Power to the People

 

There are a great number of you from many various countries that keep checking this blog.  I know, I see the numbers.  I must ask, what is it you’re looking for?  Why do you keep returning?  It isn’t like I have any great secrets or discoveries, in fact, my ramblings are simply that, just gibberish.  On a scale of 1 to 100, this blog must be about a D-.  Hardly good for an after-school special.  My poetry is about as lame as my humor, and many of my stories sit quietly unfinished.  Those that I do go back and complete can only be read by checking them again.  There are no visible indicators that they are now complete.  Not at all user friendly.

Some of you have figured out that I manipulate the date and time on these posts.  I do that because we are not allowed access to this system after lights-out.  I can do this as long as I have a pack of cigarettes to give to the guard in control of the power station for this sector.  And I never put anything in here that can be traced back to me.

With respect to the unfinished stories, there is a reason.  They tend to stagger the bed checks, which means, I never know when they might come walking in.  Whenever I hear them, I immediately shut the system down and hope they don’t walk over to feel if it is warm.  So far, I’ve been lucky.

 

On that note, it’s time to go.

 

 

Zc

 

Brothers

 

“I don’t understand how you think.  We see the same things, at the same time, from the same distance and at the same angle, and yet you see a tree, while I see a canoe, a paddle and a few toys made of wood.”

 

“I believe you are looking past the tree and seeing that hobby store.”

 

“You might be right.”

 

“What do you see when you look over there?”

 

“I see a grade school, a playground, swings and lots of kids playing.  Why, what do you see?”

 

“I see a single-story building with lots of windows just waiting to be soaped up at Halloween.”

 

“I guess it’s good that we see different things.”

 

“No, we see the same things – differently.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy

 

“It’s a comfortable place.”  If you ask me where am I most happy, that’s what I would say, at a comfortable place.  It may be at home, playing with words on my computer, or with a group of friends, enjoying a game.  Even a busy and noisy restaurant can somehow be comfortable, just in a different way.  Its time spent with friends, all enjoying the same noise, the same hustle-bustle.  It doesn’t matter if the soup is cold or the salad has pokey lettuce, it’s all good.  

 

 

 

 

The Force

 I find this more fun than advertising.

Leaving Wisconsin

 

Tired of riding already, the kids in the backseat were fussing like crazy.  I turned around in my seat to look at them, and the back seat was empty.  No kids at all, and yet both of us could still hear them, as if they were right behind us.

 

"Eric, pull over and stop the car."

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“STOP THE CAR!”

"Margret, look around.  See?  You're not in a car,  You are safe here, Margret.  Do you remember what we were talking about yesterday?"

"Florida?"

"That's right.  You were telling me about all of your friends who retired to Florida.  Remember that?"

"Yes, Lorraine.  Lorraine Collett Petersen, she hated it,  said the sun dried out all her children's skin.  Said they ended up looking like little raisins." 

"Margret, we talked about this.  Lorraine was born in 1915, there is no way you could have known her.  Do you remember me saying that?  You know her from the Sun-Maid raisin box, isn't that right?"

"I remember playing pickle ball with that old guy, the one with only part of his glasses on, and he's always with his cane."

"Once again, Margret, that's Mr. Peanut.  He isn't real, now is he?  We're only going to talk about real people today, okay?  He isn't a veteran with a shell fragment issue, now is he?" 

"You can't tell me the Pillsbury Doughboy isn't real.  I know for a fact, because he stopped coming into the lunch room, due to his moderate to severe acne.  He hated the others calling him, Popping Fresh."

"Margret, we're going to stop here for today.  I believe your husband Eric is in the reception area waiting to see you.  Won't that be nice?  In fact, go ahead and wait in your room and I'll bring him back there."

"Doctor Wisconsin, how is she doing?"

"I'm afraid it isn't progressing as fast as I had hoped.  She still has flashbacks and retreats to a world where company logos come to life.  She's made them her friends and they all live in Florida.  I may have to put her back on her meds."

"Can I see her, Doc?"

