"Oi'm nawt dead!" "Oh, shut up, ya big bybee---you will be in a minute!"
[Sometime around 5-2012]
To go along with the post heading: just a bit of an attempt to quell the rumors of my demise. They were exaggerated, albeit not greatly. Thanks, Mr. Clemens. Anyway, if there is anyone out there who missed me---what is wrong with you?!!
As I have managed [prior to this entry, at least] to commit only 1 post to this blog, the procedure for doing it has not yet been imprinted on my engrams. Hey, learned a new word from my daughter, a college freshman [or "freshperson" as I, & one other seriously disturbed soul with whom I shared a house during my 5th undergrad year, used to say, as we were right there at the beginning (ca. 1973-74) of the wholesale overhaul of the English language, so as to render it less gender-biased/specific] who is nearing the completion of her first year as a collegian. The word is "memes" which, prior to 4-27-12, I had never heard in usage at all, and then which I proceeded to hear later that same day on a TV program. The TV show stated that the word means a "unit of social information", or something like that. My daughter had given me examples of what she considered to be "memes". Alas, I forgot to write them down.
No matter---by the time this post is being finished [7-13-18], you will doubtless know many more examples than you could possibly want. You're welcome.
Friday, July 13, 2018
lay 1 down
[This post comprises 2 separate---in time & in topic---posts. The 1st is "us30 hwy haiku (aka, "eh, take a haik(u)"); #2 hails from 11 &/or 12-2017, & is titled "lay 1 down"]
________________________________________________________________________________
us30 hwy haiku [aka “eh, take a haik(u)!”] ~8-2009
wind
moves across green
sea of beans, a hand unseen
stroking velveteen
children of the corn
volunteering where they can,
rogues among the beans
corn children, grown tall
now lean against each other
in competition
crowding each other
for position on the boards
commodities rule
high(post)-fructose corn
syrup hits low-emissions
(post) on give-and-go
the rows knows this year’s team has
great height---and he smiles
________________________________________________________________________________
us30 hwy haiku [aka “eh, take a haik(u)!”] ~8-2009
sea of beans, a hand unseen
stroking velveteen
children of the corn
volunteering where they can,
rogues among the beans
corn children, grown tall
now lean against each other
in competition
crowding each other
for position on the boards
commodities rule
high(post)-fructose corn
syrup hits low-emissions
(post) on give-and-go
7-foot center
pivots, feeds 6-footers on
the perimeter
he who walks betweenpivots, feeds 6-footers on
the perimeter
the rows knows this year’s team has
great height---and he smiles
_____________________________________________________________________________
Lay 1 down
11 or 12-2017
HE was my older brother
until I turned 5
then HE would forever be
younger than i
HIS older brother was then
is now & will always be
older than HE
in the best of all worlds
where all metaphors speak baseball
MY older brother
laid down a perfect sacrifice
so HIS older brother
could make it home safely
HIS older brother was
bright beyond his years
surely he understood
what happened that day
surely he knew the meaning
of what MY older brother
had done, when HE gave
HIS older brother’s hand
a last perfect suicide squeeze
and sacrificed him home
with the walk-off score
HIS older brother would walk on
for the appointed 3 score
& 10 & probably more
how does this game summary
appear in his mind
has he left it behind
in the icy waters of time
or has it been replayed
endlessly in his head
complete with the director’s cut,
alternate endings, the what-ifs,
the “there but for the grace of”
MY older brother
MY older brother CANnot tell me
HIS older brother WILL not tell me
‘why’ for the former is plain to see
‘why’ for the latter, less obviously,
but can be imagined easily
by me
oh, my brothers…
now my eyes can surely see
sadly, honestly, finally
MY older brother i cannot be
HIS older brother i cannot free
the order has prevented me
[epilog: ‘hey, it’s for you---i.e., it tolls for
thee’]
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Daily rant
Greetings. My rant for today is not so much a rant as a reflection. Looking back on one's life is frequently a healthy thing to do---but not always. Every once in a while it crosses my mind, "how in the hell did I get from being jimmydafreak in reality to being so only in my head?" It's a long row we hoe, sport fans, navigating from 18 to 18 with 40 years experience. It is something of a conundrum to chew on to find myself at such an advanced age while at the same time still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. The following is a little piece describing an "occupation" that was not on my list when I was actually---as opposed to delusionally---18.
