Links of the day

Posted on 2012/02/15 by treetrunkrick • Tagged creativity, culture, digital illustrations, family, happiness, kitty kitty kitty, manolo garcia, poem, rob shields, scarlet heart, scott lasser, teaching, technology, word art, writing • 9 Comments

Posted on 2012/01/23 by treetrunkrick • Tagged casual conversation, chapter excerpt, ears, film, happiness, humour, poem, primers, satire, story, videos • Leave a comment

While we rearrange all the presentations and casual conversation primers for the upcoming Davos meeting, we present these two videos for your eyes, ears, nose, throat and, for some of you, your thorax:

Words of the day that speak to the few words of the day that…

Posted on 2012/01/10 by treetrunkrick • Tagged chapter excerpt, happiness, humour, nature, poem, satire, science, story, technology, word art • Leave a comment

Etymology.

Entomology.

Universal.

Uninterruptible.

A smile in queue at the Red Pig.

Rediagnosis with the neurologist.

Speech pathology.

Nurse practitioner.

Leaders joking in world news.

Medical decisions on the home front.

Letting the Waters Rush Past

Posted on 2011/12/19 by treetrunkrick • Tagged chapter excerpt, happiness, humour, meditation, nature, poem, satire, story • Leave a comment

In this moment am I,
Alone with quiet sounds of a nearly deserted house,
Influenced mainly by my thoughts only,
Letting neurons of old memories fire at will,
Wondering about the falsity of history,
The noisemakers who’d want my attention if I paid it willingly…

Prose. Prize. Reprisal. Appraisal.

Sounds evoking images the way they do.

Letting go of phrases.

“We all create reasons to justify our innate/trained behaviour patterns.”

“I” is a unique combination of nothing new, sharing traits with intersecting subsets.

Letting go of me.

Bowing out.

Happy in my anonymity, happy with momentary friendships, instant companions.

Au revoir.

Until we meet again…

This — a dance of words — a kind way of saying nothing.

A rock in a river, slowly rubbed smooth in the temporary meeting of a particlewave energy exchange.

With no ears to hear in the sedimentary substance, what effect does the noise of the rushing water have on the rock?

Ancient quote of the day

Posted on 2011/12/15 by treetrunkrick • Tagged history, poem, reading • Leave a comment

Although the times were warlike and the fates
Called to the fray, he lent a willing ear.
Yet must they plight their faith in simple form
Of law; their witnesses the gods alone.
No festal wreath of flowers crowned the gate
Nor glittering fillet on each post entwined;
No flaming torch was there, nor ivory steps,
No couch with robes of broidered gold adorned;
No comely matron placed upon her brow
The bridal garland, or forbad the foot (15)
To touch the threshold stone; no saffron veil
Concealed the timid blushes of the bride;
No jewelled belt confined her flowing robe (16)
Nor modest circle bound her neck; no scarf
Hung lightly on the snowy shoulder’s edge
Around the naked arm. Just as she came,
Wearing the garb of sorrow, while the wool
Covered the purple border of her robe,
Thus was she wedded. As she greets her sons
So doth she greet her husband. Festal games
Graced not their nuptials, nor were friends and kin
As by the Sabines bidden: silent both
They joined in marriage, yet content, unseen
By any save by Brutus. Sad and stern
On Cato’s lineaments the marks of grief
Were still unsoftened, and the hoary hair
Hung o’er his reverend visage; for since first
Men flew to arms, his locks were left unkempt
To stream upon his brow, and on his chin
His beard untended grew. ‘Twas his alone
Who hated not, nor loved, for all mankind
To mourn alike. Nor did their former couch
Again receive them, for his lofty soul
E’en lawful love resisted. ‘Twas his rule
Inflexible, to keep the middle path
Marked out and bounded; to observe the laws
Of natural right; and for his country’s sake
To risk his life, his all, as not for self
Brought into being, but for all the world:
Such was his creed. To him a sumptuous feast
Was hunger conquered, and the lowly hut,
Which scarce kept out the winter, was a home
Equal to palaces: a robe of price
Such hairy garments as were worn of old:
The end of marriage, offspring. To the State
Father alike and husband, right and law
He ever followed with unswerving step:
No thought of selfish pleasure turned the scale
In Cato’s acts, or swayed his upright soul.

Mathematics after the Aftermath

Posted on 2011/10/10 by treetrunkrick • Tagged happiness, humour, meditation, nature, poem, satire • Leave a comment

A tiny, nearly-transparent, flying insect landed on the window screen, its antennae/feelers flickering in the sunlight filtered through yellowing hickory tree leaves.

