Tag Archives: future

You/me/us are gods

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That’s right.

No longer must we depend on our forebears to provide us our origin stories.  From social media comes the creation myths and legends now.

I created my own through personal poems, short stories and novels, because I had to.

I had to know how to create myself.

The adults in my life were insufficient storytellers to keep me from disbelieving what they were saying.

I accept that the outlines of my social behaviour training were sourced from generally acceptable religious tracts and secularly-derived material sharpened through the years by our strongest hierarchical networks.

But is that so anymore?

For me, being childless and close to my retirement years — those long stretches of decades where I can consume and no longer have to produce — it doesn’t matter as much as it used to.

My origin myths are here amongst symbols we call words such as these, my personalised holy text:

A Monkey Accidentally Writes A Poem

With no particular plan

With no particular words

I take you by the hand

We look like two lovebirds.

We seem to have a view

We seem to have a thought

Our love, I know, is true

Our bodies daily rot.

We see our daily loves

Philosophers exclaim

Some people die with knives

You call me by my name.

– 2 October 1985

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

Bonds That Stay

I. The Question

My dad said it,

I agree —

Why do we have to

Live so far apart?

I suppose (and I’m not the first)

Our friendship is strengthened by it.

We are being tested by

The great Administrator in the sky

(Or wherever he lives).

Somehow, I’m not really sure,

I feel committed to you,

Yet we are committed not to each other, but

Rather for each other.

You see, I don’t

Want to

Lose my relationship with you.

We are not “going together”

But if (like wow)

I went out with another girl,

I would feel…well, like,

Like I was cheating you (and me) of something.

II. I’ll Explain Myself

You are my oldest female friend,

You know that, don’t you?

Friend-to-friend,

There’s this woman,

I think she’s beautiful,

Who, if I lived within

Twenty miles,

Or even twenty-five,

Of her house,

I’d ask her to go with me.

I’m afraid to tell her

Because I don’t want to turn her

Off.

I know you’ve known her

For over nineteen years,

So please don’t tell her.

Just talk to her

And see what she thinks of me.

You can tell me later, if you wish.

I’m trustworthy.

III. Why I Won’t Tell Her

I won’t ask her, not yet anyway,

Because I can understand

That she might want to

Go out with

Other guys.

Is it possible to do both?

I, too, might have the inclination

To ask out another girl, on occasion.

IV. What She Means to Me

Have I ever told you about her?

I’ve known her as long as

I’ve known you.

Coincidence, huh? Perhaps (dirty laugh!).

This girl, she’s wonderful.

She means so much to me.

How much? How much

Water does it take to fill

The Atlantic Ocean? You see?

V. Why I Can’t Tell Her

I met this girl one time in band,

In eleventh grade.

I thought she was wonderful.

I opened up to her

More than I had ever,

Before.

We were real close, she and I.

She dropped me so fast

I didn’t even know it at first.

I was lucky.

It only took me six months

to recover (Connie has me beat).

I promised I’d never again

Make that mistake.

(Promises, promises, promises;

Me and my idle threats)

So, after two and a half years

I’ve broken that promise.

I don’t feel bad at all;

In fact, I feel great!

It wasn’t a promise,

It was a wall,

A barrier, a door with a…

A guard to my inner feelings.

That girl who dumped me,

She said I don’t show my emotions anymore.

Part of that wall’s still there.

I believe I show my emotions,

At least, somewhat, anyway.

This beautiful girl

(You know she’s you),

There have been a hundred times

I wanted to kiss her.

To some, a kiss is a greeting

And goodbye.

To me, a kiss is sacred.

To kiss a girl means she’s

Not just a warm body

Or a listening ear.

The girl I kiss has to be

Special.

Only four girls in my life

Have earned that specialness.

You’re more than special, though.

I mean, we’ve grown up together.

We were buddies, then companions,

Then friends, and now…well,

I’ve never had a relationship like this.

I wish we didn’t live apart (so far).

I don’t know why I won’t open up to you.

I have, but not completely.

What if I did? Am I afraid?

VI. Breakdown

Janeil, I want you in my arms

Right now! I miss you!

You’re so understanding

That I can’t stand not to tell you

All my feelings!

Something holds me back.

WHAT IS IT?

Help me.

VII. Please Understand

I’m going bananas,

I mean I’m a fruitcake.

I hope you don’t mind,

I really want your permission (I’m serious!),

There’s this girl

Who I’ve wanted to take out for

Over a year now.

She finally said yes.

I know this sounds silly but

Do you mind?

I’d really worry if you did.

The date’s not that important, but

You’re important enough to me

That if you say no

I won’t go out with her.

“No sooner said than done,” as they say.

Believe me, I’m serious.

You mean a lot to me.

This other girl’s not worth

Sacrificing what we have together.

I’m being more open than I planned.

You’re influencing me in spirit.

I take you with me wherever I go

(except the bathroom — I’m not that open).

I hope you understand what I’ve said.

You say you do. Please do.

We have a strong relationship —

Ours is a bond that stays.

