can say that you are intimate with this person. Dare I say that you are lost twins. When you look in the mirror, that almost looks like you. You differ in one important way, the other person knows better than you when it comes to certain things. Like not putting things off for so long that you wind up carrying it around and becoming an emotional hunchback. Today I am the hunchback. I put off for so long to blog that it made me sick and tired of myself. I'm tired and so fed up today that I need to wipe away the cobwebs, open the blinds, let some air in and just let it all go. Whatever that may entail I just don't want to choke on my dusty thoughts. To many ghosts in this film. Best part about this is that I already wrote a bunch of things that I for whatever reason just never got around to posting. My mind is my full of stuff and today we are having a garage sale of sorts. Everything must go. Buy one get one free and cyber Monday will be extended till the new year where lots of specials will surprise and amaze!
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
PBR
Today in HermanVille it is sunny with a chance of more sun. Party time it was. Party time it still is. We had a big event. Yours truly played for the dirty
congregation. To say how much fun it was is an understatement. The throngs that were there learned what PBR stands for. Purchases Best Recreation. I’m
not sure how I feel about that since drinking that foul cheap beverage is not exactly recreational. It’s almost like work. OK, maybe not that bad. Well,
I guess it certainly serves a purpose. Before I entered the Purchase Bubble within HermanVille I never knew how popular this beverage was. Now I can’t
seem to get away from it. It has multiplied and infiltrated the bubble. Perhaps I just infiltrated the bubble and it was always here. Kind of like that
strange Uncle at family reunions that no one speaks too. The one that hasn’t been officially diagnosed as criminally insane but everyone knows. Everyone
is aware and everyone stays away. No one’s figured out how to not invite him because he’s on all the family reunion’s mailing lists.But he comes to every reunion and sits and observes. Or is he taking notes in order to carry out a character assassination. All of that to say, much fun was had.
Till next time.
congregation. To say how much fun it was is an understatement. The throngs that were there learned what PBR stands for. Purchases Best Recreation. I’m
not sure how I feel about that since drinking that foul cheap beverage is not exactly recreational. It’s almost like work. OK, maybe not that bad. Well,
I guess it certainly serves a purpose. Before I entered the Purchase Bubble within HermanVille I never knew how popular this beverage was. Now I can’t
seem to get away from it. It has multiplied and infiltrated the bubble. Perhaps I just infiltrated the bubble and it was always here. Kind of like that
strange Uncle at family reunions that no one speaks too. The one that hasn’t been officially diagnosed as criminally insane but everyone knows. Everyone
is aware and everyone stays away. No one’s figured out how to not invite him because he’s on all the family reunion’s mailing lists.But he comes to every reunion and sits and observes. Or is he taking notes in order to carry out a character assassination. All of that to say, much fun was had.
Till next time.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
The meaning of "no"
Today in HermanVille the weather is angry and the rain is torrential, coming down like sharpened points of fury. I think folks around here are upset because people are having problems with the word no. It seems so damn simple too: No! It's a small word that puts things to an ending, a finality. There is no maybe in the word no. It's sure. It walks straight. It looks you in the eye. It doesn't mess around. It says everything it needs to say in one syllable and two letters. It packs a punch. So why do so many people have problems using it? It's a big problem here in town. Even after you hold someone's proverbial hand and give them permission to say no they still say maybe when what they really want to do is say is no. Many folks around here instead of saying no, they do something worse. They don't say anything at all. There is no no, no maybe, just silence. (This is especially true when I try to get the trolls to do something).And what you are left with is this limbo pergatory kind of thing. You can't move forwards or backwards. This feeling is confining, imprisoning and downright just plain annoying. You ask someone, can you do this thing. It could be anything, just something. They say OK. Now this is promising. They said OK. So you leave the interchange on a positive note because, well, they said OK. So now a week goes by and you wonder, well if they said OK, let's reconfirm this thing. So you pick up the phone, the troll on the other line, and you ask them,, "well since you said OK for this thing, let's confirm it". Well, now the troll says, "I'm going to have to get back to you because I'm not really sure. I might have a conflict with your thing and be doing something else." Well "Ok" says you because what else can you say. You are in shock at the audacity of their fear of commitment and wishy washy attitude. So now we have already wasted an entire week when at this point, you kind of get the idea that the initial OK really meant NO. But the troll for whatever reason, did not have the garden gnome balls to say no. Now the first thought here is why can't these creatures have the premonition to say no for crying out loud? Here in HermanVille, we haven't quite figured that out. I'd like to think that every one's different and not everyone is going to say no., but perhaps you should trust your gut. It seems to have more of a clue than you do. So does the silence mean no? Does the lack of any kind of answer or response mean no? Are they that afraid of being "mean"? Well here's a clue: You wind up looking like an ass and being mean when you don't say no in the first place.