A paulownia tree blooms on the side of a mountain gap road.

The smell of a small dead animal – chipmunk? mouse? – wafts through the garage.

Brown leaves cover the back deck.

The cats wait for drops of a liquid vitamin-iron-mineral supplement to be placed on their Cornish Rex velveteen fur.

The midmorning quiet of Monday persists.

Dreamlike memories of screeching animals heard during a late-night snooze in the sunroom permeate.

The rhythm of articles, adjectives, nouns, subjects and verbs reverberate.

Life breaks down, decomposes, into component parts, compartmentalised.

Waiting, too, is an illusion – the universe never stops.

Thai Tea: Another Rainy Day in Paradise

Posted on 2011/08/27 by treetrunkrick • Tagged happiness, humour, poem, satire, word art • Leave a comment

Two months of freedom.

No asking if you want a refill of iced water,

Dessert,
Hotness level,

Or the check.

While wealthy financial aristocrats pretend to know we know what we want,

We look across a room.

Eyes the colour of dark chocolate,

Mahogany,

Deeper than teakwood*,

Ready to travel back home in 10 days.

Thailand.

Comfort zone.

Native language.

Familiar sights and sounds.

Pinned-up hair in hot weather.

A life as if treading water,

Waiting for something to happen while waiting at a restaurant,

Here in the Deep South,

Home of commanded materiel,

Defended missiles,

Parked research,

Fielded cotton

and sprouted, sprawling suburban scenery.

While Hurricane Hype pounds the East Coast with tropical rain showers,

A wisp of pop music, “Come on, Irene,” whispering in quiet magnitudes,

An aftershock of culture shock,

Modernday earthquake of an equivalent, equalised, civilised tribe,

Osmotically, hypnotically, chaotically pounces on thoughts

Focused in stages of labeled words.

One step closer.

One step farther away.

Further.

Gathering.

Trekking.

Folded hands meditating.

Bowing.

More cannot be said without saying more.

“More.”

[*What is a native Thai tree? Don’t write a poem without access to the Internet, or an old set of encyclopedias.]

The Energy Cost Value of a Thought

Posted on 2011/08/25 by treetrunkrick • Tagged happiness, humour, poem, satire, word art • Leave a comment

[For J.N.]

The greatest novel ever to exist rolled out a string of words five hundred pages long explaining the reasons, examining the history, exploring the physical aspects and ruminating on the thoughts why the protagonist lifted a finger five centimetres.

Not pointing.

Not moving.

Lifting.

The rise and fall of civilisations.

Romances lost.

Skyscrapers erected.

Hypotheses proposed, proved and disproved.

Approved and disposed.

Deposed and posed.

Approached and discarded.

Carded and boozed.

Booed and cheered.

One finger.

Skin, hair, muscles, bone.

Wrinkles.

Scars.

Sweat.

Symbiotic relationships hiding in cells.

Read by no one.

Burnt after written.

Fading from memory.

Nearly…

soon…

forgotten.

Greatness is a comparison.

We’ll never know the gap between the greater and the greatest.

We surmise by what is missing from the zeitgeist.

A smell on the air of personal achievement.

Someone else will approximate –

dividing, slicing, calculating derivations –

“close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, atomic bombs and drive-in movies.”

One ten-thousandth of a microgram away from perfection.

Five or six sigma, if necessary.

What is a boson compared to a universe?

What is a universe compared to a multiverse?

What is a single verse compared to a poem, sonnet, ballad or book?

Dimming, darkening, slowing down.

The pace of a snail, the speed of a bullet train, the gap between heartbeats.

The life of a star system.

Importance is relative.

Relatives are important.

In the second book, the finger sat back down.

The last volume in the trilogy hinted about the frequency at which the finger tapped.

The rhythm was the unsolved mystery.

The mystery of life’s rhythm, of course.

The next generation solved another clue: the change in frequency.

Generations would pass before the volume of tapping was distinguished from general, noisy background sounds.

Let a drop of oil fall into a cup of water and film the event at high speed, trillions of frames per second.

Then play it back at a speed of 10 frames per second.

While watching, imagine you’re seeing a thought pass through a synaptic gap, or the universe expanding and contracting like a soap bubble next to millions of other soap bubbles in the bathtub.

Or a baby’s cry hitting a mother’s eardrum.

A tear falling from a dying man.

The first raindrop ending a thousand-year old drought.

The greatest novel never read is lived every day.

Do Rainbows Exert Gravitational Forces?

