Happy Old Year!

Here's to old beginnings and fresh ends. Here's to resolutions of New Years past and to their successes. Here's to their failures. Here's to old stories, past joys, ancient loves, and freshly buried mistakes.

Here's to the old year, the days that were once our present, once our future, and just as bright as the year we face now. Here's to those days we tackled head on, bold despite our fears. Here's to those weeks we dragged ourselves through just to see the other side of Thursday.

Here's to the New Year, which will one day be the old year.

Make it one worth looking back on.

Lucidity

Among the many blessings sleep bestows,
undoubtedly, the wondrous dream is king,
for sometimes, just as I begin to doze,
I gain control and can do anything.
As I drift off into the depths of dreams,
where lifetimes pulse like heartbeats through my mind,
my thinking sharpens, and to me it seems
that all myself has left the flesh behind.
I crawl through purple water made of air.
I run across red deserts made of snow.
I shed the limitations bodies bear
and know the thoughts my waking self can't know.
Yet, from this state of grace, I always fall
and dreams reduce to songs I can't recall.

Renovations

I want to destroy something. I'm not angry, but I might be mad.

Metal almost screams when you tear into it, whines as you bite into it with a hack saw. Then, I find that glorious breaking point. Strain as it might, aluminum yields to flesh when you apply the proper leverage. I revel in the moment when the fight has ended, and the metal submits to my shaping.

However, if metals are the wrestling match, glass is the ballet. Sparkling shards of pirouetting shrapnel dance on the floor to the music of clinking and cracking. I, the conductor, set off the performance with nothing but my baton, or to be more precise, my drywall hammer.

However, nothing matches the total abandon and absolute savagery of a sledgehammer to a house. Obliterating foam insulation, disintegrating drywall, and knocking out 2x4 with a single swing. Wild, joyous, vicious and euphoric. I am strong. I am powerful. I am destruction.

Stand in my way, and YOU WILL FALL...

and I will laugh.

Coincidence

Sharon gasped for breath as she hurtled through the park, stumbling over logs and debris, but never stopping or slowing. Even as a stone gashed into her left foot, the pain only registered in some quiet place where the brain stores unimportant information. At the moment, nothing mattered but that she run faster. The rabid dog that pursued her was closing the gap.

Meanwhile, at a restaurant across from a park ...

"Harold, I don't know if I can move in with you. It's just such a big step, and I can't help feeling we're going too fast," Nina said, shaken by this sudden proposition. However, the patio of a posh restaurant was not the place for her to go into one of her breakdowns.

"quickly," Harold replied, unblinking.

"What?"

"Quickly is an adverb, whereas fast is an adjective. Going is a verb, not a noun, and thus requires an adverb."

Nina did blink, and for the first time in her life, shut up entirely.

Meanwhile, in a tree on the edge of a park...

Mr. Fuddles waited, flamethrower, blow gun, and gummy-bears in hand. The aliens wouldn't know what hit them.

Meanwhile, high above the city in a helicopter...

Detective Max Avery held his patrol of the skies. He had heard a report of some illegal activity in the park at night. He had been assigned to watch over the area, scanning it with infrared cameras to help ground forces if a suspect should run. However, Avery had never much cottoned to the idea of sitting back idly while others did the fun work. His trigger finger was starting to itch.

What could have happened several minutes later...

Sharon ran straight into the restaurant patio, knocking over the table Harold and Nina shared. As they started to react, a dog, frothing at the mouth, barreled into Nina, attempting to chew through her terrified face. Mr. Fuddles, knew what he had to do. He blew his blow gun, loaded with potassium chlorate, and put his flame thrower to work. Screams flew up into the night and patrons, burned and otherwise, ran from the scene. Then, came the gummy-bears, enveloping the patio in sparks and smoke. Detective Avery, seeing this, did not bother to think. He open fired, killing Sharon, Nina, Harold, and Mr. Fuddles. The rabid dog was fine.

What really happened several minutes later...

Sharon made it out of the park and hailed a cab. She would need new flip-flops and a visit to the doctor to stitch up her split foot. Otherwise, she simply needed to catch her breath and relax from the whole experience.

Nina realized that Harold's pedantic side did not agree with Nina's sensitivity. She suggested that they separate for a time and see where the break would take them. Nina had to wait for a taxi, because some crazy woman from the park took the one she attempted to hail.

Mr. Fuddles did not see the aliens he had so hoped for. He did manage to hit a pigeon with the blow gun, but it flapped away before he could add fire and gummy bears to the mix. Frustrated, he did not even notice the looks that the dejected young man leaving a patio restaurant gave him.

Detective Avery and the ground officers chased down and arrested a pair of drug dealers. As Avery flew the helicopter back to its pad, They also spotted a rabid dog, knocked it out with a tazer, and called animal control. Avery always missed all the action.

Moral of the Story

Never forget your Kevlar at home.