– 1981

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

Will you?

I’ve been thinking

(I don’t know everything),

Since we love each other,

And,

As far as I know,

We’re not seeing anyone else

(I never did call that girl),

Why don’t we…

Well,

Why don’t we become…

Why don’t we become

(You won’t believe this

But two of my fellow employees,

They read this much. Anyway…)

Boyfriend and girlfriend?

I love you enough myself

To not have eyes for anyone else.

I believe you love me as much;

At least your touch tells me that

(And your eyes and voice and…).

What do you say?

– 1981

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

Work

Crash! Another dish —

Patty’ll kill me.

She’s not so bad, really,

But sometimes she can be a pain.

Life is like that,

Some of us aren’t perfect,

Most of us aren’t,

But it’s nice to think we are.

Denny says the three C’s

Will get us closer to perfect.

We’re better than Chicago,

I know that,

‘Cause we’re all good.

Washing dishes, making pizzas,

Sandwiches,

Dough,

It’s a rough life, you know.

I mean we could be digging ditches

Or sitting in an office all day.

Instead, we become friends —

We laugh, joke, help each other

To be friends, you must be there

To keep one another going.

Today, we prep,

Tomorrow, who knows,

We may be rolling dough.

Remember, it’s the customers who count,

They’re always right.

Even if they’re bitches and bastards,

They pay our bills.

So what if the tips are small tonight,

Didn’t you lose a few of those unwanted pounds?

– 1981

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

The Decision

I have been thinking, as always,

About what I could do for you,

To show how much I care.

I almost bought a dozen roses;

We almost went to Clingman’s Dome;

All these things are big gestures,

To be sure.

I thought, “I could do that for any girl,”

But I want to do something more.

I want to show you my world —

Trees, flowers, birds, bees —

I want to be with you to watch the sun set.

You should know by now,

You’re worth to me more than anything

Money can buy; no roses or long trips,

No fancy restaurants or classy bars

Can replace what you mean to me more than this:

The precious moments we have together that

no one can take away.

I can feel you with me right now.

I see your smile, your green eyes,

Your nice body.

Your arms are around me.

Your perfume is everywhere.

We look at each other and can’t help but smile.

My arms are around your waist,

We kiss.

I whisper something to you

[Look! We have an audience].

You laugh and we kiss again.

Damn it! It’s not fair!

I want to be with you all the time.

We can’t have everything.

All I want is you.

Tell me, God, is that too much to ask for?

– 17 July 1981

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

The View

We sat there,

Staring…

(At each other)

At the mountains,

Hills, rather,

And marveled about the world.

We rolled in the grass,

Sharing…

(Each other)

Thoughts and feelings,

Words, too,

And wondered how lucky we are.

Nighttime brought another view;

Stars,

Those objects who question love.

We don’t, though;

We know what we feel.

We have our happiness,

Our love,

Each other,

Yet we’re still independent.

If you left me,

I could not complain,

I could cry,

Wonder why,

But I know we’re stuck together.

Isn’t it awful?

– 31 July 1981

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

Barriers

Each time we meet,

We give up something.

It’s not lost;

Instead,

We give it to the other.

Sometimes,

It’s just a little phrase,

“I love you”;

Other times,

A little gesture,

A kiss.

To me,

And yes (I know),

To you, too,

These “little” gestures are not little.

These steps we take

Mean too much to be little.

Great things come in small packages.

(You’re great! Ha! Ha!)

[Well, you are]

The more I write,

The worse it gets.

Frankly, my dear,

Damn it,

I love you!

– 31 July 1981

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

My Proposition

It’s funny,

Now that I think about it;

I don’t know what bothers me.

I’ll tell you the whole story.

(Here comes a novel!)

I find this hard to believe,

And hard to say, too.

We’ve each mentioned it before:
I love you, you know;

If I knew I could be supportive,

I would ask you a certain question

About spending our lives together.

Instead,

I’ll wait to ask,

for several reasons —

I have no way to support you;

We’re young and can afford to wait;

I love to torture myself.

I’ve thought of the possibilities.

I could work until you finish school;

Then I could “finish” my school work, too;

Perhaps we can wait until we both finish college,

When we have steady jobs

(If we can wait that long).

Of course,

This all depends on me asking you,

And on your saying yes.

We can wait a while,

Search each other out,

And if we find there can be no other,

I’ll ask you.

I may get down on my knee,

I’ll definitely have a dozen roses,

And a ring,

Of course.

That’s my proposition:

I haven’t asked yet

So you don’t have to say yes.

– 13 August 1981

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

I Love You So Much

I love you so much.

How much is so

Much is many

Is a lot.

If so is sew,

Then Diana’s dress

My love doth it express.

So it may be

Sewn a forest with one tree.

You I love,

Not another,

Neither yew,

Baa! Not even ewe.

I love you,

With my eye I prove,

Aye, from you I want not move.

Love has no equal,

Just like the one I love;

Our love will never have,

Like movies, an other sequel.

