This is what I saw at the fair today, in between spurts of lashing rain…
I submit to you that that are many people out there who do not love anyone, not even themselves.
Recently, I read a short news article reporting about the multiple rape of a thirteen year old girl by a posse of illegal immigrants. It sickened me…however, I did not have the full story- not until a friend sent me a video of Glenn Beck.
I’m not a conservative, nor a liberal, I am a follower of Christ. My main concerns are not political, they are spiritual, and because of that, social. In fact, I don’t agree with Glenn Beck’s religious views either.
But what Beck revealed was, as Paul Harvey used to say, “the rest of the story.” And that left me even more perplexed, because when you reflect on such a horrific act- a thirteen year old raped by fourteen men, it is nauseating.
But what is more nauseating is when I ponder on what has happened in this sin-sick country. Great numbers of individuals are living like animals, so driven by sin that evil is glorified, and wrong celebrated.
And while innocents are raped and abused, egocentric women, vacuous in their thinking, arrange for the death of innocent babies God ordained to be created…a great proportion of wives leave their husbands, flaunting the sacred covenant of marriage in God’s face, because they are sexually depraved, narcissistic in their “beauty”- as Lucifer was before his fall (satan), and reject God…
…and then there are men, without wisdom, driven to act unnaturally because they reject the will of God and in rebellion rise up against the things of God…men who long to be wicked, violent, embracing death as a friend, and seeking to control and strangle life, not to love…
…and yet, there is a remnant. A small remnant. A chorus of people who seek the good, not what is evil. A group seeking to serve God and serve men, women, and all God’s children.
Today is the day of Salvation. Choose this day whom you shall serve…life or death.
For, as the great Bob Dylan sang, “you’re gonna have to serve somebody.”
And now for something so different, so amazingly useful…that you will never ever get writer’s block ever ever again!
Ten Ways to Defeat The Evil “Writer’s Block:”
10. Step away from the laptop. Next, put on some “outdoor clothes,” get your keys, and go out to the car or truck. Open the door. start the vehicle. Drive. Do not plan on where you are going (take a cooler and any emergency essentials, of course). See where you go. The world outside is an open book, full of characters, action, settings…
9. Again, step away from the computer. Pick one of your characters from your story. Now, go through your clothes and try to find something this character would wear. Find the character’s ideal outfit from your “collection.” You should be able to get a better picture of the character. This should help you to write. It may also help you find clothes to give away.
8. Get out all your old printed pictures (photos). Look at how scrawny or beastly you were years ago. Then, go look in the mirror. Go back and write. Tell me if this actually works.
7. Eat a plate full of raw broccoli. It will move you to…to do something, at least.
6. Watch a horrible movie- with really bad acting. When finished, reflect on it. If you don’t find yourself thinking “I can write a whole lot better than that,” then you need to just…go back to being a mathematician, chemist, or sheetrock worker.
5. (Males) Put on a classy black or grey suit (preferrably Italian), go next door (or down the road) and knock on your closest neighbor’s door. Ask your neighbor to tango…on the wood deck, the patio, the parking lot, or in front of the police station. Well, maybe not the last one. 🙂 (Females) Open the door for the guy in the suit. Make sure you are not across from the police station.
4. Go bowling by yourself. Pretend you are bowling against “Fred The Magic Dog.” When someone asks you where your partner is, respond by saying “Oh, he’s over there- he has a cloaking device.” After that, I am SURE you will have something to write about…when you eventually get home….
3. Stimulate your brain by listening to the classics- Beethoven, Bach, Couperin, Davy, the Monkees, and Tub Ring singing “Bite the Wax Tadpole.”
2. Eat carrots. Drink carrot juice. Wear orange. Pretend you are a Giant Carrot invading your story setting. If this doesn’t help the plot, start a children’s story.
1. Go climb a mountain naked. Best thing to cure you of anything crazy.
I struggle with diabetes. Many years ago, I worked in a high stress, high performance, high profile career that contributed to a food and health lifestyle that lead to the development of that diabetes. It didn’t help that I made my own bread, pasta, and pancakes. Or started the morning with a mountain dew and a couple of candy bars.
When I came into the office in the morning, before we went out to work, everybody else was sleepy, waking up. I was zigging one liners, feeling totally off-the-wall. And, sometimes, I felt out of control, like I couldn’t stop being goofy. I had no idea I had high sugar levels. No one in the family had it…
I say all of this to say that this morning I have an A1C test, a particular blood sugar test diabetics would quickly recognize. I had been doing better, but a diet high in vegetables, low fat, and some fruit, with occasional forages with lean meat, is very difficult for a guy who grew up eating hamburgers, pasta, and potatoes nearly everyday for years.
