Two Quick Takes

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You’ll never convince me that writing cannot be therapeutic.  I’ve written before about a natural high that I experience when I finish a story. revise a poem, or get a few thoughts out of my head and onto a screen.  In this stressful world, I believe we all need to have an outlet for our frustrations, whether it’s annihilating a punching bag, exorcising the inner demons in a morning run, or pounding away at a keyboard before sunrise.  So, with this, I trust that I will meet scrutiny and disagreement–and that is always welcome.  These are just some takes about the world around us in mid-October of 2017.  Feel free to stop at any time, but I invite you to share this with anyone you wish.  PS: I’m not selling anything other than perspective.

  1.  If your house is on fire, you don’t stand outside–matches in hand–while watching the flames and ask your family to appreciate you for closing the dishwasher last week.

This is my analogy for our current president consistently asking for credit during an era of division that some believe he himself is masterminding.  Simply put, adults in general should never request to be acknowledged for doing things that generally moral people would do on any given day.

2. Intentionally spreading a false narrative about why some people have begun a silent, peaceful protest has to be among the most egregious and insulting acts of “white-splaining” or “man-splaining” humanly possible*.

Imagine having a notably bad experience at a bakery.  “Bad” isn’t at all the right word, but it might help here.  You walked in with money to spend and you are immediately disrespected to the point where you felt you were invisible and that your existence meant absolutely nothing to the shop owners and other customers.  You are so angry that you announce aloud and online that you are reporting that bakery to the Better Business Bureau and vow to convince as many friends, family members, and strangers that the business in question has horrible business practices and should make massive changes or should be forced to close its doors forever.

Now imagine that the world reads what you said about the poor customer service, the price gouging, the insulting actions of the employees and management and tells you that you’re completely wrong–that you’re being incredibly disrespectful to blueberry muffins and that just isn’t what America is about.

Would you be confused?  Disconnected?  Disrespected?  Voice-less?

*I’m fully aware that I am “white” and “male” and am explaining things to you (the two things I’m admonishing with #1).  Thanks for reading this far, by the way.  At any rate, I don’t have the time, financial backing, or general interest to change my skin tone or anatomy, so I guess you’re stuck with me remaining to look like this.  The terms I used in #1 are two words that I believe are the most applicable in this situation.

I wish you all peace and love.  Let’s all make an effort to be comforting and understanding.  If you’re struggling with this–much like I am if you’ve seen any of my tweets–then I suggest writing your ideas out as a way of unburdening your heartsick soul.

 

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Town Gathering

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Speaker at podium:  Good evening, everyone.  I’m absolutely thrilled to see all of you here tonight at our monthly town hall meeting.  Thanks to those who RSVP’d beforehand and scanned their phones as they entered.  We have nearly 100% of the registered voters here, I’m told, and many of you, I can see, have brought your children.  Having an accurate count of adults and children in attendance for these Town Hall meetings will lead us to a successful exchange of ideas.

As you can see on this large screen behind me, we have a number of issues to discuss tonight.  Some, as you can already tell, are going to be easier than others.  We had them randomized by a supercomputer in another township so we couldn’t be accused of playing favorites.

1st Man in attendance:  You misspelled “Equipment” on number three there!

Speaker:  Oh, you’re right.  Let’s change that.  Thank you.  Now, the first topic tonight is the road constructions on Hollis–

2nd Man in attendance:  Is this gonna take long?  I gotta work in the morning.

Speaker:  We hope not to keep anyone too long.  However, those in attendance are free to go when necessary.

1st Man:  Isn’t it Hollis Boulevard?  You have Hollis Street on the sign.

1st Woman:   It’s Street, you dumb ass!  I’ve lived there for sixteen years; I think I know the name of my street!

2nd Man:  It used to be Hollis Boulevard when I was younger.  They musta changed it recently.

3rd Man:  Mr. Speaker.  When will the construction zones be finished?

Speaker:  Thank you for getting back to the subject.

4th Man:  Kiss-ass.  Do you suck his dick after this meeting too?

2nd Woman:  Please, everyone.  My children are here too.

4th Man:  Well, they’re gonna need to learn this language eventually.  Tired of you people raisin’ a bunch of pussies!

5th Man:  You can’t talk to my wife like that!

1st Man:  Guys, did you know the new Game of Thrones was on tonight?  How could they schedule this meeting at the same time?  Let’s wrap this up!

3rd Woman:  I’ve never seen that show.  I don’t care if I miss the new episode.  I want to know about the new playground equipment listed at number 3.

Speaker:  We plan to get to that one soon.

5th Man:  Wait, isn’t tonight the last game of the playoffs too?  I’m actually pissed I’m here and not at home right now.

3rd Man:  Who you rooting for to win?

5th Man:  I think the reigning champs are gonna repeat!

2nd Man:  You dipshits still watch sports?  Don’t you have any real work to do at your homes?