We keep on going,

Better with than without

The other; always slowing,

Never thought a single doubt.

So (Ho! Ho! Ho! So! Sew! Sow!)

What does all this say?

Did I stop to just say “hey”?

No, I’ve just been thinking,

Thinking about things (names, places, and…)

About cute sounds (Janeil Ann Hill)…

Just thinking to myself:

Where I’m heading,

What I’m doing,

Who I’m seeing;

When I’ll be old,

Will all this matter?

Well, I don’t know.

Right now,

I love this girl,

Can’t live without her,

Have to go to school,

Work,

And when I get a chance,

I’ll let her know just

How much is “so much.”

– 4 September 1981

Nothing New Here

For as long as the feeling lasts (forever),

People have told each other, “I love you” —

Three words,

Three word which united kingdoms,

And broke dynasties.

Why do these words do so much?

“|” and “you” are just personal pronouns;

Love is just a four-letter word.

Remember, though, words

Are symbols for people, places things

And ideas.

Love is an idea,

Not concrete but abstract,

And my idea is this:

When I say, “I love you,”

I feel warm inside

When you smile.

I want to share my warmth with you,

I want to share my life with you,

Let you know my feelings

(Want to hear about yours),

And listen to your problems.

Love bonds people together;

Their minds and bodies are paired,

Perhaps by God,

And because no two people are exactly alike

They constantly find something new,

Exciting, or wonderful,

About the other.

Because nobody’s perfect,

They may quarrel,

But love is forgiving.

Love does not always

Last forever.

People change.

Perfect love, though, adapts

To these people (and for them),

By them,

For perfect love, or true love,

Brings these people together

Like pieces of a puzzle —

The picture may change

But the basic shape remains.

Our love “evolved.”

We grew,

And as we grew,

So did our love.

Like a rose,

First came the stem;

(There were some thorns)

Then, during spring break,

The bud appeared.

We knew we were more than friends,

For our letters warmed each other,

Made us smile,

And think.

With summer came our usual invitations

But the meetings were not.

We enjoyed each other’s company,

Didn’t want to be apart,

And like that rose,

Our love grew (and still does);

Unlike that rose,

It won’t die.

I love you.

– 9 September 1981

Long-range Forecast

What shall we do,

You and I?

The weather’s getting colder,

We are farther apart,

And we can do nothing

To make each other feel warm.

(We could exchange heaters?)

Seeing each other twice a month

Makes us lie in wait,

In limbo,

Floating,

Drifting along,

Never knowing

Which way is

up.

Today was clear and sunshiny

But like being without you,

I had to work inside,

Under artificial lights,

Listening to a repeating tape;

Monotony, monotony, was all it said.

The days get shorter

But the time is longer.

There’s a long winter ahead.

– 28 September 1981

We’re Always Together

I couldn’t sleep last night because of you,

And when I woke up, my side felt warm,

As if you had been lying beside me,

Against me,

With me — wishful thinking…

(Then I saw the cat walking away from the bed).

You made the morning beautiful —

What green leaves were left on the trees

Reminded me of your eyes,

The earth was the color of your hair,

The snow, yes, the color of your skin;

Like a fairy princess I chanced

To see in the woods one day,

You shine with some inner source

Of energy —

Be it the love of your life

Or your love of life —

You have the magic to be what you want,

To be with whom you like.

I’m your King of the Forest,

Let’s rule the world.

– 22 October 1981

Our Destiny

We say that we’ll wait —

Marriage would ruin our future(s).

We love each other,

So much so that we could

Almost

Run away together

(I’ll keep trying).

Your relatives have already tied the knot;

They seem to approve of me

And, therefore (I guess), of us.

We are left with few alternatives;

I don’t believe we could be good friends again

(Though your mother would be happy, it seems),

We really shouldn’t get married yet,

So what shall we do?

(I don’t know.)

Neither do I.

I keep asking myself,

Is there anything that would stop me from

Marrying you?

No.

We’re young and have time, let’s wait.

– 27 November 1981

Who Knows Best?

Perhaps we are too serious —

I mean, we do talk about marriage.

(Is it your father?)

Sometimes, I come close to

Forcing us into making love.

(Is it us?)

I’ll tell you right now,

I’m going to “pop the question” soon,

It may be a month, or six months,

Or two days,

But it won’t be more than a year,

‘Cause I know you’re the one!

(Does anyone know what’s best for us?)

We may not get married for a while,

We may be forced to,

But we are going to,

That much I know.

– 30 December 1981

Mental Distress Due to Concern

When you hear ‘em talk of another,

Do you worry?

Do you think,

“What has she got I ain’t got?

Ain’t I enough for him?”

Does he love you?

Then why do you worry?

Honey, ain’t you never seen a man

Test your love fo’ him?

Them men, they needs to be sho’.

They’s got to know if that gut feelin’

Ain’t just their sex pistol shootin’ off…

Know what I’s gettin’ at?

When he loves you,

He tells you so.

He says you’re “beyootiful”;

He opens yo’ door;

He treats you like a lady.

