Half Days and Roll Overs

This past Monday I took half a day. I’ve discovered that I like them as I try to extra meter out just three weeks of PTO over the space of a year (the new weeks kicked in in mid May). It would be nice to have a few more days after 7 years but you work with what you got.

In recent years I would plan a Monday a month of a full day off (12 with 3 left to play with) Monday’s being the best of days to take, one, for my Prod boss Randy’s benefit as that is the least impactful day to be left alone in Production land, never a Friday, and two because it gives an odd off three day weekend, a sort of holiday with you being the only one who knows the occasion.  

But I’ve come to like these half day Mondays. I can take them and roll over around when a usual Monday alarm would happen, roll over, tell this usual to fuck off, dream weird vivid dreams, but still know that after that roll over that I can still go in a few hours later and make sure that I can cover what needs to happen on a Tuesday, even if I already did so on Friday, without worry.

I mean, I don’t know if anyone else feels this way but taking days sometimes stresses in a paranoid kind of way. Like when I do show up the next day there will be looks, there will somehow be found things that I may have missed. I don’t miss things I’d like to think, for the most part anyway, but still, looks and questions possibly asked.  

Anyway, this past Monday when Cricket the Blind woke me way too early, my other usual, slightly earlier usual Monday alarm, with her mournful sounding meowling and loud food crunching and water bowling and louder still litter boxing at a too early around 6am as she always does around this time on just Monday’s for some reason it seems (she is quite the unintentional cat comedian this one with her little braille Monday funny cat wristwatch) after another weekend of me being an idiot and staying up too late for some new writing or parody song lyric-ing or the reading of old things for inspiration of new ones like a little kid again finally enjoying a Mom NOT telling you to go to bed for a couple of nights I was able to just roll over and dream. Dream a strange dream.

I was at a movie, with two ex-girlfriends, a horror movie, and I don’t like horror movies (no, nothing to read into there … at least I don’t think/remember anyway, though repressed things can be quite surprising I’ve heard) a one where there was a murderous ventriloquist dummy doing murderous ventriloquist dummy stuff while wishing only to make it big in Nashville, as ventriloquist dummies are wont to do I guess in dreams, it’s new killing field, just with a singular haunting, halting country tune. Something darkly slow steel guitar about pickup trucks and guns and losing your dog and pretty girl vampires in short shorts and baseball hats, and I don’t like vampire movies (no, nothing to read into there … at least I don’t think/remember anyway, though repressed things can be quite surprising I’ve heard) and a string of dead.   

Now, what do you do with that kind of weird shit while rolling over?

You don’t.

Nothing.

You just roll over.

Remind me that I never want my subconscious to tell me of where things come from by the way.

Ever.

You just roll over onto your stomach from a right arm side lay outstretched, on a half day, you change your head on a pillow, new head, the direction, your head facing left now no matter a chiropractor telling you that laying on your belly is not the best of sleep positions, you wait after a pee break at whatever in the morning for the umpteenth time (you’re old now and those pee breaks happen quite often, even when they don’t need to but thoughts to such just in case) wait for a Bella to lay down for a moment, just a moment, as she almost never does, you roll over. You wait for Cricket the Blind’s stand-up act at around an hour and half before you need to get up but knowing that you DON’T need to get up, not just yet, not today.

Is there anything better than a roll over, for a few extra’s amid weird dreams, on a Monday, or any day for that matter, if you’ve planned and are allowed?

I will look for a full day soon, half days have had their moments thus far, but I want a whole Monday where I damn the paranoid possible mistakes that I know I haven’t made and go beyond sleeping in for a few hours to a maybe sleeping day, with multiple roll overs and chiropractic admonishments (easy Doc, I know an evil ventriloquist dummy) and maybe a wake long enough to watch a movie, any movie, even a vampire horror chick flick with two ex-girlfriends and a haunting steel guitar country song.

Subconscious: Hey, we got an update for you.

Me: What?

Subconscious: An update. Been compiling a list of some things from the back of your head and think that maybe we might have an idea where this latest came from.

Me: Didn’t I just say that I don’t wanna know about that stuff?!

