Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Safe Driving

Driving and texting is not something that should be done on company time. There were many times when my co-worker would scowl at me when I did this especially when cruising the highway, residential developments, busy city streets. He would say, “Hey, what do you think you are doing? You can’t do that on company time! We’re on the clock!” He was right, we were on the clock, so I stopped being so careless. Now I just text on break -- while driving.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

Important lesson learned at work

Today man learns his hard work is not less than worth the effort. Here is an account of man’s entire existence…

“Been working, years and years. I have slaved and labored. My life has been less than the worth of my work. I wake tired in the morning. I can’t give it up ‘cause I need to work. It’s not cool. I am tired and worn.”

…In other news a man decided to leap from a building after believing he was free and could fly away from everything.—He did.

Facebook Farming

I’m going farming today—for likes. If you like my post not only will you be supporting a starving artist’s self esteem, but you will also be boosting my already inflated ego. Thanks in advance for making my day worth living.

Absurdly Rational Conclusions

Yo! Peeps! of the digital world?! What’s the word crazy birds? Nah, I ain’t that corny, but I try. Don’t hate. You know you like it ;-)

Anyway, peeps are are like little yellow things. They can be put into a microwave and heated and also explode. That’s fun. Don’t know ‘bout you but I like destruction. Who doesn’t? Like smashing glass just to hear it break. But, that’s not just for the sake of destruction, that’s for the sake of a beauty, an appreciation towards destruction that creates a beauty, in turn, a sound, in essence, that resonates something more beautiful than destruction for the sake of destruction…

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

A ball of yarn so clever

Wakes rippled the waters. The speed boats sped. Engines sounded and sails sailed. The water sparkled as if a treasure trove of jewels was blanketed over it as the reflections shone onto the wall of the sunroom. And, the kitten played within the glass room that overlooked the beach, warmed over with the days that followed spring.

The cat, crouching behind the foot rest, pupils dilating, tail being held as stiff as still and it was about to pounce on the ball of yarn. The battle of wits began as the cat was there as quick as light by two giant leaps from behind the foot rest, from where it peered over to eye its pray; then, onto the couch and it struck the ball of yarn with claws out, giving a swift three jabs, right, left, right, but – the ball of yarn refused to give up. And so they sparred and the cat was convinced it was winning.

The owner watched the cat playfully toy with its amusement. The owner was amused, too, as the cat was her object of amusement and affection.  Although, sometimes before the kitten would attack, it would jump high. Higher than a knee of an average sized adult. Strait up, too! On occasion, a sneeze would alarm the kitten like the attention shattering fog horns that sounded near the water. The cat did not cause the sneezes. It was the dust that had settled over the many years the owner had not hired a housekeeper, seven to be exact, since she had gotten the kitten.

Now a cat at the tender age of seven, it grew tired. The yarn, that is. It didn’t move around as much as the owner would have liked it to but that was the natural tune of age. The lesser the energy of the yarn to offend was the more the cat didn’t defend itself. The wisdom of age will speak of at least one thing and the tone with which it would speak would sometimes suggest that not all battles neither have to be fought out of selfish defense nor offense. The yarn had nothing more to not disprove, and the owner was fine with that and so was the cat.

The longer the whiskers, the slender the body and the more regal and elegant the cat became as sometimes it would sit on its owner’s lap with front legs crossed.  Now that some grey was showing, the cat kneaded the owner more and more for comfort, staying on its lap for naps that seemed like the terrible length of dog day afternoons that dogs would often sigh on and on about, but –  the cat was content, happy and purred more so now that it felt its young age. Even though its appearance may have told a story of an old and tired cat, it was ripe with life and love; it no longer had that childish hurriedness that often accompanied immaturity and, outside, even the boats that sped seemed to slow and the treasure trove of sparkling jewels were not as dazzling as once had been before. They didn’t need to be.

So it was that life was coming to a cadence, a resolve and with it the cat reflected that the ball of yarn didn’t want to win. They were both never concerned with winning. For, now the ball of yarn and the cat and the owner were all content to be with one another, without conflict, with nothing left to prove other than the love for their selves and, in turn, for one another. They didn’t mean that, though – because the only thing that they cared about was their own sense of a true, happy and selfish lovingness.

Saturday, August 2, 2014

Flights of Fancy

I walk outside. A branch droops—more than yesterday. 

I start the car. The radio was left on. I Drive. The wheel lightly tugs to the right.

At the deli my sandwich was made and a song was sung along to a tune on the radio. 

I'm back home. I sit. I think. The branch drooping, the radio on and the song that was sung and what came but a brief glimmer of inspiration—I fervently write.

Time stopped or didn’t exist. I didn’t know which. I held back and strategically attacked. At first, ideas were friends. As I befriended each, their hostage would not be short. For, after their time as a prisoner of war, they were let go. Over time some things are no longer useful for war or friendship.

I felt time start again; many days and hours had passed. I hadn’t slept; still high on my creative flight. I wrestle desperately with sleep; thoughts still racing and finally asleep—dreams lucid. 

I wake and repeat.