So, I have listened to the doctor, studied on my own, and read the Word. It is the latter that I now know is the place to start in fighting this disease. The Word speaks of living a life that is not fast-paced, not high-stress, and requires vigilance.
It is not just what we eat that brings on diabetes. It is also how we think, how we live, where we live, what we do for work…so many factors effect health. In light of my present circumstances, I have more time to contemplate that Word. In essence, I am fighting diabetes, but also need to be sure of God’s direction- I am job searching.
How then shall we live?
What is required of us is this: to do justice, love kindness (some versions say “mercy”), and walk humbly with God. (Micah 6:8)
*You cannot work in a high stressed job where people want you to manipulate people and “do justice.”
*Mercy (or kindness) does not include a job where we treat the poor with contempt. Being kind and merciful, walking humbly with God, would quickly bring a conflict there.
*A job that encourages senseless wealth accumulation at the expense of others cannot conform to this Word.
I would appreciate your thoughts, comments, and reflections.
In the meantime of the day, when the clock just doesn’t quite strike a primary number, Albert assumed a cup of Java into his routine. It sat before him, it sat beside him. It even sat between his legs. But when the clock struck four, the cup sat empty, save for a few charred remains of the day.
And so our common man took his common seat among the passengers aboard the yellow train for the north. And here, as he fiddled with his laptop zipper, our little man counted. Three, four, five…six- fields filled with a ripe brown that reminded him of his cereal.
New Forever Flakes…crispy even with a bowl of milk. The finest breakfast you’ll ever have…
“I say, do you mind?” a voice insisted, leaning forward.
“I do not.” And with that, Albert handed over a section resembling the Financial Times. He smoothed the front page, then folded it aright.
“No. Please don’t mention it.”
They stared and he stared back. He fiddled with the zipper, flipped his wrist- still not Five. A tray came forward, launched somewhere behind him, rolling.
“I say, a cup of that,” the voice demanded.
Stop the bleedin’ cart! Stop the bleedin’
“And you, sir?”
“The orange fizzy- you know.”
But before she could gather his euros, Albert twisted the bottle and drank a gulp. It burned with satisfaction, wiping away the dry coffee within his mouth…
“Yes. Thank you,” he managed.
Albert sat with his nose downward.
An unintelligible mumble squawked through the dingy speakers.
They’re drunk again. I swear it…I’ll tell Izzy. She’ll tell her brother, and then-
And who are you, you little thing? Can’t be more than twenty. Pretty though. If I were your father, I wouldn’t be letting you on trains-
“I didn’t want to bother you- but, you look sad.”
What a deduction! She’s a genius. Sad? I had my Lucozade, why would I be sad? Would you be sad if you had your Lucozade every workday on the train home?
“No…it’s all right,” Albert managed. “I’m quite happy. Brilliant in fact.”
And then, this dark eyed female actually smiled. I know, I know. She’s but twenty or twenty one I’d say, but…
“Al…Albert,” he creaked.
I hate to admit it, but she reminded me of someone. Now you may as well know that I enjoyed her company, just as I enjoy your company as you read this. But- and this is a serious but- she meant nothing to me. Alive in her presence- yes, but not a few sods burning the night away. I may think of you, dear reader, and ponder, what do you think of me?
All pretense lost, she launched out like a submarine. Her vocabulary was attrocious. Simply attrocious.
“Like you’re a real one, aren’t ya?”
She took a breath. Did I hear a wheeze?
“Sexy beast. What- God, you must be forty. But- my mam, she’d kill for a look at you.”
I swear I felt my-
“Do you mind? I’m trying to sleep!”
The Voice, interrupting this precious girl. Can you imagine? And, he smelled of brie. I know. I know- brie- is there any worse smell than that? A toilet perhaps?
“Yer a devil of a man,” Albert fumed. “You might sit elsewhere.”
The Voice rose to meet him. He reeked as his breath approached. But as he leaned forward to step out into the corridor…he saw it. A single old photo. Fallen on the floor. His shoe went to cover it, but Albert had seen it. The Voice shrugged, then scooted the picture farther back under the table.
He looked away. There was no more need to quiet him. He stared out the window.
I reached under the table with my own limb and pulled it backward. Reaching down, I held it firmly in my grasp…but not soon enough. Not when the dark eyed girl saw the image…
XXX XXXX XXX
I withheld part 2, as it is brewing in Museland, like a peppermint tea- strong but purposeful. I confess this is great fun, but I fear it is more serious an endeavour than I intended. Now it means something to me.