Subconscious: But some of this is REALLY interesting. You sure you don’t like horror flicks?

Me: Shut the fuck up.

Subconscious: Ok … but still … it’s quite a list …

Me: What did I just say?!

Subconscious: Sorry … but …

Roll over

So Then Sunday – We Are (Song Revisited)

A so then Sunday.

I know that this is one I posted here just a little less than a month ago but I’m still feeling it as I should, as anything of this nature should, and well, like some are wont to do in their things, a re-post.

To Iggy Pop’s “The Passenger”.

I also worked “ne’er-do-wells” into the mix so there is that.

We Are

We are the hypocrites

We’re pro-life but abandon born kids

Body autonomy’s a right against masks

And vaccines you’ve no right to task

Don’t tread on me, no you can’t even ask

But female autonomy’s a thing of the past

We’re disingenuous

We cry at vigils of schoolkids

More lost to our well paid hubris

We thought and prayer and rationalize

Blame our morality‘s claimed decline  

Not in our war chest for power outsized

Our lack of action is your fault it’s not ours

We sing la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

Pompous self righteous is what we all are

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

La-la

We are

We are the Christianists

Women’s rights we won’t allow

Rape incest even under-age now

They’re just a new day’s opportunity

While we strut about in our piety

Making sure you bring about babies

Promptly out of mind once do the light they see

Authoritarians

Free speech is what we insist

The right to misinform

The right to prop-a-gan-dize

And you can’t criticize now

Speech is what we decide now

We’ll legislate what you can and can’t say

Or violently bring your free to waste

Got our own rigged election plan

100’s GOP’s in on the scam

Break at states the will of them you’ll see

Not of the people but new you and me  

Results just for GOP’s new you and me

Our vision of a Democracy that’s just died

We sing la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

Minority drunk w majority court

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

La-la

We are

We are the activists

From the court we legislate with new twist

It’s not the leftists we warned in past

Boogeymen to scare conservative kids

No it’s a Clarence bloc with a backwards breath

A new Christian way with a brand new breadth

And scope of what rights just might be next

And how we now can control your ways

The ones we know the Devil helps sway

Generations precedent progress gone away

A Singin’ la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la, la-la

We are

We are exceptional

Shoulder above all the ne’er-do-wells

Who think history’s about truth’s to tell

Not our re-write aleviate guilt

With no systemic racism cloud

We were just caretakers of a new world 

On the back’s of lessers who still owe us the price we paid

Singin’ La La La La La La La La La

We are

Heckett and New Spider Plants

So, and before you start if you’ve noticed, I begin quite a few things with a “So”, it’s not your concern as to why … that’s all you Jill and your virtual red markers, so miss you.

So, in a conversation with a dear friend of mine, a one who came about being dear unintentionally, a friend who came to be dear through memory of a long passed time and particular place held close but where then she was just there until she bubbled heavy metal attitude up somehow years later into a now where you send thoughts and talk stuff into the wee and even sometimes throw random banana’s and silly fluffy or not fluffy life pictures at each other.

I told her that my sister had gifted me some spider plants. Two of them. I asked if she could get my stretch of a name of the two as I knew she would, plus you name things. Plants, cars “BB”, some of the third bay nameless garage cats here, you name things, BW, Lumpy, Penny, the most appropriate “Ghost” underneath a truck and out in a blink with your mere presence, “Li’l O” out the back porch, everything with a name, a point of reference, a something for the hello to furry things and even the inanimate things that mean so much for such stupid reasons.

Erica and Sid. My new Spider plants.

She got it, even though it was a stretch to take a step from Arachnid to Erica and Sid, but she knew what I meant proving why dear is dear.

She also said I should hang them if could, ’cause the cats might get to nibbling, though that belies permanence. I don’t have hanging things or walls.

Hold on … pause … completely off topic … now that’s a breeze rolling up hills, this one included, to an open window that calls of breezes that fight with indoor fans in the best of ways … just to my left at this most perfect time of year … not a quite too hot that still allows breezes fan fights with a Bella cat in her cat seat and a me in my PC chair and the best place I’ve ever had for words and a nose … take a sec … a nose … breezes that smell of … everything …

Ok, back to things at hand.