"Sure, but I wouldn't mention the accident or the children."

"I won't."

 

 

 

 

It's the location...

 

that drains away the color

and the music.

It's why funeral homes don't have a jingle.

60 Watt Farm

 

"We grow ideas."

A True Classic

 

As it sits in the garage it looks perfect.  The paint is spotless, the design of it - amazing.  An old-time car in a modern world.  Wide whitewall tires, and no safety features of any kind.  I love it.  Built out of steel, the thing weighs a ton and can drink a gallon of gas and never burp. 

Without a single computer chip or pushbutton, it sets timeless, impractical and unapologetic. Now this is Fahrvergnugen. 

 

The Turkey Poem - by Request

 When the rooster crowed

at the break of dawn

Tom would only

stretch and yawn,

His sleep time never

quite complete

till Tommy knew

twas time to eat,

He'd eat all day

we all knew that

Others said

my Tom was fat,

Was never late

when came "Last Call"

Oh how I loved

my Butterball.

Life

 

A blanket of fresh white snow covered the neighborhood.  It was as if someone had hit the mute button on life.  It was so quiet and peaceful.  Any leaves that hadn’t fallen already now landed on the blanket and slid across the top, like a kid on a sled. 

Two streets over the lake had disappeared, along with the sidewalks and skateboarding children.  Some of the windows in the homes frosted up and several chimneys puffed smoke up into the cold chill of winter. 

A grade 4 teacher scolded little Norman Rockwell for looking out the window and daydreaming.   

 

 

 

 

Neckties & Timeclocks

 

Chasing the sweeping second hand around the face, expecting to gain what, I don’t know.  I’ll never catch it, for it never stops or slows.  It must see me or sense me behind it.  It taunts me.  It has always taunted me.  It sees me for the failure that I am.  An ambitious workaholic, fussing with schedules and deadlines, making more excuses than money. At the end of the workday, no farther ahead than I was at the start.  Racing to a finish line that will only replace me with a fresh body.  I shall then be redundant, looking back at a race that was fixed from the beginning.

 

 

 

 

On the Rocks

 

I wouldn’t have thought that fish had a taste for worms.  Fish live in the water while worms hang around underground. One swims and one wiggles, one has fisheyes, the other a tail at each end.  Neither has feathers.

Then again, whoever decided olives should go into a martini?  One grows on trees, while the other gets cooked, filtered, aged and sipped.  Both are stored in glass, yet one is bumpy and the other a liquid, not bumpy.  Neither has feathers.

Brought together by fate, perhaps.  The same fate that confines beautiful orchestra music to a pit. 

 

 

Light & Shadow

 

Peanut butter and Jelly

Olives and Martinis

Money and Burnt Pockets

Lucky Streaks and Disappearing Acts

Top Hats and Rabbits

Coins and Fountains

 

       The wishes sink to the bottom like the coins themselves, while the rising bubbles are laughter.

 

       We are surrounded by illusions, walking through a moving history, sprinkled with fur and felt, hopes and the potential of change, with few noticing that it’s all connected and moving at the same time and speed – making change impossible.

 

Maybe

 

 

 

Silence itself becomes the villian

A crew member notices a passenger drilling a hole into the bottom of the boat.  Instinctively he knows he should tell the captain, and yet he does nothing, even knowing the ship could sink.

 

A citizen sees politicians starting a war, and yet they do nothing, knowing the damage and devastation they will do to the planet.

 

 

     I'm just saying...

 

 

 

By its Cover

 

I can tell if a movie is going to be good by the opening music.  If it is wild and crazy, it tells me that the people who made the movie are very young and attempting to appeal to people of the same age as themselves.  If, however, the music is more refined, it shows that some serious thought was put into the feel of the movie and therefore attempting to appeal to a more cerebral audience.

Upon entering the movie theatre, if I smell dirty carpet before I smell the popcorn, I know they’re losing money and may not be around much longer. The owners are juggling the management personnel around in feeble attempts to keep it afloat.

