Renovation and the Reluctant Hammer

Sometimes,you decide to throw punctuation to the wind and do nothing.  Wanted to do something, but nothing is what I got.

Diversifying the Empire

The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple's a rose,
And the pear is, and so's
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose -
But were always a rose.

R. Frost

Once I thought I was in love with a girl named Rose and memorized this poem to impress her. She thought I wrote it and didn't appear impressed, at that point, neither was I.

You know what the best thing about dogs is? They're always in love. -Wisdom, Pillow Talk with Wisdom

A lot can be said for filling up space with quotes, but only if they're your own. -God, The Bible

Adopting an undisciplined approach to writing certainly frees up a lot of time, but you can't count on people quoting you as part of the cultural zeitgeist. I do so want to be quoted on mugs, tee shirts, calendars, shower curtains, and throw pillows. Nothing as profound as “Have a Nice Day” but still something dazzling to the wit. I have whole series code named “I” which I hope to get up on Zazzle this week, Redbubble deeper into the future, A funny thing happened the other day that forced me to open a Gmail account and then a YouTube channel. The YouTube channel must be thought about, named tested, and tutorialized before it gets launched. Oh, and the pesky content thing. Content always seems the fly paper in the ointment.

Too Late for Smart

We have art in order not to die of the truth.

FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE

Sometimes a woodpecker is just banging its head against a tree.

Temper tantrums are heallthy outlets for minor frustrations.  Pity oatmeal's voiceless spluts of indignity boiling to paste or the Mighty Oak dropping an acorn while being tattooed with Love's initials.  Celebrating our perceived slights makes us human and a lot more fun to hang around with than oatmeal. Great art comes from a place of anger not drowsy contentment.  The potato chip was invented during a tantrum  And, I'm pretty sure the funniest thing I ever uttered was mid-fit.

Another healthy outlet disguises itself as stability.  Not the aforementioned drowsy contentment, but knowing your next meal exists and your pillow knows its place.  The release of worry to concern itself with little things like your )(*&!!# neighbor parking his dually over three parking spaces is the outlet.  Yeah, I'm pretty sure that made no sense.  Absolutely positive after reading it.

What happened to Chelsea?  Where's Bernie?  They're hiding behind a month-long drowsy battle with Muses seeking their own outlet.

HotTime!

I'm euphemistically calling mindless spinning "multitasking". That is to say I'm flopping around with good intentions which we used to call "aerobics", but, in this case should rightly be called "proactive procrastination" or "pretending".

Would you care for an example? punctuation inside or outside the quotes.  I  can easily absorb a day--and several trips to the bathroom-on this without encointering the issue by putting words to blog.  Truly fascinating how so much thought and planning results in so little work.

You know what else fascinates me? how not being able to see the small screen on my laptop kills my typing,spelling, and creativity.  Purchasing a monitor fixes the problem, but where's the fun in that?

So, tomorrow I move back to the place I never should have left in the first place.  I'll buy a monitor, paint the windows black and publish the first "Chelsea" installment and, with time, have my Zazzle store opened.  Yay tteam of one!

Sam and The League of Spotted Gentlemen

It occurs to me drowning people might simply be lost under water and to them I say: Follow the bubbles, they know where they're going.

Back in once upon a time, to avoid writing letters, I wrote a quarterly newsletter filled with tasty facts about me and two stories I planned to release as serials. The first was "Bernie" and the second was "Chelsea."  "Bernie" has been written as a children's book and outlined as a story for grown ups.  (Grown ups who want to read about a bear with a penchant for interpretive dance and mauling campers, that is.)  "Chelsea" followed the life of a breeder sow with dreams of becoming a Broadway dancer.  "Chelsea" always had focus while "Bernie" has been so many different stories that I can't seem to feel the right one "Bernie" not The Bernie is heading for Patch and I hope it's a good home for him.  Chelsea squeals, "Write me!" every time I see a box of Cheez-Its (her favorite snack).  So, I'm setting aside Norma Timpkins' poetry, "Pillow Talk with Wisdom," "A is for Arsenic: A Handbook for Women in Love," to focus on "Chelsea" and Zazzle.

Sam died last week so you probably won't meet him any time soon. I will always treasure our Saturday nights watching "Batman" and playing Twister. RIP

Never Met the Caged Bird Don't Know Why It Sings

Caged birds accept each other but flight is what they long for. T. Williams

 

If it's not one thing it's always the thing I forgot. Not knowing the thing is another problem. Denying the thing exists a different problem and a personal favorite.

Today the thing I'm denying is how much the quote echoes my life at the moment. I accept my bad decisions, but I'd really like to move on from them and I just don't know how. What thing is blocking me from where I should be? What's the thing?

Last month I escaped the cage and flew back because not having bars to fly into made me uncomfortable. Why do I need the bars I hate? Obviously, I built the bars to keep others out and me in without knowing what thing makes it necessary. I really hate the bars and the others in the cage. Is hate the thing I'm protecting? Is fear the thing?

On a less introspective note, I think I might be a genius. The original title for this was “The Life and Times of Nameless, Blameless, and Shameless” It began, “Once upon a time Nameless, Blameless, and Shameless sang for pennies in a hat. Not pennies because they were bad, and they were, but because they chose a bad corner.”

Realizing there was way too much to cover in fifteen minutes, I made them citizens of Patch. Patch being the mythical place all my ideas get sent to grow up and, ideally, self-actualize.  Hmmm

When the Mirror Saw Itself

My mirror views the World as a reflection of its Self. In human psychological terms my mirror is a narcissist and, in my objective observation, a pathological liar. Sorry, I just needed to say that.

Instead of the usual self-indulgent blog selfie, I've decided to write a love letter to myself.

Dear John,

Great! barely started in the relationship and I dump myself. Hold on a second John is my real name. Okay, knowing the names of the people in the relationship is a good first step towards intimacy, right?

Again

Dear John,

What can I say you haven't already heard? That slow and steady wins the race? Only if you're a snail and the competition is a steamroller. More likely that's how you earn a tough nickname like “Squish.” Better to be the steamroller. A stitch in time saves nine? Right after you look that up, you'll understand how it completely unravels the patience of a spider thing and pertains to you.

I guess what I'm trying to say is you approach our life like a snail believing he'll get really fast once the steamroller nips his tail. Nope, you need to get faster before. Now, would be an excellent time to start getting faster

Love, John

On the Planet Squint&Stretch the preceding makes odd sense, but sense. And so I'm bidding a not so fond adieu to where I stuck myself to a place I can work faster and more efficiently. Yep, sweet home Chicago-adjacent.

Forward!