Bogus Lies (and) Ordinary Greatness
I started, what I call, articlulate writing years and years ago. Some of it was free associate writing, automatic writing, or what ever you chose to call it. It was, and still is, a fun outlet for me. Some of it, no one has ever read before. A lot of it .... maybe nobody should...
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
E n d i n g s
By «im Uhr
She sat alone in the gazebo.
The wind blew her hair. But there was no one there to see the rumpled mess it was becoming. She didn’t try to brush it, for she had no brush even if she wanted to. The wind blew hair into her eyes, causing tears. But there was no one there to wipe them.
She starred off into nothingness, for there was no one else to look at.
She was alone.
A cold breeze blew past her. The weather was changing. Summer was ending. Autumn was creeping in, like a thief in the night. One day it was summer, but sometime in the middle of the night, while no one was watching, the leaves started to turn, birds got ready for their long flights, and cool breezes sunk up on you. Now at night it was wise to carry a jacket, an extra layer of protection.
Autumn brought many things to an end; Ice cream, Baseball, Swimming, Walks in the park, Bike riding, and Love affairs…
She didn’t need to know reasons. Things ended. Autumn came. Winter would soon follow. It’s just they way things were.
She wiped a final teardrop from her eye and headed home alone. Before winter came.
Friday, June 28, 2013
DO YOU CARE?
I was driving down the highway just when afternoon rush hour was letting up a bit. My exit was coming up and I maneuvered over to the right lane. I thought about putting on my headlights, but I also think about taking piano lessons, and numerous other things that I should do, all the time. Having my headlights on wouldn't have helped me see but it was that twilight time of day when oncoming and passing traffic is much more easily seen when they have their headlights on. But since I don't take piano lessons, I didn't have my headlights on. Anyway, as I was exiting off the ramp, I noticed that the guy in front of me was acting as if he were looking for a parking spot in the middle of the exit ramp. It really wasn't that astute of an observation seeing as if I didn't have a windshield I could have reached out and stolen his rear license plate, or if I would have turned on my windshield washer I would have sprayed his trunk, and I'm sure that I'm exaggerating to say that my wiper blade would have combed his hair (because he was wearing a hat). So I hope the picture of him going too slow is clear, and if it isn't let me just clarify it by saying that he was motoring at a insignificant fraction of the 45 M.P.H. speed limit posted. Though the ramp was wide enough for two cars it wasn't meant to be a two-lane ramp, just an extra wide one-lane ramp.
I decided to be a good citizen and not jam up traffic as this car was going to do if he kept at this pace. Did I mention that it was a blue Chevy? I'm not sure what year, because that is not one of my talents, and honestly the only way I even knew that it was a Chevy is because it have small, steel lettering above the keyhole to the trunk. I don't know why I mention the fact that the car ahead of me was a blue Chevy seeing as it has nothing to do with the story, and the outcome of the story would not be changed even if it had been a Ford. I think the only one who it would have mattered at all to was the owner. And since who the owner of that car, that could have just as well been a ford, but, in fact, was a Chevy, is doesn't matter I think I'll just forget about it. So, seeing as I am such a good citizen, I decided to pass this blue Chevy, whose owner isn't significant to the storyline, on the exit ramp that was wide enough for two cars, but probably made for one.
To make a long story short ... I hit a Beaver as I was passing another car. I saw its eyes look up at me seconds before I felt its furry body under my wheels. I'm sure that if you would consider one of those Bearskin rugs to be dead then you would second my opinion that this Beaver was dead. I knew it as soon as I looked in my rear view mirror.
After I felt my tires pass over him I slowed down a little but when traffic started catching up to me I put my foot to the gas and drove home. No, I didn't stop. I already own a bearskin rug…
I forgot about the incident at the next traffic light. The only reason I remember it now is because I needed something to write about. When my conscience asks me if I feel bad for killing a Beaver I shrug and say, "I don't care." Actually I don't say it aloud, I just think it so that no one thinks I'm weird for talking to myself. People might think me weird for shrugging for no reason, but not for talking to myself.
Now I admitted a situation I was involved in where I really didn't care about the outcome, where someone else might have. What I would like to know from you is if you care about things such as whether your next-door neighbor has a job or not?
Do you really care about the starving children of Hollywood or where ever? Don’t you leave food on your plate in a restaurant sometimes, and then afterward find that you're still hungry and pick up a snack somewhere else?
Do you give to charities? What a noble and forthright human being you are! I bet you also like the tax deductions. Would you still give the same amount to charities if it wasn't tax deductable?
Oh, I know you. You work for one of those Endangered Animal organizations, don't you? Do you really care when a species becomes extinct? Why does it seem you only crusading for the cute ones?