Again, I’d like your comments, insight, reactions, philosophies…
When sudden blossoms wilt and fade, and springtime withers under desperate suns, the common man may notice a shift in temperature within…or…may picture the autumn a promising season, in light of that terrible sun. It is in these times that our common man, armed with umbrella and concealed laptop, spends his mornings walking to the train station, pricked by ordinary thoughts like the flowering roses along his route.
“Good morning, George.”
“Good morning, Albert.
And a lovely day it is, although George is wearing his bright red shirt again…the one with the ever present black-as-death tie…
“Would you say it is a good morning, then?”
“Oh, I would indeed.”
And rather than smile back, the taller man, his black tie all too short, clips a rose from a bush and holds it askew.
“Rather pretty thing, that.”
Rather pretty my donkey’s rear, it is as sad a rose as I have ever seen…
“Could be another hot one.”
My God the man is dense…Next thing- you know- he’ll be asking about the train: ‘Will you be going on the train this morning, Albert?’ Oh, what a tedious little man. A tedious big man. Well, you know what I mean, don’t you? Can you imagine this big lumux of a creature with that little wife of his?
“How is that wife of yours?”
The tall man raked his thinning hair.
I’d be asleep too- must be miserable being married to-
“I’ll tell her you were asking.”
“Thanks, George. Always nice to know someone is looking out for her.”
And with that our common man left his common neighbor to do some common gardening…while the sun rose ever higher, the maze of streets seemed longer, and our train started boarding at Gate 2.
I have written this little fiction clip in response to a recent blog written by Java Girl-
It is only a beginning, and- in the sluggishness of my heat-drugged mind- not my best description (I feel like I am telling too much, not showing enough). Do you agree? What do you think? Please comment. Should I continue with it?
(I retain all rights- other than posting, quoting, and commenting- however humble this piece may become.)
So…after 19 years, it reappears. No, I’m not talking about the cicada. I’m talking about my early ’90’s dream job.
It was not the best of times, and not the worst of times, but it wasn’t the time to act on my own and that grieved me for some time afterward. When you are married and you have agreed to make decisions together, it sometimes works that way….or, I should say, doesn’t work at all. Struggles of will. Struggles of reality versus selfishness. Unfortunately, selfishness won that day. It also was a prelude to her actions later; suffice to say, I am now a single man, though not of my initial choosing.
And after all that time passed, I rarely thought of that incredible missed opportunity. After all, we must forgive if we desire to live healthy lives.
So…yesterday, I was online and…there she was again, my missed opportunity. Silence for 19 years, then suddenly, when I myself am in position to pursue it, it becomes a possibility. Is it a miracle? Is it a foreshadowing? Or, has my path gone beyond this now?
I gotta admit, I’m not too worried about it. Oh sure, the US government is culling scads of private information from citizens, including telephone calls, emails, and what I am writing right now. But, hey, in all fairness to our president and our fellow comrades, the lowly government worker (who enjoys modest $4 million dollar parties) has a job that is just no fun without spying on friends, fanatics, and fearful peasants….
Besides, you gotta love them. Anyway, who cares about your rights? I mean, when do you ever exercise them? You don’t…if you go vote what the controlled media tells you to vote, if you believe Big Brother (B.O. for short) every time he speaks, or if you consistently believe everything you hear on the radio or television- especially advertisements (the latter is a little like soaking your head in a flushing toilet-bowl- you feel something kinda swirly and realize you’ve just lost part of your brain cells) No…no…no. That would be too difficult. You might actually have to get up off the sofa and do something. God forbid it interrupts Family Guy, Glee, or the latest version of Xbox.
But some of you- out in the DSA, are not all that happy about B.O. and his Gang of Four (oh, sorry, I forgot what country I was in…for a minute there, I was thinking of communist China) …and his Gang of Thugs. You look around and see a meth-oxycodone-murder-enriched culture spreading out from the cesspools of a dysfunctional society (I need not name names of cities here) and you are alarmed. You have been so alarmed that you have taken measures that no one in their right mind twenty years ago would have dreamed of doing here in the DSA. And, you have been labelled a fanatic…even if you own no gun, know no tea parties (except with the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland), and couldn’t distinguish between a picture of Ted Cruz and Ted Nugent.
It is amazing that anyone can keep up with the scandals coming out of Washington. It reads like an Alex Jones monologue- without the psycotic episodes (oh, I’m sorry- those are psychotic episodes). It’s almost impossible to keep up with it all. That is why I am proposing that someone- not me, I have very little free time- create a website listing every scandal and a brief overview…to keep up with the times…