All aboard. People I very much appreciate:

Thursday, April 29, 2021

GRAMPA

When Spring made tardy apologies this year,  Norma contrived an installation in reply. Old cones and leaves are good gilded ahead of Spring and emphasize her point by including my Grampa's cobbler's last in the scene. It's a vexed caution that seasons should keep apace with solar orbit or get their shoes fixed.

Grampa, who used the last last, is pictured here with me:
I am the shorter guy in the photo, and I am 71 years old. So Grampa, born in 1872, must be 149 this year. Let us always be somewhere, in time and space, churned in moontide to lessons learned, to life and memory --to birth, and always remember Earth. Let us ever be, somewhen, curating the thought of liberty.


Wednesday, April 14, 2021

Door Roses

 

 


 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
                                       
 
 
 
Quieter, greater powers
Than photons sustaining 
Flowers emitting oxygen--
Quantum machineries in
Carbon lives--me, you, O2
Contained in time forward
And back as wind  blew
Balloons into our yard. 


 

Friday, March 26, 2021

Trainride Looks Smaller Farther Back

This is back by where it began. I'm about 5, riding a little train pulled by puffer-engine through Golden Gate Park. I am sitting behind sisters, between big brother and our father

It is about to choo-choo us through the woods to Fleishhacker Zoo, where I intended to apply for residence in the Gorilla Preserve. I admired their agility and wanted to learn.

Admittedly, I have gleaned some athletic competence despite my failure to qualify. Last month I fell backwards off the pumphouse roof and rolled a couple times in search of my feet, found them and stood on them. Quite relieved until the bruised muscle pain kicked in. Then, last week, our slippery shower sent me on a leap across the bathroom,  included a flying tackle of the toilet, which I brought down, and spent several days bringing back up. I blame that on highschool football, not gorillas.

I can only fault our Universe's entropic confluence with temporal and gravitational continua, not the personal miscalculation and indignity of age.  Just remember, there's no protective net around roofs and no teamwork in the bathroom.

 

Tuesday, March 9, 2021

Enigma Of Clogged Brain

On March one, I posted a poem on "Invalid's Workshop" that had some import to me.  I repeat it here: https://atrialinvader.blogspot.com/2021/03/rain-on-summer-snowflake.html

 
 
Rain on Summer Snowflake flowers
Gathers through the hours -- yes,
We heard it on our backporch roof
But unless we go outside for proof,
We must pursue an indoor truth:
Divide by season, calendar days,
Moments where we must be --but 
There are no fractions of infinity.

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It's been a week and there have been no comments.
This troubles me. I get used to feedback and value it.  Maybe I got an enlarged hippocampus --like UK cab drivers "getting the knowledge"--a key memory region. Maybe an enlarged Broca'sRegion --associated with language (however prone to over-simplfication). However, me aside.
 
The essence of creativity is making connections and solving puzzles --enigmas. Creative bits of our minds must confront doubt and rejection. It leads to psychic pain, reducible by  alcohol, drugs, etc.
 
Otherwise, we must consider Nucleus Accumbens, the core of the brain's reward center. It makes us feel good in response to booze, drugs, food, money, etc., drawing the brain to an apex of  satisfaction.  But we mustn't conclude without a solution:
 
There is a "clogged-brain cure.: 1/8 cup salt, 1/8cup baking soda, then vinegar down the...drain? Excuse me, I misread drain for brain. Don't you do that, like people did on the 2016 vote.
**************************************************

It's the 10th now and I finally figured out the new and "improved" way to turn the damned address BLUE! --see 1st paragraph.

Seems to me if Google wanted a liberated forum of info they'd make it less baffling. I'll be seventy-twotin'  years old this year and I know plenty goddamnit. Been making clickable blue links in text for a long time. Is Google trying to clear me out with needless complexities or is it a general thing targeting seniors? Does it upset us? Does it work? Hell no, we just go lie down and wake up with more intelligence than these dagnabbed whippersnappers ever imagined. Honestly, I'd rather have my dag nabbed than my whipper snapped --let's not even get into having one's hornswoggled-- but it's better than getting drygulched in the wild west. What was the question again? 
 
