A DOODLEGASM OR TWO

A Change of Perspective

c-confused

Everyone's Greatest Fear

Strange Days

Walk Softly

Floatsom, Meet Jetsom #2

Immigration

A Question on Sunrise

Man In the Tree

I HAD A DOODLEGASM TODAY and instead of smoking afterwards, I decided to share a few pics and cartoons that I’m sure everyone is just dying to view. At least this breaks up the words. What can I say?

A CHANGE OF PERSPECTIVE: I suppose we all could have the same perspective if we were all on the same page or the same plain and if we had no depth perception. Problems arise when we have a variety of perspectives—how do we get along? We don't seem to be able to see eye-to-eye with each other often. Maybe mono-vision is a good thing. Maybe we should all stick a fork in our eye? Dunno….

C-CONFUSED is just confused. We all get that way. Some of us are confused all of our lives. But that's not to be confused with s-stupid. He lives next door….

EVERYONE’S GREATEST FEAR: Ever since humans first invented pipes, there were EGFs. WMDs are nothing compared to the dark, primordial fear we homo sapiens feel when we look down into the narrow abyss of our plumbing. We know that what goes down there will someday, somewhere, somehow come back up. The question is whether we'll recognize it for what it is—however much changed….

STRANGE DAYS: No matter what kind of day it is, there is always the contrast between inside and outside. No matter the weather, the time, the place, the space, whether we are alone or with others, we are always outside. Yet we see ourselves as interior beings, with this interiority the be-all-and-the-end-all of things. We see ourselves like we were armored robots or something, tromping through the countryside, ever on the move, in total control of our lives. But all that's around us also moves through us, and is really more like a giant swirly—more like tides and waves enveloping, supporting, challenging and changing us. So my little guy who is peeking out from inside his bunker needs to get out more and get a life….

WALK SOFTLY: Somewhere in the dark, there's always a big man with a stick. We can't see him coming. Or going. But in the light, when we are more sure of our own footsteps, we can take measures to avoid him. Also in the light, big men with sticks generally aren't as big as we first thought....

IMMIGRATION: Moving to a strange place can be an incredibly isolating experience. We all  move, transform, grow, expand, shrink. Borders are just edges we decide are there. They're not really anywhere....

 A QUESTION ON SUNRISE: We can either greet each day or retreat from it. The day doesn't really care what we think or do. Nevertheless, it's up to us to be polite and say hello each morning....

MAN IN THE TREE: Cummon. Haven't you ever want to curl up around all that heartwood? It's good for you. It just takes a little practice....

Cheers

POEM: NEWS OF THE WORLD #12

Is Trump a chump, mad as a hatter?

Why should we care? What does he matter?

He’s not the first, and he’s far from last

to play fiddle while it all goes past.

Sugar daddies tend to make us blue.

Along with moguls, they’re quite a crew.

In their deepest, darkest make-up sex,

They sign their love with a goodbye text.

Reports from the trenches make it clear:

Flowers and chocolates will cost us, Dear.

Our zygote wars will show what we need,

That fewer—really—need plant their seed.

More civil wars? We’ll choose Facebook “Like.”👍

But jellied babies and blown-up tykes? 👎

They're for the death squads who choose which dawn,

Which beating heart and whose final yawn.

LAST WAR WAS LIT BY A SINGLE SPARK!

Who would have dreamed our end such a lark?

“I thought that the ON button was OFF!”

(Reading instructions was just for toffs.)

Missiles are launched for fun and profit.

Smart bombs are dropped (a little off it).

Teabagged-cities soon choke on debris.

And yes, we move closer to that sea.

By crowns we’d pound; they all came around.

Like whales we’d sound—“We’re risen! We’re found!”

It was so clear; we had found our way,

Though on a path of a dimmer day.

DEMOCRACY’S IN  OUR DNA!

Yeah. Let’s rah! rah! rah! and hey! hey! hey!

We've clambered down our family tree,

To end up standing on bended knee.

So tug your forelock and tote that bale;

these colourful skins go off to jail.

If rainbows will bide in many hues,

Is the sky made more of by its blue?

People blow though here like tumble-weeds.

Some say it’s the wind that reaps past deeds.

I say it’s when roots first went their way—

They'll stop at nothing, unless they stay.

Warm winds will blow, but why should they, though?

They're ready to reap all that we sow.

Birds of a feather fall together.

Is there time for more man-made weather?

ESCAPED ICEBERG CALVES CORRALLED AT SEA!*

Let's say it's best, but I hope we’re free

To roll our old bones. (Oh, those will ache!)

Keep on dancing the “Atomic Shake!”

There’s trips to China but pain in Spain.
And nasty things crawl right up our drain:

Like “Bombs away!” Thanks, Enola Gay,

While your baby nukes whine all the day.

………..

We've had a great run with lots of fun.

We played in the sun, our work half-done.

But glaciers still melt, those salt seas rise,

No matter who'll live or who will die.

It's true that we’ve learned so very much

About this and that, and such and such.

Yet still we need discounts, refunds, breaks.

We've killed all our gods! (Both real and fake).

Zygote Wars

I DIDN'T WANT TO PUT IN ANOTHER NoW POEM, but I edited this a bit and added a couple of new stanzas. It’s not too bad. I like some imagery: about the real world of death squads versus the not real at all world of social media (which will only get worse before it goes away altogether.) In the “zygote wars” stanza, I had been reading Meet Me At Infinity, a collection of fiction and non-fiction by James Tiptree Jr. (Alice Sheldon) where she writes about her experiences writing SiFi in a “man’s world”, and gave anecdotes about her life and travels.
I was also inspired by the short story, “Finding Flotsam”, by Bill Blondeau  that I reviewed earlier (see blog post 8/26/18). In “Flotsam”, Bill envisions a distant future populated mostly by women, and I dunno, folks, somehow a world with a bit less of the masculine touch might not be such a bad thing. Are men as necessary as women? Really? It's the old sperm versus egg question: Which comes first? After all, it only takes one guy with a Dixie cup and a pile of porn mags to populate a small country. Whoo-wee! Thar's a lot of swimmers in the pool, ladies! 
I wonder what the world would be like with fewer men hanging around trying to get laid and fighting all the time because they're horny? Might be for the best. Thus, my stanza on zygotes and seeds.

I liked the “tumble-weeds” and “warm winds” stanzas. But the ending stanzas were quite cautionary, and I would rather have had a bit more tongue-in-cheek humour in them, as is normally my wont. But sometimes tongue-in-cheek just won't do. So, that’s how she floats, matey! (Hey! Will that old guy ever turn the page?)

Cheers

*Fortunately, the entrepreneurial spirit is alive and well in Newfoundland and Labrador where part of the year icebergs float by. They’re now capturing and bottling the ice water from those magnificent structures before they melt away in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. I guess they’ve been doing this for a few years now. And it looks like their bottles are made of glass, so at least they won’t end up as plastic jetsam or in the guts of whales. I just hope their supply lasts.

 

Turn me upside down. Please!