cutout (the middlemanifesto) 12-6/16-07; 1-30-08; 4-11-09; and counting
the middleman
he’s not quite right
but can’t really be all that’s left
(mal)adroitly barring the sinister
from somewhere in middle america
he’s the middleman
he can’t love, but he won’t hate
makes you want to eliminate
the middleman
the middleman
does whatever a middleman can
with his foot in his mouth and his head in the sand
the middleman
born in the middle of a month
in the middle of a year
in the middle of a century
in the middle of a police action
the ultimate middle child
child in the middle
jockeying for position with that proverbial monkey
he can’t run, and he can’t hide
right in the middle of either side
he’s the middleman
walking down the middle of a razor’s edge
teetering on the middle of a window ledge
he’s in the middle, the middle of life
he’s in the middle without any plans
in the middle of being
the middleman
maybe he’s a lonely man who’s in the middle of something
that he does not really understand
stuck in the middle with you
regularly knocked into the middle of next week
and in the middle of negotiations,
he breaks down
in the middle, loses his head
he’s the middleman
his middle is expanding, even as both ends
are played against it
no middleweight, this middleman
does whatever a middleman can
compiler, not a creator
well, maybe a little
taking his half out of the middle
fair to middlin’ suits the middleman
why don’t we d-do it in
the middle of the road
ain’t no private cul-de-sac
between iraq and a hard place
[in the middle between the devil and the deep blue sea]
plain as the nose in the middle of his face
long past the middle of a losing race
the middleman, the middleman
does whatever a middleman can
there’s no second fiddle to the middleman
from the middle of the fire to the frying pan
he just sits, so you can’t stand
the middleman
when he’s in the middle of a dream
lie in bed, float upstream
he’s sleeping, and right in the middle of a good dream
about changing horses in the middle of a stream
preoccupied with his back pages
lost in the dark of his middle ages
take down the tent and clean the cages
with the middleman
the stage is bare, and he’s standing there
overweight with thinning hair
this ain’t the middle of no vanity fair
for the middleman
right in the middle of his last stand
rich kid blank verse garbage can
with his head up his ass and his hat in his hand
bring down the curtain on the middleman
cut him out if you think you can
he’s just the middleman
he’s not quite right
but can’t really be all that’s left
(mal)adroitly barring the sinister
from somewhere in middle america
he’s the middleman
he can’t love, but he won’t hate
makes you want to eliminate
the middleman
the middleman
does whatever a middleman can
with his foot in his mouth and his head in the sand
the middleman
born in the middle of a month
in the middle of a year
in the middle of a century
in the middle of a police action
the ultimate middle child
child in the middle
jockeying for position with that proverbial monkey
he can’t run, and he can’t hide
right in the middle of either side
he’s the middleman
walking down the middle of a razor’s edge
teetering on the middle of a window ledge
he’s in the middle, the middle of life
he’s in the middle without any plans
in the middle of being
the middleman
maybe he’s a lonely man who’s in the middle of something
that he does not really understand
stuck in the middle with you
regularly knocked into the middle of next week
and in the middle of negotiations,
he breaks down
in the middle, loses his head
he’s the middleman
his middle is expanding, even as both ends
are played against it
no middleweight, this middleman
does whatever a middleman can
compiler, not a creator
well, maybe a little
taking his half out of the middle
fair to middlin’ suits the middleman
why don’t we d-do it in
the middle of the road
ain’t no private cul-de-sac
between iraq and a hard place
[in the middle between the devil and the deep blue sea]
plain as the nose in the middle of his face
long past the middle of a losing race
the middleman, the middleman
does whatever a middleman can
there’s no second fiddle to the middleman
from the middle of the fire to the frying pan
he just sits, so you can’t stand
the middleman
when he’s in the middle of a dream
lie in bed, float upstream
he’s sleeping, and right in the middle of a good dream
about changing horses in the middle of a stream
preoccupied with his back pages
lost in the dark of his middle ages
take down the tent and clean the cages
with the middleman
the stage is bare, and he’s standing there
overweight with thinning hair
this ain’t the middle of no vanity fair
for the middleman
right in the middle of his last stand
rich kid blank verse garbage can
with his head up his ass and his hat in his hand
bring down the curtain on the middleman
cut him out if you think you can
he’s just the middleman
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Tangents - Or something else I may decide to write about for some extended period of time.