4th Man:  It’s sad, isn’t it?  Here I am at this meeting giving up MY valuable time when I could be at home doing something productive.

Speaker:  Folks, folks!  I’d love for us to all be a part of something productive.  We have a list, and we’d like to get the conversation started on the roads along Hol–

3rd Woman:  We don’t even watch TV anymore.  There’s nothing but junk and blasphemy on every channel.

2nd Woman:  You’re so right.  We let our little Charles watch cartoons for about an hour a day.  My husband put a control on the TV that shuts it off whenever–

4th Man:  Nobody cares, bitch!

4th Woman:  Okay, that’s it.  Mr. Speaker, can we get this guy outta here?

Speaker:  We appreciate your concern, but we do not want anyone dismissed from this.  We respect free speech, and we want your voices heard on these very important iss–

4th Man:  You don’t speak for me, cocksucker!  I’m not going anywhere unless I decide to leave.  I’ll take on all of you if that’s what it takes!

2nd Man:  Oh my god, guys!  You’ll never guess which celebrity just died!

1st Woman:  I hope it wasn’t that man from all those movies I watch all the time with my family.  How will I explain it to them?

Speaker:  Ladies and gentlemen.  The construction for Hollis Boule—Street!  is set to be finished by December 31.

All in attendance:  WHAT????!!!

1st Man:  You told us last month that it would be done sooner and under budget!

2nd Woman:  I planned on travelling through there for the holidays.  I guess my Christmas is ruined.

4th Man:  Ha!  Merry Fucking Christmas, ya idiots!

3rd Man:  We’re Jewish.

4th Man:  Nobody cares about that either!

Speaker (covers the mic and turns to his consultant):  You said meeting them in person would be different than online.  You owe me a beer.

2nd Woman:  I heard that!   Alcohol is a sin!!!

 

 

Who’s the Parent, Here?

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I just read a student’s essay where she recalls being 8 years old, with her younger siblings, and stuck outside her locked house for over an hour in the middle of winter. All because her parents were at work. Oh, and the girl’s mother also told her she could “skip lunch” since she was a little chubby at the time. The essay is about a neighborhood woman who took it upon herself to help this young girl and her siblings by providing warmth and food. To me, the neighborhood woman is by far a better parent than either of her actual parents.

it takes a village

The House on the Highway (2017 early draft)

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transport1

Rain again.

Pre-school day.

The boy is sleepy

But becomes alert when reminded

Of school.

He’s dressed in minutes

His cowlick sprayed out

My shirt is stained

But I cover it with a sweater

That wasn’t tight last month.

 

Coffee.  The boy

Asks for a leftover doughnut.

We say goodbye

To a sleepy mama.

She Misses

Coffee but rubs

Her pregnant belly and Ooohs—

She mumbles something about having a lot to do.

 

Will the missus miss us?

 

We’re a mile away from her

And home when

The first red light stifles

Our progress

Toward timelessness.

I hate being late.

Rain hardens, stiffens,

Strengthens.

The sky sends pellets

And creates tension inside me

While each droplet is just doing its job.

Green light.  No movement.

The head of the driver in front of me is visible

In the side mirror.  He’s

Clearly looking at his phone.

I honk and say something

The missus wishes

I wouldn’t say when the boy is around.

Or ever.

Seconds pass.  The guy looks

Up and eases forward.

Waveless.

My tension heightens.

No recognition of fault.

No request for my forgiveness.

 

Another point-eight miles of green lights.

The next stop is my our turn.

The left-turning lane fills behind me

As the rest of the east- and west-bounders

Pound down the splashy path.

A long, loud transporter

Booms by on the right,

Bearing a modular home.

Look at that house, I say.

He of course looks for a stable structure

Off the road

Whoa, he says, in wonderment.

Is there people in there, daddy?

Not likely, I say.  But I can’t stop thinking about

Its future inhabitants.

 

Where are they at this moment?

Waiting at the lot?

A few cars behind?

Boxing up picture frames

And kitchen utensils in another area code?

Did they pick the color?

Is this their forever home?

<<EEEEEP!!!>>

Will this rain ever quit?

<<BLAAMMM—BLAAMMMM!!!!!!!>>

The impulse to turn around has never been stronger.

The missus misses us.

We miss her.  Work should wait some days.

Daddy?

Yes?

I’m glad you’re taking me to school today.

My son really says this just like that.

I stick a sleeve out my window

To wave my apologies to the cars behind me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Liquid Soapbox

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You found it!  The secret bottom tab with all the really JUICY commentary!

Need an explanation for the name?  It’s simply a moniker I created to describe a metrosexual who thinks he has something important to point out from time to time.

I’ll put all types of writing here that doesn’t quite fit into the other categories.  While I never really set out to offend, it’s bound to happen.  Who am I?  No one, really.  Just a guy who is using technology to exert some built-up mental tension.