Ain’t that enough?

– 27 January 1982

Smile, Sad Eyes!

I respect your silence;

Yet, as little as we see and hear each other,

Can’t you find it in yourself

To tell me why and how you feel?

We don’t know everything

About each other —

I can only find out about you

By what you do and say.

If you don’t say anything,

You’ll always be a mystery to me.

Is that what you want?

If you’re depressed and want to be cheered

And don’t tell me,

How can I make you smile?

– 27 January 1982

American Revolution

Some ask for it by name,

Others wait for it to come.

What will I do when,

Or if,

No one gives me attention?

I ask not but for some attention,

A smile,

Common experiences to relate

And trade ideas.

The teacher is a pupil,

The law requires it.

If I need attention,

I must give it.

Who wants my attention?

A bird? A cat?

The next-door neighbor?

My friends, my countrymen,

Lend me your attention

For I will return it tenfold.

What more could you ask?

Questions, I know,

But who wants answers?

Not me…

Just attention…

Good old, sweet attention.

— 13 April 1982

Down the shore with no horizon

Don Quixote searched in vain;

Desperado never learned his name;

Many a noble soul had a noble cause

And lost — who can take the blame?

Because they searched, because they sought,

They deserve a moment, a fleeting thought.

Little were they detracted in their quest —

They looked for the dream that never ends,

They left the home so full of love

To find the love that can’t be bought.

The love I found cannot be measured

In pounds or ounces, in pints or cups,

In dollars or pennies, sixpence or marks —

The love I found I found in you,

In you I found the dream, the hope, the desire,

The will that makes a king aspire

To seek his King in ever hour.

For you, my love, I will embark

To kill the rogue, to love my enemy;

Just say the word for I am yours,

We trust in Him whose thoughts are pure.

— 1982

Dream

The quiet, cool morning when no one yet awakens,

The stars still in their glory,

A jet passes through the sky leaving a faint white trail.

A girl behind the cash register,

The white light streaming through the store-front window of

A twenty-four hour store;

Truckers stop for coffee,

Shift workers buy a meal.

Starshine in my right eye,

Storeshine in my left,

Shall I turn to look at women

Or let the skies turn me bereft?

With wings I hunt to find you,

Somewhere there on Earth —

The clouds are my companions,

The wind, my guiding path,

Yet on the ground I’ll find you,

Waiting, searching for the best.

You know you’re with me always

(I cannot shake you off)

So let me fly asunder,

Find the wind that blows the strongest,

Open my wings and

Float,

Soar,

Feel the beauty before my eyes.

The morning turns to noontime,

The birds and people reappear,

I wake and ache at your absence,

My life is empty with you,

That’s why I call you “Dear.”

— December 1984

The Ignorance In Knowledge

The wonders of the universe are mine,

And yet, I wonder what I want with these —

Without my thoughts, your love is true divine,

His Love, your warmth, does not ease life nor please

The seascapes, patterns, that eradicate

Or even place our love up with the gods.

I open eyes at daily double’s fate

To see the watchdogs eat the blinded clods;

The rituals, life-supportive (so they claim),

Brings hunters and the hunted to the fight —

The educated aid the hopeless lame

And both shall watch the forceful lose their might.

We lost the sight with schoolbooks held in hand,

The sight that sees the hungry feed the land.

— February 1985

Good Mack Café

The banana peel.

A metaphor for falling,

Not watching our step.

I hold the banana peel in my hand,

The freshly eaten, soft interior

Losing its identity in my stomach.

A limp thing, yellow and green and brown

Nutritious protection for future worlds,

A jungle or tropical garden,

The veins no longer flow with fluidy substances,

The seeds are lost in rotting dumpsters

Filling sewers, freshly flowing,

Floating jetsam, flotsam pressing

Forward toward my nose,

The smell offending softly spoken,

Perfumed bodies like myself.

My fingers loosen, the peel drops (Plop!).

Rising from my chair, I step to

Reach down to the floor, taking hold of

My future, discarding it as I leave the room.

— March 1985

Words, Only Words

Beneath the surface of your face,

Beyond the limits your brain implies,

The love I want remains in place

Becomes the spark that lights your eyes;

Yet love, one word, does not explain

The love we share and cannot hide.

Vocabulary words bring pain

To those of us who’ve searched, we’ve tried

In vain, regardless of the thought

The other hopeless folks may say,

“All lives are meant for sale, then bought,”

Their voices listless, dull, blasé —

The timeless “love” they call a word,

The love we feel cannot be heard.

— March 1985

I float on an imaginary sea

I float on an imaginary sea —

Waves of motionless, substanceless, nonbeing —

rocking me to the tune of vertigo-go.

AND…&…ET…Y

A straight line does not exist.

Approximation

Approach

Appreciate

Appearance

Appropriate

Apples

I’m always going home;

Seeking home.

Home?

It is a matter of expressing myself, isn’t it?

