a really stupid poem

The palm of my hand has been finged by one of my fingers

Which finger finged has yet to be determined

Reliable sources report the finger was ruthless

Some sources claim a spider was spided

One reporter tried to interview an answer

The answer was busy answing at the time

Experts claim the news is sugar for the reader

The public is not insulted by the claim

This event has warranted exclusive, live, active coverage

For all of the parties concerned who bothered to notice

I am unavailable for comment; please leave a message

The palm of my hand has been finged by one of my fingers

littera scripta manet

Palms, pens, fingers, and pencils cross the Blank Paper Desert

Leaving lonely abandoned glyphs and graphemes in their wake

Each text waits to be read, ignored, obscured, unremembered

Pages rot in arcane existence, quietly opaque

Why is this train-station-of-thought here, where no trains-of-thought ever arrive?

When shall deserted documents bask in the sunlight of attention?

Manuscripts wait just to be found once by one roving mind’s fortunate swerve

Manuscripts ache in Ignorance-Limbo, a melancholy dungeon

Printing-machines mass-produce our wireless, mouse-less, link-less papyrus

Organized by ISBN’s and the Dewey Decimal System

None of our schools cover all ideas and concepts published around us

Nobody on Earth knows all; nobody’s got the perfect cerebrum

Through life, even the most informed have more to discover and explore

Each true spirited soul believes in some useful effort

Palms, pens, fingers, and pencils bravely hope to enlighten and inspire

Palms, pens, fingers, and pencils cross the Blank Paper Desert

expertus dico

I am this introvert, born to take in only so much of your output at a time

I was never born to thrive on all that you crave

Why is it crucial to share the fast pace now in vogue, just so our wavelengths are the same?

What if this attention-span is all I can give?

Why do six-billion human beings all have to be “hip” “trendy” and “cool”?

Why do six-billion have to learn and teach at the same speed?

I am sure someone somewhere also must think what I think, feel what I feel

I am sure someone somewhere must be tired of this rushed ride

I enjoy the sun out on my own, whether or not I miss today’s hype

Spending all day just to mouse-click and to type would be a shame

I was born to walk out in the fresh-air of the planet Earth and breathe deep

Born to take in only so much of your output at a time

Our best night together

1. Sushi at an authentic Japanese restaurant and playing footsie under the table

2. A snuggle on a park bench under a full moon

3. Natalie Cole’s collection of her enchanted ballads on the CD player during our drive home

4. The Animatrix (a sci-fi classic) on our DVD-player

5. A shower together with the ordinary electric lights switched off and decorative candles providing ambient light

Spambots or humans may leave whatever comments

Why do you ask where and how I’ve been when I’m always a mouse-click away?

Why do you seem to be allergic to Facebook and Twitter?

Where is the shared, open flexibility Cyberspace once promised me?

All our conflicting “options” divide us forever

If you’re sincere, send a crapless, gagless e-mail to just me, and not a contact-list

Learn something about the first sites I rush to, not just the ONE site that you cling to

Why is this so hard to understand? I’m rushing to touch base, and gee what thanks I get

Why simply assume I’ve just vanished into thin air, and then ask me “Where were you?”???

There is a lot more to Cyberspace than just Multiply Dot Com

When was the last time that Multiply Dot Com was mentioned on the news?

Blogging allows more than telephones could first do when they first came

Yet there is chit-chat entirely throughout countless ordinary blogs

I have Googled many of you, and discovered where else you’ve popped up

Just to be asked where I vanished to everywhere I fail to make frequent time for

I should rediscover my introvert-self, and feel free to just type

Letting the Muse have her way, and accepting that I can’t appease every reader

I’m as confused at least as much as I am confusing, when and if I confuse at all

Why are you so sure the site you’ve chosen is where I’ll appear every day?

Why would your single one irrelevant, obscure chosen site have such broad appeal?

Why do you ask where and how I’ve been when I’m always a mouse-click away?

