“All ye, all ye, out and free!”

Early each morning, I get in my car and drive to work.  Some seasons that means I travel in the dark, other times my route is sunlit for the entire drive.  During my commute through the cool mornings of spring, the dark transitions to light.  Today, this overcast spring morning, in the soft deep misty hues of pre-dawn, I saw children assembled in that hazy distance.  They were there on the just-greening front lawn of a midwestern farmhouse.  It could have been for recess.  Or just play.  In their places.  As my point of view changed with the movement of my car, and with a refocused stare, they were no longer there - but they had been.  Collected in a moment that had once passed and now returned, or plays over and over, desperately and silently seeking a closure.  I don't know.  Ghosts.  Like dreams.  Like hope.  Like fear.

During this, 14th week regarding the ecumenical truth of faith.

God told me that, at the time I die, I will be happy. At the time I heard this news, I had been sad, so it naturally cheered me up.  But today I am happy, and a bit worried.

why tell us?

Inside my head this morning, it was quiet. Normally inside my head it feels like i am running around in a very confined space, and I try to run, but there is no room, but I can't stop trying to run, so I just get stopped and turned and stopped and turned, over and over again.  Once in a while, I do get out.  But this morning it was just quiet.  I am dying.  We are all dying.  But maybe this unusual quietness is an indication that I am dying soon.  It would make sense.  All the signs.  All the warnings.  The aging.  The days.  The nights.  Wow, it's practically been written out for me.  Bye.  It was briefly quiet.

clearly

It's too bad my skin isn't transparent, because if you could see my innerworks - what makes this beast tick - you'd be even more impressed than you already are.
Beside the impressive showcase I clearly would be, there is a practical angle.  The transparent jimmy would be easier to diagnose, medically.  Much easier to see if something isn't quite right with the gutworks.  Improved preventive look-sees.  "Hey jimmy, that liver looks a bit sallow, no?" Etc..
Evolutionarily it would be advantageous and hence, most likely, preferable.  And right about now, if I were God, I would be really embarrassed that jimmy thought of it before me.

Please be aware of uneven terrain

Bring to me all of your best thoughts and ideas.  I will synthesize and synergize them in to this one:
I am grateful for being tired, because soon I will rest.

For me?.

Every day is a gift.
It is an unopened box, delivered to your doorstep.
Every morning when you open your eyes,
you can just ignore it.
If you leave it alone all day, it will be removed,
and a new one will be put in its place tomorrow.
Or you can open it.
You can then look inside and see the same lump of clay
that gets delivered every morning
and ignore it too.
leave it in the box.
Or you can take it out and make something glorious with it,
something fun, something stupid, something lazy, beautiful, gracious,
Every day the same gift.
And everyday, a choice.

Who's Law?

Law be damned!
It is never okay to poke your dog in the back of the head with a curved stick.

idiot magnet

When I travel rural backroads, I often see shot-up signs similar to this one. What is it about a No Trespassing and No Hunting sign that makes it an irresistible target for the people who are trespassing with a gun?  Like mice to cheese.

Burnt Wood

Burntwood.  Oddly enough, that was the name of the butler I had growing up. "Burntwood," I'd say, "fetch me my slippers and the latest edition of Rich Guy magazine." And then my dad would hit me really hard on the back of the head and say, "Quit calling me Burntwood, you little idiot!"

rainbows

I started to write a book about rainbows.
At some point it seemed better suited for treatment as a screenplay.
Then it was to became a thesis for a peer-reviewed scientific journal.
From that it devolved into an article to appear in a popular magazine.
I shortened it, tightened it up, reduced the excess, pared the fat,
and it became a blog post.

Smooch

My lips

have been described as

"heaven's dewdrops".

Yesterday

Yesterday, the sunrise was at 7:01am.  

The sunset was at 7:01pm.  

Symmetry.  

Balance.  

                                                                    Gone.  

Gosh darn

When truth is dismal, it is temporary and not the truth of eternity.
But that type of knowledge is not all that useful when truth is dismal.

The shelves at my corner grocery have recently become noticeably understocked.
It is nice to have a grocery store so close to my house.
I am sad to see them struggle.
I wish I had a swimming pool,
with penguins swimming in it,
and that the corner grocery store would stock penguin food and pool supplies.
Last year I visited a zoo that had a penguin pool/habitat.  While we were there, the caretakers were hosing off the fake rocks and fake icebergs at the side of the pool.  The rocks and icebergs were covered with poop.  A lot of poop.  But, of course - in perspective,  there were a lot of penguins at the zoo.
I only want about 3 or 4 penguins in my penguin pool.  That's probably a manageable amount of poop for a non-commercial penguin pool operation.
I hope.
I hope that corner grocery stays in business.
One less penguin-related worry for jimmy.

just like me

Spring makes me want to start a band.  Too bad I can't sing or play an instrument.  Maybe if I had friends who could sing or play instruments.  I wish I had some friends, all of them just like me.  So what if the band sucks. 

verily

As the snow piles, of a winter passing, melt away in the slow heat of an approaching spring season,  I am reminded of life - as time melts away our lives.  What began as pure soft white powder wears down into something old, dirty, and a bit crusty.  But be that dismal, it is no cause for sadness - as the advent of spring's own unique death spiral commences thusly. Rejoice!

go team!