– 22 September 1985

I am not the wind

I am not the wind

yet I am of the wind

I am a wing of the wind

I am winding down slowly

No longer wing

Nor wind

Just…

Formations of the form of motion

Seas frothing at the mouth

Reality — only seven letters

– 3 October 1985

My religion is based on a form

My religion is based on a form,

neither simple nor complex,

Known nor unknown,

A form that can never be perfected.

The form is based on the shape of a wave,

A wave that completes a revolution,

That revolves around an unfixed position.

The wave does not exist

But its form is imitated by physical phenomena.

My religion is based on a few short words —

Everything goes in a circle.

– 3 October 1985

23 October 1985

I search my brain and find naught

But six terrible nightmares leftover

From a feast of sleep.

I open my eyes and find naught

But what I want to see.

The dreams of a thousand years

Locked in a brain with no hope of escape;

Where do I go from here?

Modern-day Martyr

Anticipating your reluctant smile

And knowing that we sometimes fail to see

Our love (that drive to satisfy), and while

You wiped away the tears, recalling Lee,

I hugged you tighter. Had they told the truth?

I mean, your brother fell. You know the bridge

Was slippery. You know they cannot prove

He killed himself. Just take your privilege

To put these thoughts aside and sleep tonight.

In time, you’ll have perspective and the strength

To put your brother’s death back in the light,

To recall the times he went to any length

To pull you out of your self-pity. Now

Is not the time for asking “Why?” or “How?”

— 29 October 1985

The Artist In Me

The artist in me cannot resist this momentary desire

To put on paper words that burn, words that die, like fire.

The artist in me cannot deny this denial of the work ethic.

What is the work ethic?

What is reality?

I hear people speak of inner worlds and outer worlds,

How one is real, the other false.

I hear myself laugh and laughing.

“We see through the filter of our experience,” one says.

“We do not see the lens through which we look,” says the other.

The one I heard that said the most:

“Reality is only seven letters.”

— 26 September 1985

Sounds In The Night

Onaki som

Vrimurnika

Ola, mifrind, ola

Cizurpi, Ta

Omal jamal

Amarki ti nipur

Solonga long

Ananika

Aloki fanipa

Apar tipar

Avert aumur

Nipusi ti amour

– 7 October 1985

I’ve had the gift for flowery words

I’ve had the gift for flowery words

So I need not escape on grandiose schemes

Just put words upon this page

Without lofty themes

Tell you how I feel and leave

Let you see my love

Let you feel my need.

– 7 October 1985

Resisting Temptation

The world, in circle, flow —

The mind, enlightened, glows —

The civilized enclose —

The seed, on wind, grows —

The Classic and the Beautiful.

Forever setting forth

The future in the past

The past in the future

Setting a new course;

Careless and fancy-free.

Never you or us, just me.

– 7 October 1985

Crystal Mountain

“All I need is the air that I breathe

And to love you” —

Words sung by the master love-song serenader

(Of this age),

Julio Iglesias;

Words have taken on an acrid taste,

Become an irritant that burns the eyes,

Resounded in the ear explosively,

Shocked the touch of a gentle hand,

But words still smell good.

These symbols that I give you

Never can replace the hugs or the kisses;

These splotches of ink that you see

Take the place of my electrochemical longing,

My desire,

To hold you in my arms

And block their reality away from our world.

Each of us has an obsession,

A satisfaction of a basic/primal desire —

Cigarettes, alcohol, automobiles, guitars —

And if we’re lucky,

Our obsessions are part of our daily lives

(Hopefully, socially accepted).

So you see, not only do I love you

And wish I didn’t have to write these words to be with you,

I’m obsessed with you, baby,

And I want to be lucky.

– 10 October 1985

What if…

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Many of my conservative friends used to tell me that the government kept secret kill lists and secret tracking lists, following us by our cell phone GPS signals and Internet usage so the government could arrest or kill us at any time — I would either keep quiet and think they were being a bit paranoid or try to reason that it was too costly for the government (let alone private companies like Google) to track so many people.

The Snowden leaks proved them right and me wrong.

What if the other things my conservative friends and family tell me are true?

For instance:

