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: February, 2019

Hanging onto Virginity

Every teenage boy will believe they are the first if they are smitten. If there is a truly valuable moral concerning sex it is to always ” lie like a gangster.

The diversity diet of Scranton Pennsylvania

While bunching up the line for homemade rhubarb and kale pies at the Farmers Market Wednesday, I got into a heated exchange with my two girlfriends. Innocently, I mentioned the headway on this “diversity” thing I was making in our village. My tactic, such as it could be flattered, was to invite people of “difference” over to my house for dinner. This way, we would grow more like one another and not so “diverse” anymore. Problems solved.
Well, nothing seems to empty little minds like jealousy. The two annoying magpies chirped that I had “diversity” all wrong, that it meant to accept differences without interference. Things then became frosty, let me tell you.
Without stopping to swallow her saliva, one of them offered that I might be interested in her new diet, which consisted of eating only foods grown in Scranton, Pennsylvania.
It hurt me that my diversity dinners now seemed so inept. Before I could fight back, however, my other friend, now nearly hobbled with rage over the diet thing, briskly offered that she had lost over forty pounds by eating nothing but beets for six months.
Seizing the moment, I snidely assured her that I hardly noticed the red stains around her mouth, then I paid, collected my pies, and left feeling good and childish.
I was unsettled. I had figured that a winning strategy for this diversity riddle was at hand. I had asked a black couple, I barely knew, over for dinner next week to lance our differences.
” So the aim is to keep people different ?” I mulled crestfallen.
Fortunately, the people I had invited to dinner called and canceled. Out of respect for each other, we never tried again.

How to watch the news

I grew up with scaly, dour old men reporting world events to me as though the news demanded unappealing but venerable newscasters to dampen our population’s suspected tendencies to giggle at the world’s misfortunes. We are drawn to the news because we don’t like to miss stuff and because we, each of us, are deluded enough to think we are vital in shaping our nation’s direction.

Cable networks revealed that all news is far more enjoyable if it is brazenly biased. Every American is appalled by the slant of television reporting, so we each pick news people we think are telling the truth and if our goal has been a bisected, persistently testy country it seems to be going well. I am the only person I know who watches the news with a genuine disregard for his own beliefs. I accomplish this by first screening the newswomen who are delivering it for their beauty alone. Then I put together the prettiest into a viewing timeline and presto, the news!

When I was in high school me and my friends always made sure good-looking girls felt insecure about how smart they were. I know now this sabotage was horribly mean but we who were plain were jealous of how unearned physical attractiveness opened all doors for them. We believed that being smart would make us the successful ones, the ones who would be on TV.

I get my news, my weather, my traffic reports, financial advice​, even my political commentary only from the most alluring women in the world. I refuse to a take a pill unless I have been warned of its side effects by a preternaturally exquisite woman (and, I confess, sometimes a drop dead gorgeous man) I would love to date.

I have warned the media that I am fickle, that I am immune to truth, facts, and intellect, and that I am as shallow as they. They have nervously responded by shoving ever increasingly more breathtaking women onto the air.

Your father will be home soon


Mom, why are we at home and sitting in the living room?

Your father will be home soon

Why haven’t you started making dinner?

It’s dinnertime, and we should be ready for father.

Why are the groceries still in the bags?

Because your father will be home soon

There is no point in making dinner until he comes.

Once your father is here, he’ll decide where we’ll eat.

Why did you take us out of school so early?

And why are you still wearing your coat in the house?

And why are you wearing your hat?

Because your father will be home soon

And we will be here to greet him

He will know if we should go out to eat

He will have ideas about where to go.

He will have presents for you, and we will be ready.

Why are grandma and grandpa at the door and why is grandpa wearing a suit?

Why is grandma wearing her fancy dress and her necklace?

And why do they have their suitcases?

Because your father will be home soon,

And he loves to see grandma and grandpa.

Maybe they will come to dinner with us,

And your father might want us to get dressed up

They might stay over for a while

And why is grandma wiping her eyes with her handkerchief?

Why do our neighbors keep coming to the door?

And why are they bringing us food if we are going out to eat?

It is getting toward evening, and your father will be home soon

The neighbors don’t know that father will be home

The man on the phone said father wouldn’t be coming home soon

Some of the neighbors are saying father will not be coming home

Mom, What’s going to happen to us without father?

Mom? Mom?