I almost applied for a job washing cars at a car dealership in DeKalb, Illinois. I walked within eyesight the glass-paneled overhead door near the service department. They don't remember me there.  I never made it in.  I didn't try.  I wouldn't have gotten that job.  I don't have the calling.  I am passionless in the face of bubbles, a hose, and a sponge. I display the failing nearly every day. I know there is something wrong with me.  My high school football coach knew it too.  For that one long half-day of freshman practice before I quit the team - coach saw it, he smelled it, he endured it and me...I made him sad, inside.  When I turned in my helmet and pads, I didn't smile, but only because I was still there. The story doesn't really have a clear happy ending to job hunting or football.  I walked back to my apartment, temporarily jobless, and I took up tennis.  My guess is that coach is still sad, inside.

ours

There is a spot in the sky that belongs to you and me.
Sometimes it is easier to see with the trees as reference.
And the clouds.
And a bird.
But there it is.
Right there.
Ours.

The City of New Orleans

I remember getting on that train to visit you.
We were in college.
I remember packing my duffel bag.
I remember how my jacket fit.
I remember how quiet campus was in that early hour.
The train platform.
The tired family.
The conductor.
My ticket.
You. Then and now. You.

I love you.

love note

If I could deconstruct the construct, we would be left with love.   
Every complacent day I try to write a new love song.

Everyday.
In my heart.
On your heart.
I write.

-jimmy

another today

I forgot to be happy today. It just got away from me.

performance art

No one needs questions.  We all need inspiration.  Meaningful inspiration.
The sun doesn't only shine on one person.
The darkness doesn't envelope only one person.
I cannot love everyone.
I cannot hate everyone.
If I hit you, or a local innocent, with an electric bass guitar I never learned to play, it would not be because I did not like you, or local innocents, or that I had no musical talent.  It might be an expression of the art that lives inside of me, an art that is looking to be expressed, to get out.
Sometimes the art needs to escape the artist.
Sometimes the sun does shine only on me.
Look out.

it's done

i have a friend who is like a folded piece of paper.  his fate, like yours, rests in the creases.  and if he was crumpled, rather than folded, his destiny would be no less determined.
i am no different, except i went to a camp for special kids.  we folded paper.  into shapes.  and not.

not too far from my house

Somewhere or sometime, on that bus, I forgot to be light.   I forgot to create light.  I have not forgotten how, I forgot why.  The last step off of a school bus is a long one, but not as tall as the step onto that bus.

If

 
 










There is a little something inside all of us.  I like to call it, stuff. 

- - - - - - - - -

I unplugged my negative ion generator.  It now, after being given the proper and just warning, seems irresponsible for me to have been generating an indeterminate sized mystery cloud of negative ions. I have reason to believe that my negative ions may have been causing interference for the sophisticated electronics in this fine country's missile defense and/or citizen surveillance system. I am not at liberty to discuss the details of why i have reason to believe that, but suffice it to say that I now have to use cliches like, "suffice it to say," or, I am told that domestic threats risk:

The Congress shall have Power to declare the Punishment of Treason, but no Attainder of Treason shall work Corruption of Blood, or Forfeiture except during the Life of the Person attainted.
Article III, Section 3, Clause 2

Crap, I don't know exactly what that means, but I just thought they'd just send me to Sweden or something.  This sounds worse.
IT'S FREAKIN' UNPLUGGED, America. Relax.

yes, i did

I was thinking that now is the time for a career change.  But not just for the change, but to follow a new path that would be both fun and interesting.  Die-cast molding original art came to mind, or maybe museum curator, or fashion design, or perhaps optometry.
I made a pretty awesome snowman last year.  When I tackled the snowman project, I had very limited previous building-with-snow experience, and no professional apprenticeship, training, or college, in the snow arts.  So, you can see, I have good reason, by experience, to not be intimidated by my apparent limitations in areas such as fashion design, museum curating, die-cast molding, and optometry.  Once before, on a snowy winter's day, when the temperature ranged between 30 and 32 degrees Fahrenheit, I overcame limitations, and I built a snowman. 
Darn it, yes, I built a snowman.

no, i won't be going to the prom

I'd like to be called (meant as a compliment) "a tall drink of water" by someone. That would make me feel like a cowboy.  A cool cowboy.  That would remind me of the Stetson cowboy hat I bought years ago when we went on vacation out West. And I would think about getting it out of the basement, and maybe even about wearing it; because it is cool and I would have been an awesome cowboy.  But I won't.  Because even though the hat is cool, really it would look stupid on me. 
You know, if you can't be the cowboy, don't wear the hat.
You may as well not even call me "a tall drink of water".
Sorry I let you down.
Sorry for always apologizing.
I'll be over here, if you need me.