  • Are Bill and Hitler Clinton longterm Soviet communist/socialists sleeper cells?
  • Is President Obama secretly following a Black Panther/Islamic agenda?
  • Is Ronald Reagan the greatest U.S. President ever?
  • Are we living in an Animal Farm world where some pigs think they’re more equal than others now that they’re on the podium, getting there by promising a more equal world until they got their hands in the till?
  • Will the banking and financial sectors, which were barely slapped on the wrists for causing the Great Recession, cause another economic meltdown because they feel invincible now that they’re “too big to fail”?
  • Are urbanites planning to steal land from the ruralites, incarcerating and killing those that get in the way of corporate greed to own all the means of food production and oil/mineral reserves?
  • Are corporations like Monsanto trying to own all the seeds that feed the people, in cahoots with a “star chamber” to control the whole population?
  • Was Obama brainwashed by Chinese communism when he lived in Indonesia?
  • Do we live in a dystopian technocratic society where our leaders with no formal military ethics training kill their own people using push-button, remote-control drones without getting blood on their hands?
  • Do cell phones cause longterm cancer?
  • How exactly does fluoridated water work on the brain?
  • Are cell phone towers secretly sending massive brain control signals?
  • Are mosquito control spraying programs the localised version of “chemtrails”?
  • Do the FBI and CIA create false files on people so they are kept in constant fear that they can be arrested at any time for any reason whatsoever and shipped to secret torture sites out of the country and out of the view of the American public, thus making the American people more accepting of socialist programs like Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, and the Affordable Care Act?
  • Do large corporations purposely keep employee wages so low that they’re forced to rely on the government for food and thus unwilling to revolt against a suppressive government?
  • Is there a list of more conservative fears I could find to investigate these questions I never took seriously before Edward Snowden opened my eyes to the reality that “just because you don’t believe they’re tracking you doesn’t mean they aren’t”?
  • Does the UN stockpile weapons in your city in anticipation of largescale riot control when food and water become scarce, driving prices out of reach of most people?
  • Are government scientists secretly developing a Soylent Green program to convert huge numbers of incarcerated people, arrested for the flimsiest of reasons, including being upset because the police raided the wrong apartment/house, into food when the time is right?
  • Could a teacher really be so drunk on vodka that she could get by with walking the school hallways wearing no pants?

In this Brave New Post-1984 World, anything is possible, even the repurposed use of Pinkerton-type “detectives” to track and keep people in line. Anyone think the Anti-Pinkerton Act is valid anymore?

Thank goodness I know that Richard Nixon was the greatest U.S. President who ever lived!

On days like this, finding ways to entertain myself is endlessly fun!

[On a side note, while typing this up, I got a call (“Hello. This Rachel from cardholder services…”) that the Caller ID said was from my own phone number.  How funny is that? (And how easy it is to create your own Caller ID info, if you know how.)]

The recklessness of youth

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Am I to understand that an international crisis has reignited and ended a 72-hour ceasefire because of the militaristic trigger-happy actions of teenagers with heavy doses of adrenaline and/or testosterone pumping through their blood vessels? Where is the sane, rational, wise adult leadership in Israeli and Palestinian circles when we need it? 😉

Or wait, I forgot. Is there an election coming up or contract negotiations in process that someone wants brownie points to add in hawkish posturing?

I really need to look at that Martian countdown clock and get back on track 200 marsyears in the future, n’est pas?

Humans on Earth repeat themselves ad infinitumurr, I mean nauseum!

Overthinking on the weekend

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So, my wife jokes that she and I often overthink situations (such as my backyard privacy screen that I finally finished a year after designing a Rube Goldberg monstrosity and ended up with a simple double-thickness reed barrier).

But we drip tiny drops of Chinese water torture into a pail that pales in comparison to Roko’s basilisk — the thought that a future superintelligence will look back on those who did not help it exist or hindered its creation and doom them to eternal living torture!

Guest post, posthumous, courtesy of Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

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HARRISON BERGERON by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. 

THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren't only equal 
before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter 
than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was 
stronger or quicker than anybody else. All this equality was due to the 
211th, 212th, and 213 th Amendments to the Constitution, and to the unceasing 
vigilance of agents of the United States Handicapper General. 

Some things about living still weren't quite right, though. April for 
instance, still drove people crazy by not being springtime. And it was in 
that clammy month that the H-G men took George and Hazel Bergeron's fourteen- 
year-old son, Harrison, away. 

It was tragic, all right, but George and Hazel couldn't think about it very 
hard. Hazel had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn't 
think about anything except in short bursts. And George, while his 
intelligence was way above normal, had a little mental handicap radio in his 
ear. He was required by law to wear it at all times. It was tuned to a 
government transmitter. Every twenty seconds or so, the transmitter would 
send out some sharp noise to keep people like George from taking unfair 
advantage of their brains. 

George and Hazel were watching television. There were tears on Hazel's 
cheeks, but she'd forgotten for the moment what they were about. 

On the television screen were ballerinas. 

A buzzer sounded in George's head. His thoughts fled in panic, like bandits 
from a burglar alarm. 

"That was a real pretty dance, that dance they just did," said Hazel. 

"Huh" said George. 

"That dance-it was nice," said Hazel. 

"Yup, " said George. He tried to think a little about the ballerinas. They 
weren't really very good-no better than anybody else would have been, anyway. 
They were burdened with sashweights and bags of birdshot, and their faces 
were masked, so that no one, seeing a free and graceful gesture or a pretty 
face, would feel like something the cat drug in. George was toying with the 
vague notion that maybe dancers shouldn't be handicapped. But he didn't get 
very far with it before another noise in his ear radio scattered his 
thoughts . 

George winced. So did two out of the eight ballerinas. 

Hazel saw him wince. Having no mental handicap herself, she had to ask George 
what the latest sound had been. 

"Sounded like somebody hitting a milk bottle with a ball peen hammer, " said 
George . 