I should think that for businesses in trouble, instead of going into Chapter 13 or filing for bankruptcy there should be a spray can they could use, not unlike the spray a bowling alley uses on their rental shoes.  But instead of being a broad-spectrum disinfectant, it would be a mental rejuvenator applied directly onto existing management, being sure to cover them head to toe.

Even after the initial application, general grumbling would stop and financial innovations would surface into conversations.  A teamwork environment would form with a common goal of improving profit.  Businesses would be saved with little or no involvement from the owners.

I know I started this post by judging movies by their opening music, and then just kind of wandered into saving a business through a chemical spray, (yet to be invented).  This unfortunate rambling is the result of Blog-fog.  It is a condition that affects 4 out of every 5 Bloggers.  As of yet there is no known cure.  I anticipate some day there will be telethons running on PBS asking for donations, but until that time, simply skip over these odd posts.

 

Thank you
        ZC

 

 

 

 

 

 

Class Reunion

Amazingly everyone showed up

for their 70 year reunion.

 

Not at all in the Spirit of the Season

 

So, I’m at the supermarket and I spot an indulgence.  It’s a bag of assorted Hershey’s chocolate candies.  It is a rare occasion that I buy these, even though I enjoy them a great deal. 

Of course, it is more than I want to spend on something I don’t really need, but I tell myself – Hey, you don’t do this every day, just go for it.  So, I take the bag to the checkout, and she rings it up and sends me on my way. 

Once home, my wife checks the receipt and says, “Wasn’t this a BOGO?”  That’s buy one, get another for free. 

Right away I’m thinking, the cashier should have said something.  She had to know, she’s standing there ringing this stuff up all day.  Why not tell me, “You know, you can get two of these for the same price.”

 

OK, so maybe it isn’t quite December yet.  Maybe the spirit of the season hasn’t hit her yet.  Maybe she has a little Grinch in her.  You never know.  All I know is I’m dropping a note to Santa and recommending her for the naughty list.  I’m sorry, but it’s got to be done.

 

 

 

About ZC

 

A massive sunspot disrupted the magnetic and electrical fields around earth.  Although this disruption only lasted for a moment, I happened to be born at that exact time.  The resulting consequence was that the distortion was enough to keep me from having any sense of direction.  I have no mental map in my head.  North, for me, doesn’t exist. 

I comprehend longitude and latitude but knowing when to turn left or right has never happened.  I see the map on the wall and know where the states are but put me in a car and ask me to drive to any certain location and we’ll never arrive.

As a child I was able to get by with this type of disability, for unless pressed, it isn’t noticeable.  Once married, my wife became my navigator.  She has always had a perfect sense of direction, no matter where we’ve lived.

Now that I am up in years, I’ll most likely be seen as senile or, “losing it.” Even though I’ve been this way all of my life.  I explain all this to help you better understand why I never stray too far from this keyboard.  Sitting here I can see both ends of it.  It is easy to find my way around.  The (A) is on my left and the (L) on my right.  Up and down is not an issue.

Someone once gave me a new keyboard that was wavy.  It had a big swoop to it, like some rollercoaster. It was supposed to be ergonomically better but all it did was make me dizzy.  The (H) was no longer at (C) level, it had a completely different elevation.  That keyboard is currently on the floor of my closet.  I'll stick with this one, I can find my way around.

 

 

 

My adventure with your product

 

Dear Nature’s Intent,

Your product saved my life.  Okay, I should start at the beginning.  I purchased a bag of your delicious dark chocolate enrobed mandarins, while picking up a few pet supplies at Alaska Garden & Pet Supply.  My cat, Trigger, over the last few days, seemed a bit morose, for some reason, I’m not sure why.

 

While in the store, two masked individuals, seemingly up to no good, were seen stuffing dog treats and various cat toys into their coat pockets.  I assumed they were reluctant to pay for these items, so I casually mentioned it to the lady at the counter.

 

I thought I had been using my indoor voice but one of the aforementioned individuals heard the words, Trigger happy, and apparently misunderstood our conversation completely.  I should mention here that neither myself nor the lady at the counter, no wait, I can’t really speak for the counter lady. 