Are you one who fights to get the violence taken off T.V.? I bet you're also one of those gawkers who slow traffic to look at accidents to see if there is any blood. The violence in real life promotes the violence on the tube. When there is a bad accident I like to watch the passers by, safe in their cars. More people turn toward the accident, counting off bodies on their fingers, than people who turn away searching through their glove compartments for an old Burger King bag to show their inner feelings. And the networks know this! Violence sells -- it's clear and simple. The viewing public wants to see blood and gore, both in real life and on the screen. If enough people were turned off by it they would turn off their sets and the networks would get the message a lot faster than from the few hundred letters from the "weird" portion of the population. The rumor that T.V. sets explode if off for more than fifteen hours a day is not true! You can turn it off. T.V. withdrawal is not fatal, nor are the symptoms permanent.
Maybe T.V. is the best thing that has happened to the modern world. Maybe it keeps all the gooks minds blank so their warped minds can't function and find destructive things to do with their idle time. Maybe T.V. is beneficial. I hate to think of what the "Dukes of Hazards" fans might do if they had the extra time on their hands. We should be thankful that there is enough worthless broadcasting to keep these type of people busy sitting in front of their boxes day and night.
So do you really care about starving children, endangered animals, charities, auto accidents, and T.V. programming? Be honest now…
P.S. I care about all those things…
Oh yea, about the Beaver story,
I just made it up. I knew it would
be easier for me to get you to admit
to all your faults if I pretended that
I had one of my own.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
B O R I N G I S B A D
One has to be a pupil before one can teach. But that doesn’t mean that once one becomes a teacher they stop learning. These processes usually go hand in hand. Show me a teacher that has stopped learning, and I would recommend for one of his pupils to take his pulse, I assume it would be found that he has been dead for the last few years. If he were a music teacher, I would ask his students to restrain from making any deadbeat remarks, or if he runs the school paper the journalist better not make any deadline comments. The teacher is always learning because of outside influences; books, newspapers, T.V., radio, and also people smarter than the teacher. The process of teacher-pupil is a two-way thing. The teacher can actually learn something from his students? Of course! It doesn't necessarily have to be about the subject he teaches, but about behavior and attitudes at the very least. But does it stop here? Of course not! There are many things a teacher can learn from his students. He soon finds out that a homework paper is a dog’s favorite food. He learns that it was much more fun to be a student than it is to be a teacher. He learns many things. Sometimes even about his own specialty. Of course not! (Oh, sorry… I was getting sort of used to saying that…)
Some of us will never learn. Some seem to never lose hope. There are still people who have never heard of Murphy's Law. Others, though they have heard of it either don't believe it, or don't see the sense in it. These people are lawbreakers.
It’s not a good idea to make Mr. Murphy unhappy by breaking his law. This is a very serious crime. Lack of negative thinking is an epidemic that is ruining our society. Although when there is a lot of negativeness around, it makes me almost look positive, and I wouldn’t want to be known as a Pollyannist. Still, I think it’s an obligation to be firm with these laws.
We should have separate jails for Murphy's Law breakers. Or maybe we can stuff them on the shuttle and leave them on the moon.
If this becomes practice (and it probably will since I mentioned it), I think I'm going to break the law of Mr. Murphy so that I can ride aboard the shuttle. While a ride on the shuttle is not worth the sacrifice of having to spend the rest of my life on the desolate moon, I figure it is worth the chance of trying to take over the flight and change courses. Success would mean spending the rest of my life on one of the sunny Venusian beaches.
I really do need to take a trip. A long trip. Maybe around the world; or at least around the block. Maybe if I just walked around the room a few times.
I need change… I have a dollar, but I want a gumball. That's the way life is; you can have more or less than you want, but never exactly what you want. Like that old ancient saying goes:
"You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometime, you get what you need."
Was it John Wayne or Mick Jaeger who said that?
"The grass is always greener on the side of the fence without the dogs…"
"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, unless you're a bird watcher."
— Sayings from the book of Rhumit.
Actually I could never leave my humble abode (be it ever so humble.) I am truly a homebody, or is that a homely body?...
Change can be upsetting, disorienting, and yet unavoidable. In school I hated changing classes between periods, even when I was leaving classes I hated. I like my moods evened out throughout the course of a day. If I start out feeling miserable at the start of a day I would just as soon stay miserable throughout the rest of the day. I hate up and down days, like school used to be — good class, bad class, good class… I hate that! Why can't the educators even things out by making everything either all good or all bad. I would prefer not to have them all be somewhere in-between, because that would be too boring. It's fun to cry about how much you hate something, or even, once in awhile, exclaim how you enjoy something. But what's there to say about something that's average? And I don't mean average in the way the critics use the term, when they say a movie or play was average, they really mean to say it was bad. Because after almost every movie a critic rates as average, he or she strings out a long list of shortcomings. Now you know, that after so much interjection and thought going onto ways to tear someone apart, he or she must have had fun.