Posted on 2011/08/20 by treetrunkrick • Tagged happiness, humour, meditation, music, poem, satire, word art • Leave a comment

Another evening of a flashing cursor giving me a blank look.

Names and faces flashing through my synapses.

Debra, Dana, Jenn, Denise, Effy, April, Marcie, the Thankful Girl, to name a few.

Janeil, of course.

Tick bites itching.

Another story itching to be told.

Asking myself where’s the Muse who stands there before me.

My dreams can’t, don’t, won’t wait.

I need a rocket propulsion specialist.
Or at least someone who thinks like one.

Someone who can solve the gravitational equation in ways not yet considered.

Not every sign is meant for me.

A bra on a table.

A ballroom showcase spectacular with a dark waltz, tango and stray cat strut.

An arts-and-crafts room full of wonderful ladies, young in thought and wise in years.

Tick bites itching.

Glenfiddich rumbling in my stomach.

The Rocket City Short Film Festival asking permission for my attention.

Claire Lynch and company up for bluegrass awards.

High school football under way.

NASCAR premiere series finishing up just before Danica drives fulltime.

Nine years without a steady mate, one says.

Giving up on laughter and fun because two youthful bodies no longer exist.

Dancers young enough to be my grandkids having fun on the dance floor, instead.

I’m in the wrong business.

I…there’s that label again.

I can’t always get what I want.

So I wait.

The generation gap is what it is, but I’m on the other side now.

Wisdom is the illusion I always thought it would be.

Experiences count.

My mother in-law’s hometown bridge partners are disappearing from the table, her young friend, nearly 85, almost blind.

I descended into madness – it was a temporary amusement park ride – another illusion.

Another tick on my body. It must be these shorts I wore in the poison ivy patch yesterday. Or the shoes.

Seed ticks, about the size of the dot at the end of this sentence.

With legs.

Itches are illusions, too, building like the contagion of sneezing or yawning.

More to be said, but time for bed.

I’ve seven billion lives to incorporate into my dream.

Illusory.

Alliterative.

Iterative.

Reiterative.

Zombies and aliens aren’t here to save you.

I am.

It’s what I do.

This average body in this day and age.

Composing the story of our lives, neither worse nor best in comparison to other times.

Vertical farming and alternative power sources providing marginal but much needed change to our macro system solutions.

And I’ll keep giving away my stuff – my life, my ideas, my stories – because a lifetime of accumulation has reached its stacked, stored and saturated point.

Would that I could provide shelter for a rocket propulsionist or other friendly face.

My days of funding Muses have passed me by.

Nowadays, I’m all about finishing a story I started when I was a kid.

Solo dancing most of the day.

I can hardly spare a dime.

The tale’s the motivation now.

All I can offer is a space for a character or two.

Free of charge.

Are you along for this ride on the edge of a gravitational trajectory?

What if we could overcome Earth’s gravitational pull together?

Where would we go if gravity waves inhabit the whole universe?

Can I tell your story in more detail?

If so, how?

Where?

A story to tell and then real life pulls you in, the event horizon of a black hole, no matter its illusion, waiting to rip you apart.

Am I able to rip my life apart again for the sake of a good story?

Knowing I’ll just go on to the next story.

And the next.

Until I die.

In the days when I traveled, I could create a working space for a good story away from real life.

Away from domestic life.

Toward someone like you.

It all depends on the adventure that wants, waits, to be told.

I want to tell an excellent story.

A keeper.

We’ll see.

Messages are read loudly, clearly and slowly.

The boldness of silence.

In the humid heat of a Huntsville summer at Lowe Mill in the Flying Monkey Theatre.

A Work In Progress: Chapter AT50855

Posted on 2011/08/11 by treetrunkrick • Tagged book, poem • Leave a comment

A Work In Progress

Did You?

I sit with others who’ve paid to sit here;

You sit here to learn e-commerce.

We all walk away with changes to ourselves

But are your changes like mine?

Society tells me you naturally think differently,

My natural instincts tell me we think alike,

That we all want to live.

How does e-commerce help me want to live?

How does e-commerce help you want to live?

Maybe we will never know but that doesn’t stop me from wondering.

I wonder…

…where you get your red hair

…what puts a smile on your face

…what you think of me (if indeed, you think of me at all)

I’ll always wonder and never know but that is the joy and mystery of who you are,

A human like me

Full of lost opportunities, present uncertainties, and future possibilities.

The smile on your face puts a smile in my heart

And if I get nothing more from e-commerce class

Than the memory of your smile, the profile of your face

And the reflection of your hair,

Then I’ve gotten more than the university class I attended.

— 14 Sept 2000
= == === ==== === == =