Category: Uncategorized

The Lesson

His backpack seems light. Walking along, he thinks, what did he forget? In a flash, he concludes, OMG, I forgot the power brick. As he walks, he considers options and decides, just stay off the net, edit, and work as long as possible before the power is gone.

It’s a downer because he was looking forward to the work session. Now it was all changed.

But unpacking, everything is there. He’d forgotten nothing. It would be business as usual.

Sipping his coffee, he thinks, I put all that energy into worrying about a possibility that didn’t come to be, a possibility based on a false perception.

There must be a lesson there, he decides, and then goes to work.

2

Guidelines for A Relationship with Your Muse(s)

I’ve been coping with my muse(s) for years. I’m not certain how many I have. I may have one muse with shape-shifting skills and multiple personalities, or a horde with very distinct skill sets and ideas. I suspect my muses are both of these ideas.

Muse(s) can be fickle. Having employed some mechanisms that helped me get along with my muse(s), I thought I’d compile some brief, general guidelines. These are recorded to help me in the future, but since I’m typing them up, I thought sharing them might help others when they’re dealing with their muse(s).

  1. Shelter your muse(s) like kittens, puppies, kits, and fledglings. They’re cute, tender, and impressionable, and need to be fed, protected, and nurtured. They depend on you for everything.
  2. It helps to act like you’re handling a fourteenth-century Ming dynasty vase when you’re conversing with your muse(s). They’re rare, fragile, and irreplaceable.
  3. Regard your muse(s) like they’re famous geniuses such as William Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Stephen Hawking, Jackson Pollock, Maya Angelou, or Frank Lloyd Wright. They have a lot to offer, and you should pay attention.
  4. Behave with your muse(s) as you would with family that you enjoy having around, and respect and interact with your muse(s) as you do with family that you must love because they’re family, but you have no idea why they do the things that they do.
  5. Follow your muse(s) like they’re a famous performer, like Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, Mick Jagger, Janis Joplin, Aretha Franklin, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Beyonce, or Kanye West, or a movie star like Jimmy Stewart, Sir Lawrence Olivier, Meryl Streep, Tom Hanks, Dwight Johnson, Jerry Lewis, Casey Affleck, or Bruce Campbell.
  6. Care for your muse(s) like a favorite elderly pet who seems to be fading.
  7. Obey your muse(s) like you’re a child and they’re your parent(s).
  8. Nurture, protect, and teach your muse(s) like you’re their parent(s) and they’re your child, perhaps a two-year-old, or a sixteen-year-old. They could be both from moment to moment. Part of the fun is understanding which one they are.
  9. Interact with your muse(s) like they’ve been convicted of being a serial killer who escaped from prison and is standing in your bedroom.
  10. React to your muse(s) like they’re the monsters under your bed. You’re not sure if they’re real, but you keep hearing noises, and it’s really, really dark.
  11. Embrace your muse(s) like a bolt of lightning during a thunderstorm. It can be painful and illuminating, but rewarding, if you survive.
  12. Finally, have fun with your muse(s). Pretend that you’re all celebrating graduating high-school and becoming an adult by getting drunk.

Employing these simple strategies have rewarded me with the same sort of wonderful relationship that I have with a stranger that I bump into at a parade. With a little observation and effort, you can have the same kind of relationship.

Good luck!

0

The Naked Dream

So I said, “I’ll take my clothes off, if you do.” And I did without waiting for the other to respond.

It was a nebulous, quicksilver dream. My dream doesn’t have markers but that part happened deep into it. To begin, I was visiting a think tank. Don’t think of Rand Corp or anything, think small, barely funded radicals with computers and ideas. They were an interesting group of mostly young men and women who were interested in ideas and data. I have just met them. I’m a visitor. It’s a little awkward. I’m not socially graceful, and neither are they.

I don’t remember much of the conversations. Flashes come back to me, like, “She has the network firewalled to limit exposure to outside events so that our thinking won’t become polluted or maligned.” I said back, “I can connect you to the outside world through my laptop.” This was declined, but we went back and forth about whether I would be able to do what I claimed, the philosophy behind the firewall, and the perceived advantages and disadvantages.

But many conversations were going on with people coming and going. As that conversation rolled, another was taken up about Derrick’s study. Becoming interested in what was being said, I wanted to see Derrick’s study. Then it was mentioned that Derrick — a morose looking white fellow with a mop of dark hair in jeans and a pullover — always did his data collecting in the nude. That’s when I made my offer as part of an effort to cajole the data out of Derrick. Derrick does not take his clothes off. He seems like a downer to be around. The whole group is like that.

Later, I’m nude.

I feel a little self-aware and conspicuous, but nobody is paying my nudity much mind. Someone else is going to share Derrick’s data. We all go down to another room where a slide show is presented. I’m fascinated, but others drift away. New projects are offered and discussed. I’m engaging with others about their projects. Some projects are about diet habits. One in particular, led by a woman, interests me more. I’m enlisted into working on it. About to go out to collect data after volunteering to do that, I joke, “But first I’ll dress.” Standing up, I pull on my pants. Nobody laughs.

Strange group, I think. Fade out.

2

Jumpin’

Jumpin’ from the fire into the pan

Burns the balls off this man

Changes the way he thinks and plan

Maybe he should go get a cat scan

 

Jumpin’ from the roof on the car

Knowing like this he wouldn’t go far

Still hoping maybe he’ll be a star

But probably should’ve learned to play guitar

 

Jumpin’ on the bed with her

Buying her clothes, jewels, and fur

Wishing she wouldn’t act like a cur

Feeling the cold, I shiver, brrr.