Home (Translation)

It is always dark in my home. I never leave, for I could not live away from it. Fortunately, my home can travel. Wherever I go, it follows. The door never opens, and no one visits my chambers. However, I am not lonely. My friends speak to me, although they have never come to my home, or I gone to their's. Besides, my home is always full. Since home is where the heart is, I have quite a lot of blood and organs in mine.

TARDIS

Times is a tricky thing. I always think I've learned to manage it, but then it slips away from me.

And I know that I could post regularly, that I could finish my work earlier, that  I could work out consistently.

Relatively speaking, they're easy things to do compared to rocket science and brain surgery. Yet, I never seem to do what I promise myself by the time I've promised to do it.

Dimensions of my personality conflict; some say work; some say play; the rest say I won't be happy no matter what I decide on.

In fact, I can hear them now; why are you writing instead of sleeping? Why are you considering sleep?

Space for all I want to do just never seems to fit into my schedule, even though I know it should and can.

Which is why, Santa Claws, I want a TARDIS for Christmas next year.

Eyes

Have you ever noticed how important eyes are to the metaphysical us?

Try to locate where "you" are, the you that you retreat to when your body goes on autopilot. I'll bet you didn't find yourself in your big toe. You found yourself nestled just behind the eyes.

Then, consider poetry and romance. The eyes are the window to the soul, though not everyone chooses to open the blinds. Lovers can lose themselves in each other's eyes. The magnetic attraction of those strange things sitting in a fleshy skull. Has anyone ever lost themselves so completely in an elbow?

No, the real fascination rests with those orbs of light, swirled together into two shining samples of humanity.

Zuhause

Es ist immer dunkel in meinem Zuhause. Ich bin nie weg gegangen, weil ich nicht leben könnte, wenn ich nicht zu Hause wohnen würde. Glücklicherweise, kann meine Heimat bewegen. Überall wo ich gehe, folgt mein Haus. Mann macht nie die Tür auf, und keiner besucht die Kammern. Doch bin ich nicht einsam. Meine Freunde sprechen mit mir, obwohl wir nicht nach Hause einander gefahren sind. Weiterhin ist mein Haus immer voll. Da Heimat wo das Herz ist, gibt es viele Blut und Organe in meinem Zuhause.

Leftovers

Such a delicious creation,

the weekend.

A lovely lasagna

filled with languid,

luscious life.

The Friday at the bottom,
crunchy and greasy.

Layers of gooey Saturday,
red and full of spice.
Topped off with baked Sunday,
holding the rest together.

Occasionally,
the serving is too large,
the friends too few,
the appetite too small.
Then, I use Saran-wrap.

Because nothing
tastes better
than left over weekend
on a Monday morning.

Terramen (Continued)

The entire clan had gathered for the introductory ceremonies. Children swam frantically to-and-fro through the school of people. Every so often, an adult would swat them back with their tail or flick them lightly on the gills to bring them under control. For the most part, they were just as eager to have a close view of the Terramen as the children.

At the center of the spherical throng, floated three strange creatures, all in black, and partially obscured by the bubbles roiling before their faces. Beside them, a less than enthusiastic Sri\\m^ floated, as well as the chief and the professor of Terran behavior, nicknamed He\e^, meaning air girl.

The chief let out a piercing wail to indicate the start of the ceremony. As the waters stilled, he began to sing. The craft of the song was lost on the Terramen. How could they understand the difficulty of composing in a language where note and rhythm determines the meaning of the words? In a sense, they were always singing, but the work the chief performed was a true masterpiece. The melody was lilting, the tune rhythmic, and the lyrics comprehensible. Primarily, it entreated the listener to turn its back to the singer, as a sign of trust. One by one, the clan turned away to face the sea, leaving their backs exposed to the Terramen. Sri\\m^ scrawled an explanation for the visitors, who attempted to look solemn and respectful in their elaborate gear.

After the melody faded away, the clan turned back to watch the final steps of the ceremony. The chief drew a shark tooth from a pouch around his midsection. This, he presented to one of the Terramen, who in turn produced the sucker-like dorsal fin of a remora and offered it to the chief. Had they been able to speak directly, the chief and lead Terraman would have verbally as well as symbolically requested a symbiotic relationship between their people, but they made due.

Finally, a new element to the greeting ceremony. Because neither species could pronounce the other's names, all six beings involved in the ceremony would receive a name in the other's language. The lead Terran, Jack, became Mmmm\\\\n^^^^. The other two, Alice and Jan, were named Ri^uu and I^i\i^. Sri\\m^ received the name Paul. The chief was named William. Finally He/e^ became Aria.