The way you can really tell a movie is average is when it is just called "average," and there is nothing else. There is nothing to say about something that is really average. So average is boring, worse than bad, and even worse than good. It leaves you with nothing to reminisce upon. Nothing to sharpen your claws, and polish your verbal expletives on.
How about the average teacher? Does the average teacher really do more harm than good? The average teacher bores his students and leaves them with nothing to say, so they go away empty, which many of our children do today. This empty is bad. Sometimes empty can be good, because it is usually the want of mankind to fill anything that's empty. Empty is incompleteness. As the young person steps out into the world, empty of experience, sometimes this rawness, this emptiness, leads to bold intentions and radical conclusions. Before the mind is shaped in conventional ways, this is the time when all great geniuses make their most significant gifts to mankind. When the mind is full of traditional rationale, no new abstract thinking will tend to enter. It's in the process of filling that mind when all the great revelations occur. In this manner, it is usually the young mind, the empty mind, which is the best. The young mind cannot fall back on past experiences and so does not readily fall into the ruts of conventional thinking. If that young mind happens to be that of a genius, then it can lead to uncharted territory and break-through for the enlightenment of all mankind.
But a bored mind, empty or full, can only lead to stagnation. Education is not a joy to the student of an average teacher, so although that student may possess the potential skills to make that bold step to a level higher than the typical person, he never feels the urge to, that hungry desire that is so necessary has not been honed. If a hungry child, bored with the daily feedings of oatmeal, had a choice between eating oatmeal or going to bed hungry, I would pick a short bedtime story. Bored minds lose their hunger for knowledge.
You might say a bad teacher can only be worse. He leaves students with a bitter taste in their mouths. But herein lies the difference between bad and average; when something has left you with no taste, you don't search for that experience again. In this same way, the bored mind no longer searches for more knowledge. But how long would that same person leave a bad taste in their mouth? Most likely they will search for something to eradicate that bad taste. A pupil who has had a bad experience in class is left frustrated, angry – with a bad taste in his mouth. After a while he looks for something to change that frustration, search for something to rid his mouth of that bitter taste. The only thing that can change his distorted or misguided knowledge is clear insight into more reliable knowledge. Truth as opposed to lies, but the teacher doesn't have to lie to be unfit, better yet-- enlightenment as opposed to confusion. When the mind is confused it searches for logical paths to sort out the confusion and make sense of small parts of the total picture, even if the picture, as a whole, is incomprehensible. The student might take it a bit slower the next time around, sorting information bit by bit, instead of in confusing lumps. But for him there will be a next time.
Most people, when turned off by a religion or even diocese will go find another and not just give up on God, knowing that it’s the frailties of man that can distort the views of the big picture, even when the big picture itself has never changed.
The divorcee is always most vulnerable to another romance right after the separation. Is that because the divorcee is looking for another bad experience? Of course not, but they are looking to right a wrong. When you've had a bad love affair you search desperately for a good one.
But wouldn't it be best to have that original love be good? Isn't the same true for teachers?
Teachers are all-important. Even when they are on strike they are teaching... They have a direct hand upon our future. Teaching is more important for us than anything else, for it is what separates us from the insects. It is what led us to the present day, modern world. The building of knowledge through teaching. I don't need to be an Einstein to use his equations, because they were taught to me. I didn't have to try to work them out myself with an inferior mind to that of Mr. Einstein. I didn't have to invent and design my typewriter to be able to make use of it, either did the company who made it. That knowledge was passed down to them, leaving room and time for them to make improvements on the original and thus making a better product. The automobile is the classic example of an accumulation of many individual inventions all put together into one package that without any one of the many would not lead to the same final product.
Teaching doesn't start in the classroom (At least not in Strongsville.) From the moment a child is born he is learning and being taught and influenced by everyone around him. His brain is forming and growing from the start. Even the best teacher can only do so much when there is no cooperation from home. Parents should be aware of what
goes on inside their children's school and classes. Parents should take heed in pointing out the fact that they believe a teacher to be bad. This doesn’t mean that they should automatically take the child’s side, because many times today I see the parents defending their child’s bad behavior and this only teaches their child that bad behavior is acceptable. The parents have much more influence over their children than can one “bad” teacher can have. Let them know that there are good teachers out there, and help guide them when they most need to have a good experience in education. I think a good teacher is delighted to have parents take a constructive interest in their children's learning.