Let me just say, I did not have any weapons whatsoever.  They, however, the two questionable suspects, suddenly assumed I did.

One of them ducked behind a Friskies display, while the other suddenly reached inside his coat.  Having seen several cops and robbers’ shows on television, I instinctively knew he was reaching for a gun.  Using my cat-like moves, I quickly flung my 17.6-ounce bag of dark chocolate enrobed mandarins towards him.  It was the edge of the package that provided the paper cut that was enough of a distraction for Everet Grant, the off-duty deputy, who just happened into the store, to reach around the subject and stop him from pulling out, was not a gun at all, but a squeaky hamburger dog toy.

 

It was a familiar squeak to everyone there, and we all had a good chuckle.  As I was in a hurry to get back to Trigger, I didn’t hang around to hear what happened to the two male suspects, but I thought you should know how your dark chocolate enrobed mandarins saved the day.

 

Respectfully,

Bitsy  & Trigger
(Loyal fan of these tangy treats)

 

 

What's happened to Toady?

 

        What began as a silly prank, left Toady wedged inside the grandfather clock, with no way to open it from the inside.  Unless someone looked to see why it had stopped ticking, he could end up in there all night.  He could see them through the glass panel in the door, but someone needed to look at the clock to notice him.  Due to his current state of panic, time was not on his side.   So far none of the other children had noticed him missing, which only added to his mental discomfort.

 

       That was several years ago, and Toady hadn’t thought about that night until this happened.  Several days back he was up on stage helping his friend Warren.  Warren had been learning to do magic.  He wanted desperately to become a magician and being his best friend, Toady was his choice for an assistant.  That is, until he could find a good-looking girl willing to help him on stage.

 

       The illusion Warren had purchased was a wooden coffin.  It was called the disappearing corpse trick.  Warren had seen it done a few times and saved up to buy it.  Now, and without an audience of any kind, he set it up so they could practice on the high school auditorium stage.

 

       It took some time, but they finally figured how to stand it upright so it would stay without wobbling, even when Warren opened and closed the lid.  When open, the audience would be able to see directly into the coffin.  They’d see that it was empty.

 

       Unknown to Warren, Louis Scruffner, the school’s custodian had walked in through the back of the auditorium to see why the lights were on.  He sat quietly and watched from the back row while the two students attempted to get the illusion to work.

 

       Warren, dressed in his homemade cape and goofy looking hat told Toady to stand inside the coffin while he closed the lid and said his magic words.  The moment Toady stepped in, his thoughts flashed back to that grandfather clock and the worst birthday party he had ever been to, but he reluctantly did it.  Warren closed the lid and then waved his arms around in exaggerated gestures.

 

       Then he turned to face the audience.  That’s when he noticed Louis sitting in the back, watching him.  “I’m practicing a magic illusion.” he announced to Louis.  “Don’t let me stop you.” The custodian responded. “Just shut the lights back off when you leave.”  Warren spun around and faced the coffin, and with a theatrical flair he opened the lid.  Both he and Louis saw at the same time, the coffin was now empty.  Toady was gone.  Louis started clapping while Warren stood there dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open.  He had no idea how this thing worked.

 

       “Can you bring him back?” Louis yelled, but Warren couldn’t move.  He couldn’t believe he had done it.  Where had Toady gone?  There was no false bottom or fake side panel.  None of this should have worked.  When Louis noticed Warren’s arms fall to his side and his shoulders slum he knew something had gone wrong.  He stood up and walked to the foot of the stage.  “So where is he?”  Still, Warren couldn’t bring himself to speak.  He just looked at the custodian.

 

       Louis walked to the end of the stage and went up the few stairs and over to the coffin.  He felt the sides and back and examined the seams.  This did not look like some prop.  “Where’d you get this, son?”

 

       When Toady awoke, he was laying on his back on the living room carpet.  Two paramedics were kneeling over him.  “He’s coming around.” One of them said.  “Why did you climb into that clock anyway?  We had to take that door off to get you out.”