    

Saturday, February 20, 2021

Winter in a Different Year

I cry out from quarantine: Oh Lordy, are we all Bubble Boys Now?  I consult the past, when God and I were closer in age and referred to each other in the moment --Lordy, what God was called when He was a kid and I, Geo**ie. We observe the history of the future is not always influenced by visionaries, but by those who make best of the present. I guess this post is about us. Oh Lordy! See photo:



It shows us in the high Sierras getting several kids into their warmies after a lot of sledding and playing. It was winter, 1975. Henry Kissinger had been quoted, "90% of politicians give the other 10% a bad name", and Nixon (of all people) ended a war. Chris's car was the cozy changing room and our van carried sleds and stuff.

Mainly, we were all in love with a new world that showed promise. We were all headed way the heck into the future. We're here now, and we're ok. Hope you are too.

Sunday, February 14, 2021

Valentine, who outsings you to the bitter end...

For this year's Valentine's Day I decided, this late afternoon, to harken back to December, 8 years ago when all the year-end-beginning-religious-commercial holidays got to ganging up on me. Eight years and I still don't get it. Why inflict these gatherings of family and friends seeking warmth and love in such inclement weather? Hopefully I'll find an answer to augment comments received in 2013. 
New comments are invited under them --even from thems who commented the first time.

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Lesser-Known Christmas Tales, Part Two

[My thanks to Laoch of Chicago for, "Did you ever notice that just by changing the order of the letters that Santa becomes Satan?" Also thanks to Willie in Sonoma for a hilarious phone discussion on Faust this evening.]


It began when Dr. Faustus, student of all knowledge, went to the department store to see Santa. The mezzanine sign was composed of distracting colors and idle hands. He got confused and veered right,  became separated from his mother and headed down the wrong stairs of Marlowe's Emporium!  He hopped up on Satan's knee and told him what he wanted for Christmas.

"I want 'us' off my name. Faustus Faustus --the other doctors tease me-- 'Faustus with the leastest', big laughs, big stupid laughs! It makes me tired."

"Ok," said jolly Satan. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, I don't wanna be no old doctor no more. Just Faust. No stinkin' responsibilities. No stinkin' old. Just Faust, young Faust!"

"Would you mind being a tenor?"

"No, fine with me!"

"Ah, then let's skip up 200 years. You want Gounod."

"Yeah, yeah, lots of gonads!"

"Sort of, it's an opera. Behold: the lovely Marguerite; Siebel who wins all hearts with his 'Flower Song' and whose life you make intolerable; Valentine, who outsings you to the bitter end; the family you hector into desolation!"

"Sounds great to me!"

"Only if they don't do the ballet in act 4. That's where you and I get disgraced."

"What else you got?"

"Well, we could skip sideways and try Goethe."

"How d'you spell that?"

"G-o-e-t-h-e"

"That's 'ghost' while holding your tongue-tip out. Other doctors tricked me into saying 'my father works in a shipyard' doing that (try it: Mah faddah wucks inna shityard). No goeth for me!"

"That's Goethe, pronounced 'Gay-tee'. You get to hook up with Helen Of Troy --a great beauty of the Mycenaean Age."

"When was that?"

"Oh, four or five thousand years ago."

"Mommy! Mommy!" Cried Doctor Faustus. "Santa wants to give me to some really old lady!" He leaped up and ran off in search of his mother. Satan picked up the intercom handset.

"Hello Santa? Satan. I think you got a problem-kid on the way. I'll have my helpers lend your helpers some pitchforks and, if that doesn't work, just mention Helen Of Troy.



24 comments:

  1. Love their close working relationship.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I believe they were alphabetically consecutive on roll call all through their school days and developed mutual familiarity then.

      Delete
  2. Not only do you have a very strange mind, but a very highly educated and well-read one. An entertaining combination, to be sure.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks! It is a strange mind but I'm beginning to get used to it.