And if a teacher is boring your child, rescue him from the sea of tranquility (No – Don’t send him to the moon!) but show him that learning can be a wonderful, almost magical, experience. Learning can be fun. Otherwise mankind would have never made it this far.
Teach your children well … (Please don’t Nash your teeth Mr. Graham)
P.S. A single cell in the brain may have
direct contact with 1,000 others. A
single teacher reaches 1,000's of
young minds …
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
A DAY I N THE L I F E
I am listening to the radio, trying to write. I remember how unsuccessful that has been for me in the past, so I turn it off…
God, the silence is killing me…
I lean back on my chair, carefully so as to prevent the tablet from falling off my knee. The distant sound of a barking dog and the infrequent passing of cars, echoes in my head. I can hear an indistinct ringing. Not sure if it's church bells or in my head, I block the sound out. The dog continues to bark…
The smell of oil penetrates my nostrils from the oil heater at my feet. Thank god it also penetrates my bones and gives me momentary warmth and protection from the cold.
If there is such great warmth in Hell, then is heaven frigid?
There are two table lamps in the room I occupy, for in this room no overhead light exists. I write in shadows, as the light from these lamps barely succeed in chasing away the darkness.
I like the light…
I thought I could hear the wind rustling through the rafters, but it's just another passing car. I wonder what it would be like to be in that car. Though I cannot see the street below me, I wish I was a passenger in that car I hear moving by, living in his or her world – a world that I will never know or have a chance to understand.
Would that dog please shut-up!
I look at the typewriter on my desk in front of me, smiling at its presence. I think of all the work involved in first writing everything in longhand, half printing and half writing, only to later two finger type it all over on a fresh piece of paper. What a waste! I don't mind the time involved, I just hate to see another fresh, clean piece of paper dirtied… What a waste. Maybe I should start using my computer. But the dust has settled nicely on it and I hate to disturb it.
The blackness that engulfs my soul comes out by way of words and spreads out to cover and taint a nice white piece of paper in the form of black. From white to a slowly growing blackness filling the page. Words defecating on the pristine white of the page, changing it forever
Maybe I should change my font color to red, or something more happy…
It's a shame that there aren't more outlets in this room so I could plug in all my lamps. It's a shame there aren't more outlets in my life so I could put to use a head-full of ideas. I can barely afford to allow two of the plugs for lamps, I need my typewriter and radio, for I am running out of sockets. My radio is off and I'm not using the typewriter, but to exchange plugs on a temporary basis, just for another couple of lights, would only be extra work.
I get tired even thinking about it.
I am glad that dog has stopped barking.
The heat from the burner feels good on my body, just as the light feels good to my eyes. I gaze upon the masses of books about, most of which are scattered allover the floor. The biggest and heaviest of the hardbacks are presently being used to straighten out a crinkled poster in the middle of the floor. I think it's a picture of mass nudes on a beach, but I'm not sure, seeing as it has been a long time since I had last seen it. It takes a long time to straighten out wrinkles in a poster unless you could bend them in the opposite direction for a period of time. But I am in no hurry and I don't mind things a bit wrinkled, a little bent out of shape.
I wonder if there is snow outside. These past days have been so cold. Running the heater continuously is a temptation, but then I would need a steady flow of oil…
Then there is the matter of the smell…
Even after getting up to look out the window, I still cannot tell if there is snow. Even the small amount of light the two lamps shed make the windows look like mirrors, so the wall behind me is all I see when I look out. I notice that the dog has not barked for quite some time as I listen to another car whizzing past. I imagine the zagged tire marks he leaves in the imaginary snow. I'm sure the snow covers those tracks before he can see them in his rear-view mirror. No one will ever know he has been down this street.
Possibly the dog has stopped his incessant barking because he has escaped and found his way to the street… the car… in such a hurry…
I have a globe in this room. The Earth. Smooth. Mostly blue. I look at it and wonder at all the water. So much water, and I – never to have seen an ocean. The land has freckles, spotted with names and bumps, but the water is smooth and a consistent blue, with fewer words written on it. The words and the land dirtying the perfection of the blue. It's a nice globe, except for the land and the writing…
I wish I would turn back on my radio, but I know I really don't want to. It's funny how my radio just sits there next to my filing cabinet, in which this article will also sit upon completion. God knows when that will be! I know that if I were to open that top drawer of my filing cabinet all the way it would topple over, probably on my radio, which really wouldn't matter because I bet if that cabinet fell it would crash right through the floor, taking me and everything else in the room with it. My own private sink hole. The top drawer is the heaviest, mostly filled with supplies. If only I would keep the heavier things in the bottom drawer there would not be the fear of it falling over. I wish it could be better arranged but that's the way things go. Some day I will learn. I hear floors are expensive.