"I'd think it would be real interesting, hearing all the different sounds," 
said Hazel a little envious. "All the things they think up." 



"Urn, " said George. 

"Only, if I was Handicapper General, you know what I would do?" said Hazel. 
Hazel, as a matter of fact, bore a strong resemblance to the Handicapper 
General, a woman named Diana Moon Glampers. "If I was Diana Moon Glampers," 
said Hazel, "I'd have chimes on Sunday- just chimes. Kind of in honor of 
religion . " 

"I could think, if it was just chimes," said George. 

"Well-maybe make 'em real loud," said Hazel. "I think I'd make a good 
Handicapper General." 

"Good as anybody else," said George. 

"Who knows better than I do what normal is?" said Hazel. 

"Right," said George. He began to think glimmeringly about his abnormal son 
who was now in jail, about Harrison, but a twenty-one-gun salute in his head 
stopped that. 

"Boy!" said Hazel, "that was a doozy, wasn't it?" 

It was such a doozy that George was white and trembling, and tears stood on 
the rims of his red eyes. Two of the eight ballerinas had collapsed to the 
studio floor, were holding their temples. 

"All of a sudden you look so tired," said Hazel. "Why don't you stretch out 
on the sofa, so's you can rest your handicap bag on the pillows, honeybunch." 
She was referring to the forty-seven pounds of birdshot in a canvas bag, 
which was padlocked around George's neck. "Go on and rest the bag for a 
little while," she said. "I don't care if you're not equal to me for a 
while . " 

George weighed the bag with his hands. "I don't mind it," he said. "I don't 
notice it any more. It's just a part of me." 

"You been so tired lately-kind of wore out," said Hazel. "If there was just 
some way we could make a little hole in the bottom of the bag, and just take 
out a few of them lead balls. Just a few." 

"Two years in prison and two thousand dollars fine for every ball I took 
out," said George. "I don't call that a bargain." 

"If you could just take a few out when you came home from work," said Hazel. 
"I mean-you don't compete with anybody around here. You just set around." 

"If I tried to get away with it," said George, "then other people ' d get away 
with it-and pretty soon we'd be right back to the dark ages again, with 
everybody competing against everybody else. You wouldn't like that, would 
you?" 

"I'd hate it," said Hazel. 

"There you are," said George. The minute people start cheating on laws, what 
do you think happens to society?" 



If Hazel hadn't been able to come up with an answer to this question, George 
couldn't have supplied one. A siren was going off in his head. 

"Reckon it'd fall all apart," said Hazel. 

"What would?" said George blankly. 

"Society," said Hazel uncertainly. "Wasn't that what you just said? 

"Who knows?" said George. 

The television program was suddenly interrupted for a news bulletin. It 
wasn't clear at first as to what the bulletin was about, since the announcer, 
like all announcers, had a serious speech impediment. For about half a 
minute, and in a state of high excitement, the announcer tried to say, 
"Ladies and Gentlemen." 

He finally gave up, handed the bulletin to a ballerina to read. 

"That's all right-" Hazel said of the announcer, "he tried. That's the big 
thing. He tried to do the best he could with what God gave him. He should get 
a nice raise for trying so hard." 

"Ladies and Gentlemen," said the ballerina, reading the bulletin. She must 
have been extraordinarily beautiful, because the mask she wore was hideous. 
And it was easy to see that she was the strongest and most graceful of all 
the dancers, for her handicap bags were as big as those worn by two-hundred 
pound men. 

And she had to apologize at once for her voice, which was a very unfair voice 
for a woman to use. Her voice was a warm, luminous, timeless melody. "Excuse 
me-" she said, and she began again, making her voice absolutely 
uncompetitive . 

"Harrison Bergeron, age fourteen," she said in a grackle squawk, "has just 
escaped from jail, where he was held on suspicion of plotting to overthrow 
the government. He is a genius and an athlete, is under-handicapped, and 
should be regarded as extremely dangerous." 

A police photograph of Harrison Bergeron was flashed on the screen-upside 
down, then sideways, upside down again, then right side up. The picture 
showed the full length of Harrison against a background calibrated in feet 
and inches. He was exactly seven feet tall. 

The rest of Harrison's appearance was Halloween and hardware. Nobody had ever 
born heavier handicaps. He had outgrown hindrances faster than the H-G men 
could think them up. Instead of a little ear radio for a mental handicap, he 
wore a tremendous pair of earphones, and spectacles with thick wavy lenses. 
The spectacles were intended to make him not only half blind, but to give him 
whanging headaches besides. 

Scrap metal was hung all over him. Ordinarily, there was a certain symmetry, 
a military neatness to the handicaps issued to strong people, but Harrison 
looked like a walking junkyard. In the race of life, Harrison carried three 
hundred pounds . 



And to offset his good looks, the H-G men required that he wear at all times 
a red rubber ball for a nose, keep his eyebrows shaved off, and cover his 
even white teeth with black caps at snaggle-tooth random. 

"If you see this boy, " said the ballerina, "do not - I repeat, do not - try 
to reason with him." 