After a moderate struggle to escape the ball of excited people, the Terramen retreated to a small chamber connected by pipes and tubes to an aircraft carrier above. They had been lowered in that carrier over the course of hours to prepare them for the high pressure, and it would provide them with an unlimited supply of tank refills, as well as somewhat cramped sleeping quarters. Although they itched to see more of the clan, they had been given clear instructions. Do not stay too long at the beginning. Give them time to get used to you. For lack of an alternative, Alice and Jan collapsed on their cots, exhausted from pressure equipment, and nervous excitement. Jack, on the other hand, sat up for several hours, fingering the shark tooth.

Quantum Mechanics

In a quark of a proton in an atom in a gas in a container of a gun that fires atoms one at a time through two slits of a plate in a laboratory in a building in a state of a country of a world in a solar system of a galaxy in the universe, the quantum mechanics were hard at work.

"Red, get over here. This quark needs a new paint job. His color is coming off."

"Hey, you! Put some oil on this guy. He isn't spinning smoothly enough."

"Boy, there's a lot of damage to the wavefunction. Those bloody spectators, coming to watch all our hard work collapse."

"Watch it, newbie! You almost got your hand in the strong force. Go look for some Higgs bosons. We're short"

"If we can get this pile of junk together, it will definitely get through the slits, though I'm uncertain about its top speed."

"Where's the trident thingy? Don't correct my terminology, newbie. Psi is a pstupid name, an absolute square, that one."

"Let's go, Go, GO! This atom is shipping out. Cross your fingers and hope no one interferes with us!"

"Time for a break. I'm going to the h bar."

Time

Without your senses,

a second is meaningless.

Time is not steadfast.

If you cannot hear,

the measured chirps of crickets

are unknowable.

Without your vision,

the sunrise and the sunset

signify nothing.

If you cannot smell,

the change from fresh to rancid

can have no value.

Without your tongue,

the taste of summer berries

is nugatory.

If you cannot feel,

the rheumatism of age

lacks significance.

Without your senses,

time loses all its rhythms

and evaporates.

Platonic

The eyes opened. Light flooded in, and the eyelids lowered and raised twice. I exist behind those eyelids and between the ears. I was conscious of stretching movements localized to the jaw that might have felt pleasant at one time. Some part of me processed it, realized that the body had sat up. The legs and arms moved like pistons, up and down. Automatic and controlled.

The wing beats of a fly concussed the ear drums. I attempted to swat it away, but in vain. I had forgotten briefly that I am distanced, disconnected. Instead of swatting, the arm went to the shoelaces on the foot attached to the leg that used to run. It lay inert.

I waited for the body to transport me to the bathroom. After sitting on the toilette, a vaguely pulsing signal quieted. I realized that my body felt what had once meant relief. Now, it simply meant the return to acceptable operation parameters. The fully functional figure descended the stairs. I had retreated back into myself, ignoring the myriad of second hand signals and focusing on the pool of consciousness surrounding and comprising me. It offered no comfort, no warmth, no light. It was the absolute I had wanted. Now, I did not want anything. I was finally free.

Terramen

"They're here!" Sri^^m\ hummed to Sri\\m^ through the door, then jetted away so quickly, the resulting waves buffeted Sri\\m^ backwards.

He, unlike Sri^^m\, had little desire to meet the Terramen, four armed creatures with no fins and black, blubbery skin (although he had heard that the blubber was some form of synthetic covering used for protection and warmth). As fascinating as they were from a biological standpoint, Sri\\m^ preferred to keep them at tail's length. It was just too unsettling to float in front of the stuff of legends.

Unfortunately, he had little choice in the matter. His talent for language had instantly sunk him a job as translator for the two species when they came to visit his village. While neither Sri\\m^ nor Terramen could vocalize the other's language, they could communicate through writing, albeit slowly. The position required constant contact with the dry-worlders. Their heads, pinched off from the rest of the body by a floppy, weak section; and their misshapen heads and backs, their two legs. They looked lumpy, like all terrestrial creatures.

Yet these weren't just creatures, they were talking, thinking things. Sri\\m^ might have preferred them if they at least had the upper body of a man, like he had been raised to expect. Then, at least they would not seem like such aliens. Then, they would be intelligent by merit of their similarity to us, he thought, and I wouldn't feel so insignificant. I preferred them when they were myth.


He propelled himself from his coral abode, braced himself for the inevitable awkwardness. When he located the group of Terramen, he swam over, marking "hello, my name is Jack" on a writing tablet (he had discovered that Jack was the closest translation for his true name).

"hello, Jack. We are honored to finally meet merpeople," the obvious leader of the group scribed.

Sri\\m^ floated for a moment, dumbstruck. Merpeople, he thought, heh, what a funny phrase.

Wie bitte?

The phrase is German for "say that again?" You can say it emphatically, indignantly, pleadingly, incredulously, and of course, curiously. It is a phrase I use quite frequently, in both languages and in every sense. Hopefully, this blog will move you to do the same. After all, if my work does not give someone pause, then it probably is not worth reading and I give you my blessing to close this tab and never look at it again. BANANAS! (Just keeping you on your toes)