 

Jumpin’ on the paths

falling on my ass

gettin’ back up

smiling, wassup?

It’s old, it’s new, it’s jumpin’.

0

The Hot New Show

I received an email from Acorn online today. They were touting a hot new show, something called “Mannix”.

After a double-take and then a reread, I pondered, is this a joke? No, so maybe “Mannix” had been rebooted, the latest marketing term for when an old show is made new again.

To duckduckgo I went. I couldn’t find anything on a “Mannix” reboot (although I did think about who could replace Mike Connors, and since we’re re-booting it, wouldn’t it be fun to have a middle-aged black woman as the tough, smart P.I., and then thought, I would love to see Simone Missick in that role) so I went back to the email for more information.

I learned it was the original “Mannix” that’s the hot new show. All of this was a bit depressing because the old is being made new again. Even if you’re basing it on an old series, why not come up with something new and call it something new?

I know, these are sour old man thoughts. The masses who haven’t seen “Mannix”, can’t remember it, or are comfortable with remakes and reboots are shrugging at me and urging me to return to under the rock or get back on my meds. This is our life and how we live, baby, by taking old things and making them new and pretending that we have progress.

 

 

4

A Twofer Dream

In the first dream, I was somewhere taking a test with others. We’d been together taking classes for a few days, so they were familiar, but they’re not anyone I know from life. All were male, but of various ages, physical builds, and races. Cluttered but comfortable, the classroom seemed like something from a form follows function design school. It had desks, windows, pale green walls, grey tile floors, and fluorescent lights.

The mood struck me as relaxed and comfortable. I didn’t feel any pressure or tension. Mustached and wearing glasses, the teacher was a short, white, overweight bald man in a white shirt and black suit with a black tie. He was a bit jocular.

For some reason, I began the test, was distracted, and came back to discover it was almost over. Although not distraught, I didn’t want to fail, but it seemed my fate was inexorable. Then I learned from watching another student that the test could be modified and administered orally. Hearing that, I pressed to have that done. I was confident in my knowledge and knew I could pass.

The administrator, a tall, white woman with blond hair in a bun, came in. She and the teacher discussed the option. It was agreed that would work for me. The oral test, of three questions, was given, and I passed in time to leave with the others.

The rest were in another room. They cheered me when I entered. Some joking followed, along with travel-plan conversations. They’d already eaten, but when they realized that I hadn’t, several got together to find me some food. I was telling them, “No, I don’t have time, I need to leave,” as I was putting up my coat. They brought me bags of food. I realized it was from McDonald’s. That amused me because it’s been over a decade since I’ve eaten at a McDonald’s.

They were excited to be leaving and eager to be home soon. One asked when I’d get home. I told them that I had to fly across the country, and that I’d be traveling for twelve to fourteen hours. Even as I answered, I reconsidered my response because I knew that weather delays were lurking.

The dream ended, and the next one began.

I was at a swimming pool. A few others were there. Again, these weren’t familiars from my life but people that I’d just met. I decided to use the diving board. After climbing up, I dove in. It was a decent dive but I felt dissatisfied, thinking, I can do better. So I went up again.

I began to dive, and then tried to reconsider, but it was too late. My last minute indecision affected my form. It was off as I dove this time. I didn’t have time to bring my arms together, and my body was falling over as I hit the water.

I knew it hadn’t been a good dive. What amazed me though, was how deep I’d gone. I couldn’t see because of bubbles surrounding me, but when I swam toward the surface, it took so long that I wondered if I’d ever reach it.

Breaking the surface, I looked around. The others were still swimming about. I waited for someone to say something about my horrible dive, but no one said anything. I waited for someone to mention how long I’d been under, but nobody said anything. Nobody had seemed to notice anything, or maybe there wasn’t anything to notice.

With those thoughts, and with me paddling around the pool toward the side to get out, the dream ended.

 

2

The State

He said, “I’m really optimistic. I think I have a chance here.” He frowned. “Or am I in denial?”

She continued to focus on her laptop. He said, “That’s your opening, sweetie.”

She said, “You’re not in denial. You’re in California.”

0

Bravetoe

His socks had a hole which could have been put there by specification, designed to be part of the sock and inserted on the production line, because they were so regular, but it was the product of his left foot’s great toe. Although the toe and nail resembled common toes (and nails), the toe continually used its nail to cut its way out.

Although it’d been happening with his socks for years, it wasn’t until he saw it on his shoes that awareness took on significance. He liked to walk and purchased many shoes for that purpose. The latest generation of Adidas, New Balance, Nike, Under Armour, and Saucony activity shoes that he wore were made of a mesh material. He’d read the material was made of recycled plastic. (He’d never looked it up on the net because he didn’t trust the information on the net, and vetting it as truth required hours of work. He also privately admitted (that is, to himself) that he hoped it was true that the shoes were made of recycled plastic.) The thing is, his big toe was cutting up through his activity shoes’ mesh. There wasn’t anything on his right foot. It was only the left.

Because he had an active imagination, he began to watch the toe more often, specifically trimming its nail back in an effort to slow down its escape efforts. Imaging his toe crying, “Freedom,” as Mel Gibson had when he portrayed William Wallace in a movie, he nicknamed his toe Bravetoe. It was partly whimsy, but also acknowledgement that the toe had a personality and seemed to have a goal.

And a toe like that, who knows what it would do if it ever escaped its prison? He suspected it would probably inspire the rest of the toes to try to do the same, a possibility that he did not want to contemplate.

Although he did.

0

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