Some new text on my blog

Left and right feet rise and fall on sidewalks in waves of elevation

I am Pedestrian Man, born to walk

Born to take notes, born to witness all of the non-events that happen

Nowhere to run, and there’s no turning back

Meet me at the corner of Viewthread Avenue and Showtopic Road

Meet me in the xenozone where few feet ever step

Anything you want you can keep, except for what I fail to provide

Anything I don’t possess is not worth any hype

Love, hate, or ignore me, I do not care

I am as common as the Earth

One man on the solar system’s blue sphere

Facing reality and truth

Still in one piece with zero dollars and zero cents

Still enduring a journey not complete yet

Crossing life’s distance over time at the healthiest pace

Crossing sidewalks and streets with left and right feet

Fear

Originally posted on my blog but wanted to share here, as well….

Fear

I fear a great many things. I fear that I have moved too fast. I fear that I have not moved enough. I fear that I have left myself open for hurt again. I fear that I will never find happiness. I fear that I am chasing nothing more than a far away dream that never really existed and never can exist for I am asking too much.  I fear that the way I have lived, has left me so that I must live alone. I fear that the person that I am will never be enough for anyone and the lies that I thought dishonest were actually the truth. I fear that the teaching of me to be confident, to be sure, is all for naught as the reality of the situation always comes to light and I am left with nothing but fear.

I fear each time I reach out my hand and feel it knocked away. I fear that the love I feel inside will never come out as the only way for me to express it is through channels that others have taught me and I have learned to resent. I fear that I can never be satisfied or convinced that the life I have lived was not the true way and that another way does exist. I fear that I will never feel worthy of living this other life that I crave so much. I fear that I will constantly push away the one thing that I need oh so much because it is not done the way I want it to be done. I fear that the one person I need so much will be lost to me because HE cannot understand me. I fear that I will never be able to express all that is inside of me: the fears. I fear that they will never come out and be ridden of them for whenever I try, things go awry.

I fear that the one thing I long for will never be mine. I fear that I am not worthy of such care and love. I fear each time that I speak out and speak up and demand things that I need… I fear that it will go unheard or unheeded as I am not allowed to do such things. I fear a great many things. I fear the telling of my life to others for how can they possibly comprehend the damage and the mayhem that it has caused? I fear the telling for others have laughed, scoffed or just plain disbelieved. I fear that again my inner most secrets upon being shared with one will then be shared again and again with others not of my choosing and all who hear it will laugh as has once happened before.  I fear that the truth is that I am less than any human being. I fear that I am forever slave. I fear that I am forever slave to my fears. I fear that now the binds and chains have been lifted off of me; the controls are no longer in place. I fear that when I attempt to spread those angel wings and fly that I will find I have none or that they are as broken as my spirit is inside. I fear that I will never find one who truly understands and can help me out of this misery that is me. I fear that I have found Him. I fear to let Him inside and to see the me that is there left after 30 years of confinement. I fear that He will see what is there and will discard it as so much garbage. I fear that He will see what others saw and disregard me. I fear now that no one is in control but me that I will not know how to live. I fear that I will not know how to achieve the things I need and to express them so that they are met. I fear that if I attempt to grab and reach for what I want… I will be beaten back down again and reminded of my true place. I fear that now this dream of mine may be within reach that it is only a mirage. I fear that I am asking for too much. I fear that He will hear my fears and find them silly. I fear the laughter come from him once I have exposed myself. I fear that once He hears my needs that he will dismiss them for who is I to stand up and try to be counted? I fear that He will only see what He thinks he sees and not what is there.

I fear that He will not be Himself and let me rejoice in learning Him. I fear that He will handle me so delicately that I can never learn how to handle myself. I fear that He will try and brush away the concerns I have. I fear that He will temper what He wants to say or attempt to not be Himself for fear of me. I fear that He will leave in the end because no one is happy not being themselves. I fear that he will leave because He cannot say the truth. I fear that knowing the truth is ugly; the lie is often uglier. I fear learning that lesson again.   I fear a great many things. I fear so much that I fear the fear itself. I fear that this fear, that these fears, will never go away. I fear that I will be forever trapped inside this ball of pain and fear and trapped still. I fear the letting go of the only thing I have ever known: pain. I fear the letting go of the only emotion that feels like home: fear. I fear that I am forever slave to this life. I fear that I am forever slave…

heather 09/12/2007

10 Things I wish were true about me (Heather)

1. I saved a life.

2. I was unselfish 100% of the time.

3. I was skinnier.

4. I was healthier.

5. I was a billionaire.

6. I had the cure… for anything.

7. I had all the answers to all the questions.

8. I could fly just by flapping my arms.

9. I wasn’t honest all the time.

10. I changed the world just by being born.

Ten little things about me

1) My life was not perfect yesterday. My life is not perfect today. My life will not be perfect tomorrow.

