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!

The Many Moods of Mauve

Love is icky.  Even on its best days love is still pretty darn icky.  It's the corn on the cob of emotions, all sweet and buttery warm one second and annoyingly stuck between your teeth the next.  I'm really not a fan, but people seem anxious to read about it and we're all about giving people what they want unless it's a hug.

 

Jotsalot: People pleasing for a price.

 

That shouldn't be the company motto possibly because it's a business model and not a motto.  I inserted “possibly” because the nuances between the two escapes me.

 

Which logically brings us to the subject of colors and emotions.  Like most men, adding -ish to the end of blue, red, and yellow covers the spectrum and “happy” and “not good” handles emotions. Is happy an emotion or a state?  I really don't know.  I do know you can experience things without having a word for them, but the pillow talk is awkward.

 

Intentionally writing bad poetry is kind of like that.  Anyone can write bad poetry, most days without even trying, but the wink wink bad is tough.  I tried writing a Valentine's Day poem about two caterpillars and a pipe cleaner, but the romantic in me came through no matter what I tried.   I don't even want to get into the one about the sadist and the dead horse.

 

So, things are progressing along nicely.  Focusing on the carrot instead of the stick keeps me optimistic and having fun keeps me working.

 

 

Destiny's Bread Crumbs

In the beginning there were never notes or grand schemes. Somewhere in the way back, I improvised and posted within fifteen minutes.  People seemed to like it and came back every week for a peek.

Then I started thinking. I'm really not a thinker unless you count procrastinating, then I'm the Man on the Mount with all the answers and a tip jar. .But that doesn't get any work done and time passes, ideas dry rot, and I stare at a blank screen for two years.

Well, no more thinking for me.  Nope. Wearing a foil helmet and inserting "like you know" in every sentence.  It already feels like you know-natural.

I'm also going with what I really love doing instead of what I, like you know, love telling people I like doing.  I love writing short really bad poems just like Norma Timpkins and dialogue. As soon as I start writing dialogue my whole body relaxes and feels like home. Writing dialogue not my body which I have all sorts of issues with.


To summarize: stripping away thinking and going with makes me happy.

Herding Made Easy

Every stampede needs a visionary. A special someone to see the potential in wandering beasts and focus them into blind loyalty to me--The Future. While a direct descendant of The Past, and  carrier of its DNA, I feel no real need to plot the plops of the wandering herd. I need only know where they were so I step around them.

Okay, this is all about getting John, Norma Timpkins, and Poppy working towards a common goal. The key is not to dangle a salad bar in front of them, just the blue cheese crumbles.