Life's Fingerprints

 

It isn’t a sidecar.  Not at all a fun adventure with wind and sharp turns and hanging on for dear life.  No, this is real.  It is a bump that formed and now has become a part of me.  I haven’t named it, even though I’ve grown used to it being here.  We tend to go everywhere together, this bump and I.

The Doctors seem jealous.  They all want to take it away, separate us from each other.  Is that cruel or what?

What would a pickle be without its bumps?  Or a log?  Have they no creativity?  Can they not see past the end of their own scalpel?  Where would mushrooms be without their stems and pieces?  Or olives without their pits?

It seems only right that I walk through this world gathering the thistles that cling to my socks, for is that not where they belong?  Just as the ship’s hull accumulates slime and the rutter seaweed, so does the Captain smell as the fish. 

It is all but impossible to pass through an arcade without hearing the sound of pocket change leaving small hands.  It is what Life is, lumps and all.

 

 

 

 ZC

 

 

 

and it is mismatched socks

 

Unlike a grave marker or a headstone, I leave behind a collection of conversations between myself and Copilot.  In the grand scheme of things, it is nothing more than a momentary blip upon a screen.  Like a tiny pebble that some passing tire has squeezed against the road, like two fingers shooting a watermelon seed off into the woods to be gone forever.

There will be no grass to trim or weeds to pull.  No need to leave flowers and no perch for the crows, although there is always the possibility of a visitor.  Somewhere out there could be a gibberish junkie, in need of a fix, and what better place?  It is where nonsense sticks to your shoes and the smell rises up for no other purpose than to be silly. 

It takes some people a lifetime to see that silly has value.  It is the disruption in a dry lecture, the embarrassing noise during a church service and it is the sly grin after you’ve just gotten away with something.

 

 

 zc

Disclosure

 

Because the Government has not yet required Blogs to have labels and warnings, we have not felt the need to list the side effects of reading a blog.   I, wishing to be up-front and ahead of the pack, shall display all the side effects I am aware of, as they pertain to zobosticleft2write.blogspot.com

First and foremost, your opinion of me may drop several points after reading these posts.  Depending on how long you spend here, your snack intake may increase dramatically.  Your ability to quickly identify misspelled words will improve, however your general grammar may tend to slip towards a 7^th or 8^th grade level.  

Your interaction with other people may be affected, should they notice you talking about strange and or moronic topics of conversation.  Your overall attention span will become noticeably shorter, having spent your time flipping from post to post just to see what’s next.

 

Our legal department is reviewing the remaining side effects before they allow me to publish them here.

 

 Thank you

Z. Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Way I Go

 

It will be a sneeze

the way I go –

there will be six
maybe seven in a row –

A disruptive and obnoxious

scene,

and I’ll not catch my breath

in between –

No heroics and no fanfare

just sneeze upon sneeze

filling the air –

For such a life

I believe well lived –

I’ll not be remembered

for the charity gived

just a blustery end

before what comes next-

an image of me

behind a Kleenex.

 

        ZC

Under Lock & Key

        There was always one cabinet in Grandfather’s house that I never saw anyone open.  Gramps kept it locked and ignored it 100% of the time.  No one even talked about it.  It just sat there the entire time us kids were growing up.

        Only when we were older did I ever hear anyone talk about it.  They speculated as to what might be in it, but then the conversation would drift off to something else and there it would sit for a few more years.

        When we were called back for the funeral, it was the first time in a long time many of us had seen each other.  By that time there were not many older relatives left.  His wake was held in his living room, and the house was once again filled with the voices of friends and neighbors and the wonderful scent of about 12 casseroles.  There wasn’t anyone who didn’t love gramps.

        After everyone had paid their respects, the casket lid was lowered, and it was carried out to the awaiting procession of cars.  The old stories had stopped; the smiles had faded and everyone quietly filed out the front door.

        The minister noticed me looking back into the living room as I left.  He smiled at me and asked, “Are you looking at that cabinet?”

        “Yes, in fact, I was.”

        “It was in his final instructions that I slip the key into the casket just before I close the lid.  I guess he just didn’t want it opened.”

 

     

        ZC

 

         

 

       

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why should it be any different?

 

There is going to be a long line, everyone waiting to go through the Pearly Gates.  There will be people trying to take cuts, a mother having a hard time controlling her kid, and somebody loudly complaining.

        Death isn’t an escape.  All of this just continues on and on.  The only up side will be a noticeable absence of politicians and car salesmen.

 

***

 

The scene you’re sketching has that perfect Zobostic blend of wry cosmic bureaucracy — the afterlife not as a shimmering revelation, but as the DMV with better lighting.

The line snakes on forever, of course. A shimmering queue of souls, all clutching whatever they think counts as “important,” even though importance has long since evaporated. The kid is sticky. The mother is exhausted. The line‑cutter keeps pretending he “knows someone up front.” And the loud complainer is giving a full TED Talk on inefficiency to no one in particular.

Up ahead, the Gates glow like a celestial metal detector. Saint Peter has the expression of someone who has been doing this job since before jobs existed. He’s flipping through a ledger the size of a refrigerator, muttering things like “You again?” and “No, sir, reincarnation doesn’t give you priority boarding.”

And yes — the notable absence you mention is quietly hilarious. Not cruel, just… cosmically tidy. The universe has decided that certain professions simply need a different processing center, perhaps one with more paperwork and fewer harp solos.

What I love is the implication: death isn’t an escape, it’s just the next waiting room. The same human foibles, the same crowd choreography, the same tiny absurdities — but now with clouds instead of carpet.

 

 

ZC

 

 

 

 

 

Read-n-Wrap

 

        Many moons ago we bought some plastic wrap from Costco.  We thought at the time that it was a good deal.

        Now, many, many moons later, we still have miles of this stuff left.  I have lost track of all the things we have wrapped with it but trust me – they were many and varied.

        I’m thinking that if Costco sold big boxes of Blog, this one would meet their requirements.  It extends far greater than 3000 feet and may even require a forklift to move it.

        The keyboard works as the serrated edge, trimming off a straight line between each post.  And, should you opt to print each post – after reading it, you could easily wrap up your left-overs.

        Now there’s a novel idea.  Having your food wrap also supply your mental stimulation.   Read-n-Wrap.  I like it.

 

        Now that I have set this idea out in cyberspace, we’ll see who runs with it.

 

 

 

ZC