2) I laughed a few times yesterday. I laughed a few times today. I will probably laugh a few times tomorrow.

3) I was okay yesterday. I am okay today. I will probably be okay tomorrow. If for any reason I am not okay tomorrow, I will probably say that I am not okay, clearly and explicitly.

4) Sometimes I experience sad and melancholy feelings about The Human Condition. Sometimes I find it therapeutic to express these feelings. And then I get annoyed when someone responds to my expression of some of my melancholy feelings by panicking, and asking me what horrible thing has suddenly happened to me, and how can they rescue me.

5) When I am offline, I am usually outside getting some fresh air, or doing housework, or writing a blog-post, or spending quality-time with loved-ones, etc. My absence from Cyberspace has NEVER been an indication that I’ve suddenly been kidnapped or struck by lightning or anything of the kind, and it is never likely to be an indication of any such thing (contrary to what some online-community-members seem to habitually think).

6) I had autism yesterday. I have autism today. I will have autism tomorrow.

7) My spouse and I loved each other yesterday, we love each other today, and we will love each other tomorrow (July 17, 2010 will be our eighth anniversary)

8 ) I drank lots of coffee yesterday, I am drinking lots of coffee today. I will drink lots of coffee tomorrow.

9) I was a Secular Humanist yesterday. I am a Secular Humanist today, and I will more-than-likely be a Secular Humanist tomorrow.

10) I was a cat-person yesterday. I am a cat-person today. I will be a cat-person tomorrow (I like cats better than dogs; our landlord won’t allow pets, though).

#smilesandhugs #everyone

sidewalk chalk

All of the things my sister and I wrote and drew in sidewalk chalk in our youth have long since faded away . . .

The time we pretended she was a teacher and I was a student, and I wrote:

“i will do what teacher says

i will do what teacher says

i will do what teacher says . . .”

The time we drew Pac-Man and Mario throwing barrels at Donkey Kong and The Ghost-Monsters.

The time we drew Mario walking up to a mushroom cloud and thinking “Golly, how do I get out of this one?”

The time we drew the sun smiling down on a cornfield and saying “Grow, grow . . .”

The time we wrote:

“KEN AND BARBIE SITTING IN A TREE

K-I-S-S-I-N-G”

The hopscotch-court we drew . . .

The time we drew the Middle-Aged Pervert Krishna Gerbils.

The time we drew the Care Bears versus Ewoks football game.

The time we wrote “COKE RULES AND PEPSI SUCKS” up and down the neighborhood.

The sloppy pictures we drew of our super-hero “OttoMan” saving the world from “The Evil Dr. Byzantine.”

All of the things my sister and I wrote and drew in sidewalk chalk in our youth have long since faded away . . .

I’m no Wordsworth!

Daffodil’s

by Cliff O’Sullivan.

I wandered lonely as a cloud,

That floats on high , o’er vales and hills

When all at once – I heard a shout !

“Get off my f**king Daffodils”

 

The Tree and I

One cold February day, when I was still a preteen (this was still a while before my mother died of cancer in 1993), I made up my mind that the Christmas decorations had stayed up in front of my mother’s house long enough. We were always the last people in the whole neighborhood to take down the Christmas lights in front of our house. I made up my mind that this was a priority, that someone had to take the initiative here, and that it might as well be me.

With stubbornness, incredulity, and focused determination, I suited up in my winter coat, mittens, and boots, and marched straight to the front door, where the goofy multi-colored flashing miniature light-bulbs lay draped across a wiry, scrawny, leafless deciduous tree just beside the front steps of our house. Why weren’t these dxmn things taken down by now? How hard could it really be anyway?

With firm resolve, I stomped down our front steps, strutted right up to the decorated tree, and stood in front of it, assessing the seemingly straightforward task before me. Christmas decorations up in February, how silly! This, I decided, was not going to wait a moment longer. It was time. Period.

I reached out in front of me to where part of the bulb-laden cable hung down from one of thin, limp, brittle deciduous branches. I grabbed the electric cable and began to pull. Suddenly, the tree-branch itself snapped off, whopped me on the forehead (leaving a slight scar that I would see in the mirror later), then fell on the toe-end of my left boot. I blinked, grunted, then noticed that the cable itself was no further off of the tree than when I had begun.

