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.

Category: Unnoticed in Clever Worlds

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

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

Forever becomes

In my experience the earlier you find someone to love forever, the shorter forever becomes.

Looking back in Anger

Is condemning a person for what they did thirty or forty years ago different than criticizing someone for not accomplishing enough after having that same amount of time to achieve?

Anton Johansson (1858 – 1909) and Tony Romo

We live in times that suggest that it takes a fool to admit he is one. I was wrong about Tony Romo. Mind you; I still detest that he strives to predict every coming play in a football game because I never want to know what is going to happen. My wife and most of America feel otherwise. I don’t get them.
I included Anton here as an example of another annoying predictor I am glad I never knew personally. Regis Boff


Known affectionately as the Christian Seer of Finnmark, Anton Johansson of Sweden is famous for the prediction of the sinking of Titanic. He also predicted the First World War in Central Europe, the Russian Revolution, the defeat of Germany in the First and the Second Wars. As an old man, Johansson was highly obsessed with what he termed a Third World War. He stated it would break out at “the end of July, beginning of August, I do not know the year,” but went on to detail a Russian invasion of Europe and the Middle East.


I bought my first cane. Old age brings with it a lessening of pride, at least it has for me. It has made me nearly invulnerable.
I have become an opportunity for those around me to be kind. It’s my new hobby. I can feel their sympathy like breezes.
The world would be a better place if we all had canes. Pain is easier to see with props.

Stealing your kid’s food

I feel safer around people who believe in a God, and any deity is OK with me as long as It is unreasonably stern. Elastic deities are too convenient for me. I like the lightning bolts, frogs, and salted inlaws types. They keep the real lousy next-door-neighbor in check.

Morality does not spontaneously spring from inside us as they teach it in colleges. Humans can’t be trusted to do the right thing without divine policing — a sad but unarguable truth.
Any goodwill our species accomplishes has been under development since the first apes whistled.
People never recognize how many Gods, over thousands of years, it has taken to prevent modern-day fathers from stealing food from their children. Thieving your kid’s Fruit Loops is, of course, no “Rape of the Sabines,” but without divine discipline, peaking on the horizon, the practice would be rampant.


Why are all barbers Italian?

You will notice that this sign, posted in my childhood barbershop, is the official one and that this barber specialized in cutting hair “correctly”, and “The way you like it”.
Hidden inside these haircut names are the formulas for what made American men the “best”. These were cuts for invading other nations, stripping the poor away from their self-respect, and, it goes without saying, only for white men. This barber knew there wasn’t room inside a football helmet for long hairs, cut out messages for your mother or Afros. No one knew why all the barbers back then were Italian but we had suspicions. by Regis Boff


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