Unnoticed in Clever Worlds

The clearest description I have managed so far about my blog is that it is not about cats. In general, I find predators pretty predictable while prey on the other-hand, because they live in universes of anxiety, develop more textured personalities. I also have as a writer a deft hand when it comes to making matters worse, so of course , the already panicky are ready made for me. I will try to grow this blog into an assortment of laughs, because that is what my life has mostly taught me to do. I will use the famous people I have known to get your attention and then tell you small but many times wonderful things about them. I will never name the ones I say ugly things about but I hope you will guess who they are.

Month: July, 2014

Hooray for Climate Change

Who doesn’t anticipate exciting weather? I have quantifiable better days when I know a rain or snowstorm is approaching. Others are buoyed by a stint of clear, hot sunny days and still others can’t wait for winter so there is little need to show one’s body to others.
Subconsciously we are delighting in this climate change hoax. It keeps us glued to our TVs in hopes that some early warning message will run in red at the bottom of the screen predicting the best places to live 800 years from now when the planet becomes finally uninhabitable. All I can say is, “Me too.”
Like any good mass hysteria it affords us opportunities to ground down our neighbors for their failure to believe what they are told. Nearly every day some dumbass football player will twitter something that denies our barometric belief systems and he will be promptly be suspended for two games and sent to consciousness reforming counseling.
We are apes regularly traumatized by bananas falling on our heads and we are still loving every minute of it.
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Unanchored Mothers and Cup Cakes

An unanchored mother is sure footed when baking for her kids.
She needs no other moorings when she wields her Crisco pans and while her oven is heating those little buns of crumbly love, as she kneads them into the crinkly colored tissue.
She daydreams of icing slapped mouths, puckered into pint-sized hearts, kissing her cheeks.
They need nothing more now than sitting neatly at the unanchored mother’s dinner table eating cupcakes.
And the arrangement is perfect but for the hole at the end of this table where her anchor once sat.
The kids gobble too fast, and they love to talk, but not about the part that is empty.
They talk to each other mostly, while she listens and understands that what they say must be remembered by her alone.
Never to be recalled later and shared in a quiet bed with that Cyclops eye of long marriage.
And they eat so quickly, then they beg to go play and off they go.
The unanchored mother sits at the unbalanced table, with the half-wolfed tray of cupcakes, recalling how he would always try to avoid eating them with her.
She doesn’t remember things dependably now, as the days run over one another, and that’s nobody’s fault.
The cupcakes are still fun, and the kids had a good time, which is her point.
Certainly, there is nothing to blame. One can’t accuse the rolling ball of yarn that unspools just out of your reach.
The unmoored mother spins in her sea of empty plates and crumbs and meals that wait to be made and served
to the kids who will hurry through her suppertimes while marking, with every mouthful, the slow departure that is their growing up.
The unanchored mother, rocking in her lonely and noiseless sea, reaches for another cupcake and for the time that is left to her.

When Wrapping was a Bonus

I was a son of a generation of people who did not remove the heavy transparent plastic from living room furniture after it was delivered. They left it on as protection for years. It made sense to them and they considered it a bonus.

With Only One Song

Not all women hear children cry anymore
There are other songs, singing to us now
We deserve the solace that is coming
It has been so long
With only one song

When it Decides to Last

I have come to realize I am never going to be a fine writer. I can toss together word salads that are very good, but rarely can I link them into anything resembling what real writers can do.
This does not surprise me as it is in keeping with a lifetime of short spurt intelligence that has taken me further than I ever could have hoped for.
Overall, I have nothing to prove and have landed in a circle of people who will love and respect me anyway.
“Anyway” is the place love parks when it decides to last.

Introspections in Dark Bars

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Henry David Thoreau

I used this quote to boundless advantage in college. I coupled it to seriously handsome introspections in dark bars. This recipe predictably generated an eagerness in women who equated words, they couldn’t understand with all the preconditions for sex they had earlier memorized while pouring through romance magazines.

Crazy Neighbors

Religion is always only a labor meant to control crazy neighbors.images

Better than Nothing

You cannot prove nor disprove yourself a good person on social media. You can, however, demonstrate that the approval of strangers is more than you now have. Nothing a stranger thinks can ever be untrue.

The Mucus of the Mob

It is hard to argue with the phlegmy lucidity that makes a case for not striking back if you are hit first.

A Very small Achievement

Tolerance is no longer voluntary. It has become a very small achievement.
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