Undaunted, I fiddled a bit with the cable, searching for its proverbial Achilles’ heel, a place where it was more loose and more vulnerable to being removed. After a minute or two, I came across the end of the cable that extended a short distance away from the tree. I followed this extension with my eyes, and found that it terminated at the outdoor electrical outlet attached to the front of the garage, where the cable was plugged in. My lower jaw dropped to what must have been my ankles! How stupid not to have thought of unplugging these stupid flashing Christmas lights before getting them off the tree!

I took a deep breath, sighed, and plodded toward the electrical outlet to unplug the dxmn cable. Suddenly, I slid on the ice and fell with one hard WHOMP down on my ass! “OOH!” I grunted! Now, I was really pissed off!

With a sneer, I picked myself up, brushed myself off, and took slow, cautious steps toward the electrical outlet. I finally unplugged the dxmn cable, and carried the plug end back to the tree.

I wound part of the plug end of the cable around my forearm. I could almost taste victory. I reached my hand closer into the tree to get at the bulb-laden portion of the cable and pull it out. But much of the cable was intricately intertwined with the dry, cold, and prickly deciduous branches. The cable could not just be pulled; it had to be untangled.

I pried apart two deciduous branches that had a portion of the cable between them, and suddenly they snapped apart like a wishbone! The next thing I knew, my right wrist was scraped and bleeding! How did THAT happen???

An hour later, the dxmn Christmas decorations were finally down and put away in some box somewhere, and I was wearing bandages in several places. Just as I was resolving never to attempt taking down Christmas decorations ever again, my mother called me to the kitchen, where a found that she had baked a tray of delicious chocolate muffins, as a kind of reward for my labor and my helpfulness.

The adventures of my black turtleneck sweatshirt

Black turtleneck sweatshirt that my mother gave me for Christmas when I was 13 years old:

I was wearing it when I first shaved at the age of 14.

I was wearing it on my first date (and during my first kiss) at the age of 15.

I was wearing it when I failed my first driving test at the age of 16.

I was wearing it when I found my first gray hair at the age of 17.

I was wearing it when I first voted at the age of 18.

I was wearing it when I sipped my first cup of coffee at the age of 19.

I was wearing it when I hit my first (and last) home run at the age of 20.

I was wearing it when, at the age of 21, I was handed back my first (and last) 50 page Political Science term paper, graded with a big red “C+” glaring at the top of the title-page.

I was wearing it when I first stared into a wolf’s eyes on a camping trip, at the age of 22 (The wolf ran away.)

I was wearing it when I accepted a position as a paid church choir soloist at the age of 23 (I resigned after 5 years).

I was wearing it when I took my first solo Greyhound bus trip to Ashern, Manitoba at the age of 24.

I was wearing it when, at the age of 25, I stumbled upon my misplaced wallet, after I’d already got my bank card replaced and all my personal ID and everything.

I was wearing it when I began working my first shift as a janitor at SuperValu, at the age of 26. I was wearing it the first time I held a snake (a street beggar’s pet snake; he let me hold it in exchange for some money), at the age of 27.

I was wearing it the first time I (successfully) downhill skied the hardest slope on Mount Agassiz, at the age of 28.

I was wearing it the day I moved in with my same-sex common-law spouse at the age of 29, and we’re still together and still very much in love after over seven years.

Black turtleneck sweatshirt. I still wear it sometimes. My spouse tells me that I look very handsome and very sexy in it.

Black turtleneck sweatshirt, a gift from my mother. She died of cancer in 1993. I was 20 years old.

A fish story

When I was six years old, my Uncle Andy taught me how to fish (It was the last thing Uncle Andy and I ever did together; he died of a heart attack a few years later). That was the only time I ever went fishing, and I don’t really remember any of the technique or anything. But I do remember what we caught. That is, I remember what it looked like: It was about the size of your thumb, and it was black with a white belly. In spite of it’s small size, Uncle Andy still took the fish to his cabin and proudly mounted it anyhow. We somehow still managed to bring the little thing back to the cabin even after the canoe tipped over.