 

       Toady could feel his hands on the carpet.  It felt good.  “I’m back. he said smiling.  Is there any cake left?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reincarnation

 

         I don’t recall dying; I just remember that I was suddenly a bird.  After a slight adjustment period, getting used to my legs, feet and wings, and an obvious lack of fingers, I eventually grasped the fact that I had to use my beak for everything.  Not only pecking for food but nest construction as well.  I was wishing I had paid closer attention during my past life to math and general geometry.

 

       Flight was something else altogether.  It was like being on an amusement park ride but no sitting down and no bar going across your lap holding you in.  You were just out there, soaring, making dives and loops.  I loved it.  With outstretched wings I would glide over fields and across the tops of trees.  I wasn’t ready yet, but I tried anyway to zip through and around branches.  Trust me, it takes some skill. When flying through the woods, everything seems to go by so fast, like you’re speeding but you’re not.  It’s just that you are so close to everything that it seems like it.  The most important thing was to look straight ahead and think fast.  When you needed to dodge something there was no time to consider options.

 

       Learning where to be in a windstorm was a high priority.  I had to find a sturdy branch on the right side of a tree and just hang on.  I often closed my eyes and tried to think of something else.  It was the same thing but not as bad for a hard rain.  Just get someplace safe and hold on tight. 

 

Some friends took shelter around store fronts and building overhangs, but I had heard such horror stories about windows that I didn’t want any part of something that was there but that you couldn’t see.  No thanks, no broken necks for me.

 

The one thing that everyone warns you about is the bullies.  Larger birds that wouldn’t hesitate to knock you out of the air just because they can.  Just because you.re not a human anymore don’t think you’ve escaped the morons and idiots.  I guess every species has some stupidity running through it.  (or bird brains, as you call them).

 

I should end this here.  A few other birds have been watching me manipulate this stubby golf pencil across these pages, and I’m sure they’re wondering what I’m doing.  Anyway, whoever finds this, good luck and I promise not to poop on your car.  (I know some enjoy doing that but I’m not one of them).

 

 

Me

 

 

Hours of Operation

 

When the library is closed, it’s like the book has been closed.  The story has stopped, and you can’t go any farther until they reopen.  All the characters now just stand there, waiting, no one is reading their lines, the evil one has stopped lurking for the moment.  He’s now just leaning there in the shadow, smoking a cigarette.  It isn’t fair.

 

Where is the hero?  Why can’t he get more funding for the library so they can stay open around the clock?  Am I expecting too much?  What if this were a medical story and the doctors suddenly had to stop the procedure?  The patient had to just lay there until Monday morning, when the library opened again.  “Sorry, you can’t eat yet, just lay still, we’ll let you know.”

 

Or worse yet, a rich member of the congregation was donating a new Wurlitzer to the church, and during the vital organ transplant everything had to come to a halt.  All we’d be able to do was pray it all worked out.  Many of the elders who were carrying the old organ out of the church would just have to stop.  “No, you can’t set it down.  Just wait.”  “Say, Larry’s turning purple.”

 

I think we shouldn’t have to read the books here, they should just let us take them home to read.

       “What?  When did all that happen?”

 

       “OK then.  Never mind.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What more do you need?

 

On a snowy day we had a fire going in the fireplace, we had hot chocolate and James Taylor playing in the background.    

 

 

 

Hush Puppies

 

June 7, 1962

 

 

       The jar I found in the cellar had this label wrapped around it.  Only the date was written on the label.  There was no way to tell what was in the jar.  I couldn’t see inside it because the glass was so dirty, so the only way was to unscrew the lid, which I was very hesitant to do.  If it were something that smelled, I’d never rid myself of the odor.  If it had been something that was once alive then surely it would smell, and be visually gross, and that image would be stuck with me forever.

       I really couldn’t just set it back on the shelf, now that I’ve found it.  I had to do something about it, but what?  From the weight I knew it wasn’t empty.  I held it up to look through the bottom but it was too distorted to tell what it was.  I don’t know what was in this building back in 62.  Was it a factory or a lab of some kind?  Maybe just a warehouse, but a warehouse for what?