There was the shriek of a door being torn from its hinges. 

Screams and barking cries of consternation came from the television set. The 
photograph of Harrison Bergeron on the screen jumped again and again, as 
though dancing to the tune of an earthquake. 

George Bergeron correctly identified the earthquake, and well he might have - 
for many was the time his own home had danced to the same crashing tune. "My 
God-" said George, "that must be Harrison!" 

The realization was blasted from his mind instantly by the sound of an 
automobile collision in his head. 

When George could open his eyes again, the photograph of Harrison was gone. A 
living, breathing Harrison filled the screen. 

Clanking, clownish, and huge, Harrison stood - in the center of the studio. 
The knob of the uprooted studio door was still in his hand. Ballerinas, 
technicians, musicians, and announcers cowered on their knees before him, 
expecting to die. 

"I am the Emperor!" cried Harrison. "Do you hear? I am the Emperor! Everybody 
must do what I say at once!" He stamped his foot and the studio shook. 

"Even as I stand here" he bellowed, "crippled, hobbled, sickened - I am a 
greater ruler than any man who ever lived! Now watch me become what I can 
become ! " 

Harrison tore the straps of his handicap harness like wet tissue paper, tore 
straps guaranteed to support five thousand pounds. 

Harrison's scrap-iron handicaps crashed to the floor. 

Harrison thrust his thumbs under the bar of the padlock that secured his head 
harness. The bar snapped like celery. Harrison smashed his headphones and 
spectacles against the wall. 

He flung away his rubber-ball nose, revealed a man that would have awed Thor, 
the god of thunder. 

"I shall now select my Empress!" he said, looking down on the cowering 

people. "Let 

the first woman who dares rise to her feet claim her mate and her throne!" 

A moment passed, and then a ballerina arose, swaying like a willow. 

Harrison plucked the mental handicap from her ear, snapped off her physical 
handicaps with marvelous delicacy. Last of all he removed her mask. 

She was blindingly beautiful. 



"Now-" said Harrison, taking her hand, "shall we show the people the meaning 
of the word dance? Music!" he commanded. 

The musicians scrambled back into their chairs, and Harrison stripped them of 
their handicaps, too. "Play your best," he told them, "and I'll make you 
barons and dukes and earls." 

The music began. It was normal at first-cheap, silly, false. But Harrison 
snatched two musicians from their chairs, waved them like batons as he sang 
the music as he wanted it played. He slammed them back into their chairs. 

The music began again and was much improved. 

Harrison and his Empress merely listened to the music for a while-listened 
gravely, as though synchronizing their heartbeats with it. 

They shifted their weights to their toes. 

Harrison placed his big hands on the girls tiny waist, letting her sense the 
weightlessness that would soon be hers. 

And then, in an explosion of joy and grace, into the air they sprang! 

Not only were the laws of the land abandoned, but the law of gravity and the 
laws of motion as well. 

They reeled, whirled, swiveled, flounced, capered, gamboled, and spun. 

They leaped like deer on the moon. 

The studio ceiling was thirty feet high, but each leap brought the dancers 
nearer to it. 

It became their obvious intention to kiss the ceiling. They kissed it. 

And then, neutraling gravity with love and pure will, they remained suspended 
in air inches below the ceiling, and they kissed each other for a long, long 
time . 

It was then that Diana Moon Clampers, the Handicapper General, came into the 
studio with a double-barreled ten-gauge shotgun. She fired twice, and the 
Emperor and the Empress were dead before they hit the floor. 

Diana Moon Clampers loaded the gun again. She aimed it at the musicians and 
told them they had ten seconds to get their handicaps back on. 

It was then that the Bergerons' television tube burned out. 

Hazel turned to comment about the blackout to George. But George had gone out 
into the kitchen for a can of beer. 

George came back in with the beer, paused while a handicap signal shook him 
up. And then he sat down again. "You been crying" he said to Hazel. 

"Yup, " she said. 



"What about?" he said. 

"I forget," she said. "Something real sad on television." 

"What was it?" he said. 

"It's all kind of mixed up in my mind," said Hazel. 

"Forget sad things," said George. 

"I always do," said Hazel. 

"That's my girl," said George. He winced. There was the sound of a rivetting 
gun in his head. 

"Gee - I could tell that one was a doozy, " said Hazel. 

"You can say that again," said George. 

"Gee-" said Hazel, "I could tell that one was a doozy." 

"Harrison Bergeron" is copyrighted by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., 1961.

Admission of Guilt?

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Bill Kling, Huntsville City Council member, as well as the entire state of Alabama, admitted guilt today in the contribution toward global warming and use of herbicides/pesticides to reduce the bee/bird population by reiterating the demand (a/k/a Ordinance No. 86-294 entitled “The Huntsville, Alabama, Grass and Weed Ordinance”) that residents maintain an inedible crop of grasses at a certain height that does not allow the grass to produce flowers and thus seeds all for the sake of “a way to help keep the community looking its best.””