two legs and a sneeze

  Before I knew I actually had the flu, I was having episodic moments, in my brain, of feeling other-worldly; there was a pleasant "lightness" I was not accustomed to.  I knew it was possible that I was getting sick, but I was more hopeful that it was part of a transition into a more permanently accessible state of hyper-awareness. I was going to be able to see - no, not just see - I going to be able to see and discern my surroundings with untethered clarity and understanding.  Imagine my snot and fever filled disappointment when I discovered, hours later, the bitter truth that has haunted humanity for millennia; I am human, and a virus is changing the way I feel, and it is not better, or clear, and I don't understand it. 
  Oh well, maybe tomorrow.

good morning, a good morning

the enlightenment of logic is art,
the enlightenment of art is a brand new beauty.

good night

I met a shaman from somewhere in South America.  He, through an interpreter, explained the role of water in, and ability of water to, trap bad mojo/evil.  
This has given me pause for reflection many times since I heard this.  I think it is unlikely that water is any better at trapping evil than is the air, the earth, or grandpa.  
While grandpa was living with us, the only respite we ever got, from the evil trapped in grandpa, was accomplished by draping a large opaque blanket over his cage.

pick up your employee handbook in the HR office.

A co-worker decided to enlighten me with his opinion that I draw odd conclusions.  From that, I deduced that he is a moron.  An odd symbiosis.

no syrup please

Life is full of changes, almost by definition, but in order to try facing them more effectively, I've recently taken to thinking of them as transitions.  Same thing, different terminology.  I was going to attempt inserting a humorous simile right here for literary entertainment reasons, but I am flat.  Like a pancake, but not tasty, and not really lacking the height dimension either.  So, not so much like a pancake, not so much like anything other than a depressed guy.  Maybe a sad pancake.  Yeah, kinda like a sad pancake. I am like a sad pancake.

don't tell me

  Lindsey was a little bit cooler than the most of the fellows in middle school band class. He played guitar and his older brothers talked to him about rock bands that my parents would not approve of.  I was never in school band. I once walked by the room where they practiced.  It was bright in there, and there were elevated places to stand, and I thought to myself, band is stupid.
  I like music, but as a young man, I couldn't tell music theory from rumor. Musical notes were mysteries for angels and devils to comprehend. So, being neither angel nor devil, frustration and inadequacy drove my jealousy into hatred; viola, band was stupid...but music was still intimidating.
  Lindsey was with a friend or two (of his) when he stopped me by the lunchroom vending machines.
"jimmy," he uttered, "do you know about sex alone in the shower?"
  Not answering aloud, I looked back at Lindsey with my most bravely mustered unspoken - huh?
He continued unfazed, "You DO know what to do in the shower with a spoon and a stopwatch, don't you?" he paused for that long painful moment of my desperate searching for the correct response before he finished the question with a disappointed, "no?"
  I finally answered with wavering hesitation, "No." I was afraid I SHOULD know what sex thing to do in the shower with a spoon and a stopwatch, but I was more afraid to try to fake an answer through a haze of sweat, awkwardness, and bafflement.
In that next moment, he decided to let me off the hook.  "Oh, I see your dad hasn't had that talk with you yet.  Hmmm, ask your dad, he'll know."  Lindsey gave an upward nod, and a smile, as he and his friends walked away.  "Your dad will explain it to you."
  I didn't ask my dad.  I never asked my dad, and Dad, if you're reading this, pretend you didn't.
  I still hate the school band, and Lindsey, if you're reading this, you owe me for a spoon (reintroducing it to the kitchen was morally out of the question), a stopwatch (water damage), and a lot of time spent that I must now consider mostly unproductive (self-explanatory).

yes, I mean right now

I will enjoy the uniqueness of today, the comfort of yesterday, and the promise of tomorrow, all in the moment that can only be now.

wag

I touched my dog's jaw.

I held it, feeling the softness and warmth, understanding that someday she will die.

She was concerned that I would stop holding her jaw.

I stopped.

She is waiting.

I am waiting.

We should go for a walk.

made in usa

i've often thought of myself as a pair of socks. 
not in terms of an anology. 
simply. socks.

heard it from a friend

 

I told a joke.  They all laughed.  It was about them.

hold on

there is no where safe.
there is my mind.
there is no where safe.
i smile in a universal gesture.
my body is a beautiful reminder of all that matters.
everything i perceive is a beautiful reminder of all that matters.
you and i matter in this unsafe anywhere.
hold on and smile in a universal gesture.

Garage Door Metaphor

I don't like to leave my garage door open.
I do like to wear loose fitting shorts.
Both for the same reason.

leaves

they were young lovers once. the world knew them when they were beautiful. you knew them when they were electric, but fell.  i know them now and forever, beautiful, forever. 

sun through a giant reed in winter

until there is never, there is always.