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, 2018

MMMMy Generation

My generation has been a disappointment. We have run around for fifty years touting our botox exaggerated vanities and our disheveled common sense, still to this day quarreling about the identical things we argued about a half a century ago.
Our government is a swollen toilet of obstinate ideologies which are purposefully preserved to make us feel we should be somehow respected with age.
We have spent our children into unimaginable debt and are trying to convince them and ourselves that we had no choice but to do it. Meanwhile, the same people who were desperate then are desperate now.
We have given up on common civility, and in a last-ditch effort, we are punishing speech, using the make-believe world of television morality as our blunderbuss and our church.


I told my wife tonight that the only thing I ever bought just to look at was her. She made me dinner.

Fire engines and apologies

I am a burner. In these times of ever-encroaching global climate catastrophe, we need to return to the age of autumn leaf burning. As a boy, I would watch transfixed as mammoth piles of gathered leaves flamed out of control in our neighborhood. Grown men, whimpering involuntarily, frantically tried to beat back the perimeter of their crazily windblown pyres with wooden rakes in pitiable attempts to slow the wildfires they had deliberately set. In my experience, nothing draws a community together like one neighbor burning down the house of another. Saturdays in our little community, many times turned into picnics with fire engines and apologies.
I live now, in the self-proclaimed epicenter of tree populations, at least on the Eastern seaboard. On any given day you might run across an Ent mumbling about never having heard about a Hobbit. The old autumnal dance of leaf cleansing is still a pastime but burning them is forbidden now. We are expected to buy special bags to put our leaves in, to be later carried away by our public municipal workers to some unverified town leaf gulag. I find the rules governing the gathering of my leaves daunting and just a little fear-provoking, and I suspect (knowing my neighbors reasonably well) that I am not alone. I am beginning to get the feeling that my government is turning me into a kind of environmental janitor. Trying to rid my property of leaves is a little like tropical fish in an aquarium trying to spit water out of their tank. I understand that there are enormous industries and political positions built around this leaf thing and more is required of us all, but I feel the unpleasant winds of dictatorial social conscience heading in my direction and I don’t play well with people who know what is best for me.
This is a civil quarrel that I am ready for. If global warming is a fact, then what better tactic to employ than a massive ring of leaf soot surrounding our planet, blocking out the sun, forcing our temperatures to nosedive? This is nifty and well rounded, as solutions go. Got a match?


The Dead Doll Margaret Thomson Janvier (1845–1913)

YOU needn’t be trying to comfort me—I tell you my dolly is dead!
There ’s no use in saying she isn’t, with a crack like that in her head.
It ’s just like you said it wouldn’t hurt much to have my tooth out, that day;
And then, when the man ’most pulled my head off, you hadn’t a word to say.

And I guess you must think I ’m a baby, when you say you can mend it with glue: 5
As if I didn’t know better than that! Why, just suppose it was you?
You might make her look all mended—but what do I care for looks?
Why, glue ’s for chairs and tables, and toys and the backs of books!

My dolly! my own little daughter! Oh, but it ’s the awfullest crack!
It just makes me sick to think of the sound when her poor head went whack 10
Against that horrible brass thing that holds up the little shelf.
Now, Nursey, what makes you remind me? I know that I did it myself!

I think you must be crazy—you ’ll get her another head!
What good would forty heads do her? I tell you my dolly is dead!
And to think I hadn’t quite finished her elegant new spring hat! 15
And I took a sweet ribbon of hers last night to tie on that horrid cat!

When my mamma gave me that ribbon—I was playing out in the yard—
She said to me, most expressly, “Here ’s a ribbon for Hildegarde.”
And I went and put it on Tabby, and Hildegarde saw me do it;
But I said to myself, “Oh, never mind, I don’t believe she knew it!” 20

But I know that she knew it now, and I just believe, I do,
That her poor little heart was broken, and so her head broke too.
Oh, my baby! my little baby! I wish my head had been hit!
For I ’ve hit it over and over, and it hasn’t cracked a bit.

But since the darling is dead, she ’ll want to be buried, of course: 25
We will take my little wagon, Nurse, and you shall be the horse;
And I ’ll walk behind and cry, and we ’ll put her in this, you see—
This dear little box—and we ’ll bury her there out under the maple-tree.

And papa will make me a tombstone, like the one he made for my bird;
And he ’ll put what I tell him on it—yes, every single word! 30
I shall say: “Here lies Hildegarde, a beautiful doll, who is dead;
She died of a broken heart, and a dreadful crack in her head

I See London, I see France

All the morning new’s shows are deliriously randy after snatching a glimpse under Donald Trump’s dress on a tape from Michael Cohen, TRUMP”S FIXER!!!!!!!.
I too can remember the first time I dropped a pencil under my desk to get a glance at a girl’s panties in four grade.

PUBLISHED: July 25, 2018
FILED UNDER: Unnoticed in Clever Worlds

Unless a culture can accumulate ugly names for each of its residents the logic of unity will never occur to them.

I didn’t post anything yesterday and this morning I realized my left-ear had disappeared.

I don’t matter

There has never been a greater urgency for us to recognize that what we think is unimportant.

What men do

Men fight wars, watch sports and doggedly pursue a wildly adjustable standard of beauty that is grounded entirely on availability.

So sad are us

This civil war between the left and right began the moment Trump was elected before he had done anything at all except win. It was as though someone had turned all the lights off on the Democrats, one day after Obama was out of office. Undoubtedly the hope he stood for eight years was sturdier than that. I just don’t understand.
There are no reasons great enough to deliberately destroy America that I can fathom nor condone. I am just too old to want to witness the fight to the death that people seem to be clamoring for. I think my generation should be behaving more generously with one another after all these years. Maybe we boomers would best serve our nation by dying out quickly and letting our kids find a reason to want to stop trying to destroy one another. We clearly have failed.

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