      Delete
  3. Funny! And thanks again, Geo, for leaving a comment on my blog!

    ReplyDelete
  4. I can never seem to come up with a comment good enough to compete with your wonderful wit. But you did inspire me to go to YouTube and watch the impressive finale to Gounod's "Faust". (Mirella Freini as Marguerite).

    By the way, Satan knows I've been a good boy.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Sometimes the excellent dance scene is left out if a production is short of ballerinas and danseurs, but it always ends with Faust and Satan looking like chumps. It's enough that Santa knows we're good boys.

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  5. Replies
    1. Thanks Laoch! And thanks again for the Santa-Satan connection.

      Delete
  6. Thanks, Geo., for continuing with this trope! Why not now take Noel and its reverse, Leon, as in Trotsky?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. "Тро́цкий", a great title for a moral tale. He did not deserve what happened to him in Mexico. Neither Faust nor Satan were mean as Stalin. Perhaps a musical, eh? Mariachi balalaika ballet?

      Delete
  7. Good fun. I liked the bit about asking how to spell Goethe.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Squid. Language is a kick indeed.

      Delete
  8. Just goes to show ya, spelling DOES count.

    Loved it, as always. You're quite the wit, dude. (See, now if I misspelled "dude", and left the "e" off, it'd be a whole 'nother connotation.)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Indeed, as dud I admit to greater uncertainty than I do as dude. Dudes are confident!

      Delete
  9. Oh my dog...errr, I meant oh my god, that was funny.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Mirror-image words with many parallels!

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  10. Dear Geo,
    I loved the story! I just saw a hilarious German film, with a title that maybe your young kid above might also hsave used - IF you Americans weren't so decent. "göthe" was mispelled in the film's title. Do you want an apple from Paris,(no need to change a letter here to create confusion, ask dear Agatha C.) Waiting for part three!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh! "Pommes d'or du jardin des Hespérides" from The Labors of Hercule (Poirot). Close? I love Agatha.

      Delete
  11. Haha very clever Geo. If there was a movie called Satan Santa I would watch it, I imagine it would be quite entertaining :P

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Lizzy. I can't imagine what such a movie would be about but I'd sure watch it too!

      Delete
  12. I had a classmate in high school whose first name was Faust. He preferred to go by his middle name, David, for some strange reason.

    I never realized the Santa-Satan thing before. Sneaky...This story is so funny...I can easily see it being made into something bigger. Santa/Satan takes care of ALL the kids, good AND bad, LOL!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Well, Helen of Troy was stolen from her husband by Paris, who was also called Alexander(previous post), and that started the Trojan War --so Faust was right to go running to his mommy and your classmate was wise to call himself David, another story in another mythic structure, rather than get mixed up with them apples. And now I'm thoroughly confused! I think they should All have department store workshops.

      Delete

 

Wednesday, January 27, 2021

Enigmatically Sunny California


 


There may not be a picture over this post, but I'll try. It's getting on midnight here in Vineyard,  10 miles southeast of the State Capitol and folks of all stripes, state leaders and citizenry alike are battening hatches against a storm no one would wish upon their enemies or, even worse, themselves. 

Excuse me, the lights are flickering in here and this post might exceed its predecessors' disjointivity. Went out to Pumphouse for nicotinic meditation an hour ago and was interrupted by felting racketing down from the roof hatch. Went out and noticed wind had rolled the tar-paper halfway up a hatch I nailed shut 40 years ago.

Oh no, the lights are flickering again and pooter's telling me "update failed". Is anybody working on this? I'll see what I can do...ah, --5 minutes-- success. But the little gray pop-up persists. I proceed, despite the funnel cloud reported spinning over North Sacramento, and select a 

"a", that seems to be where blogger and weather cut me off here. Storm has abated somewhat and I took a flashlight out to the barn. 7 cats have made a purring pile of themselves and seem to weather this storm in contentment. I shall go to bed now and try to do likewise.