The football pennants and the posters in this room give it a sort of presence. The various posters have a pretty wide range of topics and scenes. From spaceships to oceans and other worlds, from kittens to feathered friends, and robots and lasers to baseball players and fields. Life to death.
I would like to see if there is snow outside, but I dare not turn out the lights so I can see out. I notice a slight headache as I look to the time on my watch. I can almost hear it ticking, but I can't hear that dog that's always barking. Time doesn’t really tick, it ebbs.
I close my eyes, feeling a bit funny, but not abnormal.
If I felt fine – I wouldn’t pay it. If I felt more funny – I wouldn’t laugh. If I felt… If only… I… felt.
My stomach is about ready for a beer or two as it's about time for me to get ready to go out for the night.
I wonder what I'll do tonight?
P.S: Maybe I'll see you tonight…
Bet you won't recognize me.
Monday, January 21, 2013
The Fair Path
Have you ever been alone in a crowd before?
More precisely, I should ask, have you ever felt alone in a crowd? A buzz all around that somehow goes past or around you, never quite sinking in. Smiles, conversations, jokes, eye contact – that never reach you. You feel invisible at best – shunned at worst.
You may want to run, but there is nowhere to go.
You must move away from this uncomfortable state. There must be a change.
There are two possible roads ahead.
You feel like a boulder rolling down a hill when you come to a fork. All the difference is ahead.
One path is within. The other path is without.
One option is to move outwards. To reach out. To force the situation. To attempt to becoming a part of without the need for an invitation. To take a risk. Stepping out from oneself. To extend a hand, an opinion, a thought – with the knowledge that it may be turned away from, shunned, unwanted, rejected. To take the risk of being a fool, a busy body, obnoxious. The geek trying to break into the click. To expand the bubble around yourself to include others. To open up and be vulnerable. To risk appearing stupid or a social misfit. Trying to gain friendship at the possible consequence of garnering distain.
The reward for this path is you may become part of the buzz. One with the crowd. Known and no longer invisible.
The possible downside is that you are no longer invisible and now all your flaws and awkwardness is out in the open for all to see. Perhaps you don’t fit in and never will. Perhaps being invisible is the best you can do, the most you can hope for.
"Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt." – Abraham Lincoln.
Then there is the other path. The other direction. Instead of turning outwards in the hope of a connection, you can go inwards. Turning away from the trappings of the outside world. Moving toward self. To focus your attention to what’s inside. Your feelings and thoughts. To delve into your beliefs and emotions, to circle downwards deep into your personal cave. Trying to find you center and what makes you tick. What makes you unique. Searching for love of self and a deep inner respect. To find that place of knowing, that space of oneness. To seek the stillness, to explore through meditation.
The reward for this path, this direction, is pure radiance of being. Knowing that nothing can really hurt your pure essence. You are all. You will find that needs are merely flights of fantasy that we create out of the nothingness of fear. All is within and all is love.
The downside of this path is that sometimes when we go within we can spiral down and around until it becomes a narcissistic exercise. Self-worth somehow turns into self-importance. "We are one" becomes we are the one.
Sometimes seeing the beauty, weakness, and perfection in another is also the quickest way to seeing it within. Yes, somehow seeing the weakness in ourselves and in others becomes important. For it is only when we can see and come to terms with weakness and realize that they are just blocks, barriers to cover perfection. All weaknesses melt away in the light of true examination. Many times this is easier to see in others than in ourselves. Deep secrets become antidotes when the weight of darkness is lifted off.
Many times it is easier to move beyond judgment toward another than it is to do the same for ourselves.
So in the end I believe it’s the contemplative blend of reflective searching within and the reaching out, and shining out of our light towards the outside world in the hopes of connection that is our most beneficial and should be our ultimate goal.
Understanding ourselves and understanding others is a chicken or egg type of scenario.
Instead of asking which came, or should come, first – perhaps the real road to enlightenment comes from the realization that one cannot survive without the other. For if all is truly one… then there is no difference.
Sincerely signing off,
ò im Uhr
P.S. Again I am always playing the middleman. Walking the fence. Looking for that middle path. I usually end up in the ditch of the embankment that separates the two paths…
Thursday, January 10, 2013
O n c e
A breath of passion
an out dated fashion
dress on the floor
my hand on the door
as I turn back to look
I see but do not know
all the things I know but do not see
cute as a button
one eye open
at least I know
she watches me go