I've got to get this out to the people of my town that at the end of the day it's not the fact that you said no, it's how you say it and if it's done right both parties will have a happier stress free life.
Until next time.
I've got to get this out to the people of my town that at the end of the day it's not the fact that you said no, it's how you say it and if it's done right both parties will have a happier stress free life.
Until next time.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Cloudy with a chance of Panic
Today's weather:
Partly cloudy with a chance of panic
Hello townies and all other folks who participate in the coexistence of whatever space we have chosen to inhabit
together in Hermynville. Today everyone's up in arms because someone, not me of course but someone that perhaps
looks like me, may have left our local lovely mascot Evita outside for an entire hour longer than they should have.
For an entire hour she had to fend for herself. I asked her afterwards why didn't she knock and the only response I
got was a wagging tail and the Eskimo kisses that she's famous for.
It all started on a very innocent night. Just like this one. (Hey it could be night where and when you read this. so
don't give me a hard time.) After a long hard day's work in the fields where we cultivated our minds and dusted off
some bad and harmful attitudes, we entered our humble abode for a little R&R and some well needed catching up some
to-do's that should have been to-done earlier. But that is entirely another story.
Well, the usual formula follows this way, dog walks in, then human. But unfortunately, the proper attention was not
paid to and what followed was that I, your presumed leader of this humble abode in the humble space we still call
Hermynville, sat down to watch a video interview on a very famous songwriter. While digesting and attempting to
glean any insight or just plain mining for pearls of wisdom, it strangely occurred to me that our town mascot was
extremely quiet. I, in my infinite wisdom, just assumed that she was in such a deep sleep, that no peep was uttered.
I, regrettably, in my infinite wisdom, was oblivious. A faint disturbance in the force was all I felt and I just
figured that I was being a little paranoid. After all, paranoia is a way of life in Hermynville especially when the
moon is full... but I digress...
Time thus passed and finally came to the hour where our adorable mascot must engage in her evening's constitutional.
When I called her she didn't come right away as she usually does. I felt strange and started to worry. Then I
started to look for her. Funny thing is that my cubicle in which I slumber, where I rule with an iron fist, is
probably no bigger than a prison cell. Eight by ten on a good day assuming all the books and other academic
paraphernalia have been put away in their respective places. Walking space is probably ten feet by two feet. Ahhhh,
my kingdom! Now remember that she is never more than about three feet away from me at all times. I looked on the bed
and even underneath the bed even though there is no way in the seven Hades that she could fit under there. I even
looked in the closet, just in case she was feeling adventurous and opened the door with no disposable thumbs to
speak of and decided to contemplate the fertility or futility of life I don't know. I wasn't exactly thinking
straight or logically here. I was panicking. All I was thinking and hyperventilating was how the hell can you lose a
dog that weighs 55 pounds in an 8 by 10 foot room??? The disbelief, the horror, the feelings as though you are in
the midst of a nightmare that you are not really sure you're in but a sinking suspicion says "hell yes." You're
indeed in the middle of unreality. Freak out? No no no. So of course we must look underneath the bed again. Yes I
know I already said that she could not fit underneath there. But at the moment, it didn't matter you see. Automatic
OCD likes to kick in on panic mode. Perhaps I missed a 55 pound dog in a space that could barely fit my hand.