I guess I could carry it outside and then open it.  That way, if it really stinks, the smell would dissipate quickly in the fresh air.  But then again, why do I feel compelled to open it?  Who cares what’s in it?  Until just a few minutes ago I didn’t even know it existed. I think I’m just going to put it back where I found it.  Whoever finds it next can open it.

 

 

The Pod People

 

Here’s what we know so far; They appear to be creatures of habit, engaging in the same rituals every day, buying sleek, expensive sports cars, yet sitting motionless on the freeway with the mini vans and pick-up trucks.

Drinking a morning beverage that is in agreement with their alarm clock.  Standing before a mirror adjusting the strands of growth on their heads then putting on a hat before leaving the house.

Spending the next 20 years climbing a corporate ladder only to retire and play checkers with the mall security guard who studied philosophy from a book he found in the rain.

 

Arsenic and Old Laces

 

I have spent way too much time looking back.  One might think I am an owl.  Ungraded papers strewn about my desk, unreturned phone calls seeking my attention, and a relentless wall clock ticking off reminders of everything yet left to do.  I have tied my left shoe too tight and it, as well, now vies for my attention.

As I consider a shortcut that would end all of this, I bend over to retie my shoe, and the lace snaps off.

 

 

 

Discovered during a downpour

 

The philosophy book lay open on the walkway.  The rain pounding it relentlessly puffed up the pages and warped the cover, but I felt compelled to rescue it.  This was a collection of ideas, albeit soggy, they were thoughts and leaving it to a fate such as this seemed somehow wrong. 

Over time, I would dry it, and attempt advanced first aid in an effort to save it.  It may, of course, have been easier to simply buy a new copy of the same book, but this one now had life experience.  It has been out in the real world, not just carried between lecture halls in the darkness of some backpack, wedged between science, logic or introduction to architecture.  It has developed its own personality.  It has ventured outdoors and survived.   

I would have to read this philosophy with a seriousness and reverence that it now deserved.  All too many books fall victim to highlighters, underlining or notes scribbled in the margins, by students not seeing beyond the next exam.  Feeble attempts to memorize dates and names, missing altogether the burnt match laying next to the lit candle.

I believe the key to understanding the messages within a philosophy is to carefully lift the words and look beneath them.  For example, just below the word Epistemology lives a slippery little creature called, Theory.
The theory of knowledge often slips right past the casual observer, but once you’re holding up one end of that word and having a flashlight in the other hand, your attention can’t help but see it squirming right there before your eyes.   Understanding rises up like an odor that’s been growing from the lack of sunlight.  No longer is there a need for memorization.  The combination of the scent and the strain of holding up such a large word tends to lock itself in your frontal lobe.  Recall becomes easy, simply by seeing epistemology in print once again.  “Oh yes, that is the theory of knowledge.”

Just as the scent of the burnt match triggers your mind to recall the light coming from the candle.  The philosophy is that circle of glow around the flame.  Speaking of knowledge, never try to dry out pages of a book with a candle. 

 

 

 

 

 

Picture Perfect

 

There is just something about a camera bag.  It is a bundle of potential, possibilities unframed, landscapes undeveloped, ideas not yet in focus.  The camera was Mankind's attempt to hold onto the past.  As soon as he noticed just how fast life was passing, he needed to drag his foot, slow things down.  Capturing an image of a moment seemed like a good solution.  "Here, look at this.  This is us just moments ago."

There is, however, a negative with every image.  Enjoying your favorite actor on the big screen is fun, but then seeing how they look today may come as a shock.  The speed of life has never slowed, no matter how many feet drag on the ground. 

Maybe leaving the camera in the bag is the answer.  View life as it happens and live in the moment, for that's what there is, only now.

 

The Sound of Art

 

The art had a sound to it that filled the room without ever being invasive.  It brought life to a quiet setting, like a smooth wine poured slowly over conversation.  Ideas and moments to be savored and shared with friends.