Your father will be home soon

Your father will be home soon

Hard to be a woman

We rarely get a glimpse of how hard it is to be a woman. It is because they all share the misfortune of beauty. 

The Virgin Car


Women and cars shared a puritanical system when I grew up. “New” or “virgin” were the goals of every young man. Soiled women were “used,” just like previously owned cars. Most women just lied about all this, not unlike car salesmen do. Men, of course in both situations are anxious to believe any deception.

My Dad and Eating the Family Dog

My dad was good at being cheap.
He was an everyday man living in the compost of his 1930’s Depression memories, which he had passed to us with regimented seriousness. I still carry his odd, but brightly austere shrapnel in me now into my own old age.
I have long forgiven him everything. He gave me a good reason to be smarter than him.
My sister and I never entirely escaped the atmospheres we grew up in. We simply Windexed his fears off of us, as best we could, and carried on without his advice. His penny-pinching ingenuity still shows in my behavior. Clemson, my dog, and I will both eat merrily out of cans for pennies a day if left alone too long.
Our Dad invented “entropy.” It is a hypothesis in physics that contends that all things gradually decline into disorder or in his words, “wear out.”
” Every light bulb has only so many on and offs,” he would threaten as he hit me. Of course, I turned this into a lifetime of glancing skyward expectantly figuring the universe was going to run out of daytime.
Growing up we had a lot of dogs. They would disappear, (usually hit by cars,) with such regularity that we would sniff our dinner meat if one were absent at dinner time.

The Middle of Nebraska 1969

My first car was a used Buick Electra convertible. I bought it to travel across the country.
It was the longest car manufactured in the United States at the time. I abandoned it, sandwiched between endless cornfields on a summer Nebraskan evening in 1969.
It continues to this day to be the only car, in the Midwest, acknowledged by a mailing address. Two families have lived in it since.
I was a college hippy and she an Isreali. She was a gulpingly lovely girl who never fully embraced my car. She felt the car misrepresented her worth.
She dumped me and my broken ride in the off-road gravel and hitchhiked back east. I stole some raw corn and went in the other direction.
From then on I sought vengeance on all of them. Not on the corn, on the women. It was great fun.
It did not occur to me until decades later that the only reason I worked at all was to buy expensive cars. Precision machines are potent symbols of compatibility to a woman.
The most stunning women, many of whom can otherwise barely sneeze without advice, know the price of any car on the road.
After I married, the dynamic of seduction had to be re-calibrated. We moved to a small town that new couples want for their children. They buy Volvo station wagons​, as did we. It is the most deceitful machine ever marketed. Breathtakingly fast, it draws in the unbelieving​ and continuously half-erect male. The woman, however, knows that crash test dummies play Scrabble in it, during collision tests.
My current car and I are growing old together. Both of us entering into a more predictable repair schedule. It takes me to doctors, and I take it to our mechanic on Main St.
I sense a certain smugness from this car as if it thinks it might outlast me.
Then that old hardness in me shows itself, and I suggest it might like Nebraska.

PUBLISHED: February 15, 2017
FILED UNDER: Unnoticed in Clever Worlds

My First Orgies

I have witnessed orgies. They were not uncommon on WHO tours. I did not participate. To do so would have been outside my job description.
I was introduced to sex around others at drive-in theaters in high school in Pittsburgh during the early sixties. Mind you, sex was more in it’s “touching her bits” phase and nothing remotely full blown but I was clearly two or three feet from another couple during the action. The experience was dangerously not “Methodist” but it was hardly “Roman”.

Arrows in Snowstorms

Eternity is a grooved spinning record,
go round and round,
We are on the edge of it all,
forever guessing if we are a song.

Every tune pretends to melody
Nothing is still.
Our voices carry,
My whistling
may reach Neptune.
But Neptune, like God, refuses to echo.

Cicadas lullaby in the last heat
of summer evenings.
All as though
they are going to live.
Nothing disturbs the evenhanded blizzard
that is being alive.
We all think there is time to laugh
at the comedy of death.

True love is an arrow fired straight
into the snowstorm of maybes.
The young girl sends her tune
into the whirling and crashing noise
of her suitors.
Who are,
All different,
all the same
all waiting.
Until she finds
the one that does not melt
away.

PUBLISHED: February 8, 2016
FILED UNDER: Poem, Poems, Poetry, Unnoticed in Clever Worlds

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