Finally a semblance of logic came a-creeping into my psyche and I opened the door. And there she was. She
admonished me with a gentle woof, ran in with wagging tail and plopped in her bed. I started breathing again. Now
suddenly everything was all right in the world of Hermynville. Our mascot had been waiting by my door for the last
hour. Never did she knock or scratch. She just patiently waited for her mentally obtuse but kind hearted owner to
let her in.
For the rest of the evening we cuddled on the bed. And because she is such a blanket hog and all, I let her have as
much blanket as she wanted.
The streets of HermanVille are quiet once again.
Partly cloudy with a chance of panic
Hello townies and all other folks who participate in the coexistence of whatever space we have chosen to inhabit
together in Hermynville. Today everyone's up in arms because someone, not me of course but someone that perhaps
looks like me, may have left our local lovely mascot Evita outside for an entire hour longer than they should have.
For an entire hour she had to fend for herself. I asked her afterwards why didn't she knock and the only response I
got was a wagging tail and the Eskimo kisses that she's famous for.
It all started on a very innocent night. Just like this one. (Hey it could be night where and when you read this. so
don't give me a hard time.) After a long hard day's work in the fields where we cultivated our minds and dusted off
some bad and harmful attitudes, we entered our humble abode for a little R&R and some well needed catching up some
to-do's that should have been to-done earlier. But that is entirely another story.
Well, the usual formula follows this way, dog walks in, then human. But unfortunately, the proper attention was not
paid to and what followed was that I, your presumed leader of this humble abode in the humble space we still call
Hermynville, sat down to watch a video interview on a very famous songwriter. While digesting and attempting to
glean any insight or just plain mining for pearls of wisdom, it strangely occurred to me that our town mascot was
extremely quiet. I, in my infinite wisdom, just assumed that she was in such a deep sleep, that no peep was uttered.
I, regrettably, in my infinite wisdom, was oblivious. A faint disturbance in the force was all I felt and I just
figured that I was being a little paranoid. After all, paranoia is a way of life in Hermynville especially when the
moon is full... but I digress...
Time thus passed and finally came to the hour where our adorable mascot must engage in her evening's constitutional.
When I called her she didn't come right away as she usually does. I felt strange and started to worry. Then I
started to look for her. Funny thing is that my cubicle in which I slumber, where I rule with an iron fist, is
probably no bigger than a prison cell. Eight by ten on a good day assuming all the books and other academic
paraphernalia have been put away in their respective places. Walking space is probably ten feet by two feet. Ahhhh,
my kingdom! Now remember that she is never more than about three feet away from me at all times. I looked on the bed
and even underneath the bed even though there is no way in the seven Hades that she could fit under there. I even
looked in the closet, just in case she was feeling adventurous and opened the door with no disposable thumbs to
speak of and decided to contemplate the fertility or futility of life I don't know. I wasn't exactly thinking
straight or logically here. I was panicking. All I was thinking and hyperventilating was how the hell can you lose a
dog that weighs 55 pounds in an 8 by 10 foot room??? The disbelief, the horror, the feelings as though you are in
the midst of a nightmare that you are not really sure you're in but a sinking suspicion says "hell yes." You're
indeed in the middle of unreality. Freak out? No no no. So of course we must look underneath the bed again. Yes I
know I already said that she could not fit underneath there. But at the moment, it didn't matter you see. Automatic
OCD likes to kick in on panic mode. Perhaps I missed a 55 pound dog in a space that could barely fit my hand.
Finally a semblance of logic came a-creeping into my psyche and I opened the door. And there she was. She
admonished me with a gentle woof, ran in with wagging tail and plopped in her bed. I started breathing again. Now
suddenly everything was all right in the world of Hermynville. Our mascot had been waiting by my door for the last
hour. Never did she knock or scratch. She just patiently waited for her mentally obtuse but kind hearted owner to
let her in.
For the rest of the evening we cuddled on the bed. And because she is such a blanket hog and all, I let her have as
much blanket as she wanted.
The streets of HermanVille are quiet once again.
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