Yes, at one point, the canoe tipped over. I was scared at first (and holy crap that water was cold), but luckily we happened to have our life-preservers with us. I thought that we would drown. I experienced a curious mixture of pleasant-surprise and relief when I found myself floating instead of sinking. That was, in fact, the day when I learned what a life-preserver was. My mind had equated deep water with drowning up until then. “Unca!” I exclaimed. “We’re safe!” “We’re not drowning!” “Well we’d better not,” Uncle Andy quipped, “I payed dxmn good money for these life-preservers!” And he laughed.

I was quiet for the rest of the morning, filled with a sense of wonder and awe. I gazed into the beauty of the cloudless blue sunny sky that we were still alive to see, and I gazed into the murky foreboding darkness of the deep lake. We could have drowned. We actually could have drowned. But we didn’t. We actually didn’t.

no shame

I would just like to say that it is perfectly healthy and natural for a guy to play with his own nipples, and that it’s a beautiful thing. In fact, I feel sorry for any guy who is macho enough to keep his fingertips off his nipples for a full 72 consecutive hours, or even a full 24 consecutive hours. Because that’s just sad. Talk about missing out. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that any guy who is that macho must have some serious issues. I mean c’mon, sheesh already. We’re only alive on this Earth for so long, so make the most of it, explore and enjoy that wonderful nipple-sensitivity in life while there’s still time. I am not ashamed to tell you that I am a man and I finger my nipples daily and, in fact, I am proud of my healthy attitude about it. In fact, I highly recommend fingering one’s nipples in the shower; the soap and water combine to form an absolutely perfect lubricant. There, I said it, and I’m confident that at lest a few guys out there are gonna read this and feel relieved to know that they are not alone. Where do we get the idea that a guy is a sissy and a wuss if he nipples himself anyhow? It’s bullshxt! And besides, studies show that nippling oneself can boost nipple-size and even make more chest-hairs grow. It’s a fact. Science proves it. All the more reason why we, as guys, should be less uptight about this sort of thing. Incidentally, did I mention that I also jack-off a lot?

The ten awesomest phallic symbols of all time

1. drinking-straw

2. flashlight

3. rolled-up newspaper

4. toothbrush

5. light saber

6. totem pole

7. golf club

8. chop stick

9. nuclear missile

10. calligraphy pen

duplicate content

One at a time, the individuals ask “Why are you strange?

Why do you make choices my friends and I would never make?”

I shall repeat myself until I have grown wrinkled with age

Nobody said everyone writes what you yourself would like

Yes, this is how I blog, and these are the keystrokes I type

Yes, I feel the way I happen to feel

Go teach another person how to be less of a creep

Someone else can learn your personal style

Someone who cares can learn your wisdom of how doing my own thing is wrong

This is a script I must enact on my own personal stage

One at a time, the individuals come with the same question, the same old harangue

One at a time, the individuals ask “Why are you strange?”

Ten Things You Never See

1. the wind

2. gravity

3. sound waves

4. infrared light

5. cloaking devices

6. albino unicorns

7. God holding a press conference

8. fine print written with invisible ink

9. phonetic alphabet soup

10. chocolate nanochips

escape

i am your misery

i am your sleep-deprivation

i am your headaches

i am the slap of my palm on your face

i am your disappointment

i am your starvation

i am a mouth and stomach eating more than we can afford

i am the stink of my body odor in your nostrils

i am the unfxxkable fat you hate to see naked

i am the dust in your coughs and sneezes

i am your stress

i am your burden

. . .

forget me tonight

don’t let me ruin your evening

oh hai i typd new werdz an stuff on mah blawg

January 4th, 2010 feels like life as usual

Rising from bed and turning off an alarm-clock

Morning with a cold, black sky and a tired search for new material

Taking a shower, grooming, taking a short walk

Long underwear, thick socks, my layers of clothing envelop

Bundled in a Winnipegger’s anti-frostbite-suit

Come home with a cleared mind for typing some text on a laptop

Blaudience, I’m here, and I am more or less alright

Time to consume some coffee and a bowl of Corn Flakes

Then I’ve got a pile of dishes to wash

Time for a morning-snuggle with my spouse, a nice kiss

Chat about some chicken-soup for our lunch

Somehow, we’re still surviving the stressed, crowded post-industrial world

It’s a miracle we’re still here, facing the dawn

Facing the punctuality-rush, Monday morning’s panic and speed

Monday, January 4th, 2010