Speaking of tangential conversation [were we speaking of it?], my youngest brother (who turned 49 earlier this year, although he looks younger) tells me that that sort of 'stream of unconsciousness' writing might possibly attract a small and loyal, albeit deeply disturbed, following of readers, conceivably enough to also attract advertisers or something. I have my doubts, but would enjoy having an outlet for my near-daily rants on this and that, especially if the outlet might have some money-making potential, because I damn sure am not making enough money now. If I could somehow turn something I do somewhere, somehow, practically every day for free to anyone who is interested and/or cannot run fast enough to escape the rant, into a revenue-generating engine, I would be delighted. My brother encouraged me some time back to lay claim to the cyber-domain name "jimmy da freak" [or "jimmydafreak" or whatever] before someone similarly afflicted beats me to it. If memory serves, he assured me as recently as late March that such a domain name was still available. I sincerely hope that there is no cyber equivalent of eminent domain in the domain of domain names. See, there I don't even know what I was talking about, and yet there may have been just a whiff of Monty Pythonish cachet to it, or Firesign Theatre [famous for hatching one of my favorite smartass appellations: "the Department of Redundancy Department"; I recall at least one college dormroom door (which, if I am not mistaken, was located, on the campus of U of Michigan) boasting that designation by way of a taped-on paper sign; there was a time, for maybe a year (ca. 1970-71)after FT's "Don't Crush that Dwarf, Hand Me the Pliers" hit the airwaves and stores, that dorm denizens (of my dorm, anyway; hey, is there anyone out there who lived in Armstrong Hall, Floor 4A, aka 'Arjungle' or simply 'the Jungle', between fall 1969 & spring of 1973? Shout out!) would greet each other with lines and their appropriate response lines from "Don't Crush that Dwarf", e.g., "Shoes for industry!" - "Shoes for defense!". I believe I included a small snippet of FT on one of the mix tapes I made for you ("you" being my audiovisual-savvy nephew, who started this blog for me, and who has a brother named Nick). I made reference to Nick Danger, 3rd Eye, as "Nickie Nickie Nick...then stop slapping me!" Perhaps you recall it...or not]. Hey, that last spasm was an example of a new word I accidentally coined not too long ago: "parenpathetical". It refers to parenthetical remarks which so far exceed in length the passage to which they are parenthetical, that it's pathetic. I think this neologism ought to be included in the next edition of Webster's Unabridged. Perhaps I can campaign for that, and other words that ought to be in use [and against a few that are common in current parlance but ought not to be, or unacceptable usages of words that are perfectly good under other circumstances; e.g., the annoyingly popular usage by local---and even some national---newscasters of the phrase "We are back after these messages"; I mean, that's just stupid; it doesn't even make sense; but I digress....].
After looking back on the previous paragraph, I am not sure where it was going. However, I do recall some vague notion of asking you [my nephew] for professional consultation [pro bono, of course; when people say that, are they referring to Sonny or Cher? Actually, some people will tell you that the only professional consultation I require is of the psychiatric variety] re how to go about staking out a domain in cyberspace without then proceeding to lose finances rather than gain some. I figure since you [and not the poseur, Howard Stern] are the Master of All Media, consulting you would be akin to going to the Oracle of Delphi. Any ideas? Yes, I know you have plenty of ideas. Any specifically about this proposition? On the other hand, I could certainly understand your having to decline on the grounds of professional ethics. On yet another hand, I am hopeful you could comfortably ignore such minor considerations for yer favorite freak. Please advise. Thanks.
Peace-----------& out,
uncle jimmydafreak
After looking back on the previous paragraph, I am not sure where it was going. However, I do recall some vague notion of asking you [my nephew] for professional consultation [pro bono, of course; when people say that, are they referring to Sonny or Cher? Actually, some people will tell you that the only professional consultation I require is of the psychiatric variety] re how to go about staking out a domain in cyberspace without then proceeding to lose finances rather than gain some. I figure since you [and not the poseur, Howard Stern] are the Master of All Media, consulting you would be akin to going to the Oracle of Delphi. Any ideas? Yes, I know you have plenty of ideas. Any specifically about this proposition? On the other hand, I could certainly understand your having to decline on the grounds of professional ethics. On yet another hand, I am hopeful you could comfortably ignore such minor considerations for yer favorite freak. Please advise. Thanks.
Peace-----------& out,
uncle jimmydafreak
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