////////////////////////////////////

My ex mother-in-law, Mrs P, gave Danielle and I a plant/small tree from her and Mr P’s house for our first apartment. We had a perfect room in an old new third top floor place just inside a small balcony where it could get some light and a little bit of love. Mrs P gave it to us because it just kind of sat below a window in the dining room there at the house without much attention. I could almost imagine it sad, you could say it looked Charlie Brown.

That room where the balcony was was just so, it was just so, was so perfect and where my computer was in early computer days and also where there were two old Victorian looking tall back yellow leather pimpled chairs that for the life of me I can’t remember where they came from, they just were, they just existed, like they were only floating in space waiting until an apartment and newlyweds with cats appeared around them, and they were the most perfect Benny and Merlin spots (my first Christmas new place present to Danielle  … though really only to myself) to lay on dreaming cat dreams. One in each. I named that plant/tree Heckett and placed him between those yellow tall backed floating Victorian looking chairs not too far from the window and the balcony.

I was home alone a lot then as I was doing a morning radio gig and Danielle was doing a sort of 9 or 10 to 7 in a little cigar shop at Station Square in Pittsburgh.

Well, in that quiet I took to writing and smoke breaks and writing and smoke breaks and thoughts out onto the balcony and found myself talking to myself and to kittens and to Heckett … a lot. I guess that might have been my beginning of crazy cat lady guy days huh?

Anyway, I said to Mrs P one day on a visit for dinner and to hang out and go for a walk with Fish, the dog, I so loved that dog in my brief, he gave me nose kisses and trusted me and appreciated I think when I would place myself between him and sometimes too fast suburban cars, I said Heckett was the coolest of things. I never expected that I said.

Mrs P: You never expected what?

Me: The flowers

Mrs P: The flowers?

Me: Yeah, the flowers blooming off branches. Petals everywhere. Benny and Merlin were covered in ‘em this morning

Mrs P: (taken aback) Really?! He never bloomed anything here

Well ok then. Maybe there is something to words I thought, words out loud that you bounce off cats and plant/trees named Heckett when you’re alone but not feeling like you’re too talking to yourself crazy cause at least you’re not the only one in the room. I wrote a poem about it years later that I just can’t seem to find whenever I remember, like now (still can’t find it) whenever I go for a search, though that is probably for the best.

Time and altered memory surely make it much better than it was, and it was most probably crap. I’ll leave it be, though I still remember the title “Heckett Bloomed Flowers He Never Knew”.

Yeah, it was definitely more than just probably crap.

I don’t know what became of Heckett in the back and forth of eventual broken things and the just too much, just too much (I kept the cats by the way) but Erica and Sid? I’ve heard spider plants have their moments of being replenishers.

At least that’s what Beck says.

We’ll see.

I’ll have talk to them about it.

.

Murder Balloon

So my Sis got me a few things from Adam’s last week for my birthday. A surprise bit of groceries from a fave place that came with a balloon. Apparently no matter how old you are you can still get balloons.

But it was a homicidal balloon, or murder balloon as Beck has named it, immediately trying to kill me on my way home with my open windows and too loud music (no, the music wasn’t a balloon issue, I’ve just been loud lately) bouncing, wrapping, blocking view, everything it could to make me dead. It even took a look outside like some dog balloon before it got back to its nefarious balloon nefariousness.

When I got home, evil balloon plan seemingly thwarted it proceeded to kill one of my fans instead, wrapping itself around the fans throat.

Stopped at Home Depot for a new fan yesterday, answering the unasked question of how much someone’s gift for your birthday can cost YOU? 50 bucks in this case, but that’s not your bad Beck.

I mean, what are you gonna do with homicidal balloons right?

There was though this. New fans come in boxes. Blind cats find boxes. Blind cats get comfy in found boxes. Fuck you balloon.

Angel Of Death: End Of Days, Route 9, Poughkeepsie Part Two – The Conversation

(This is a part two to something I wrote a few months back about seeing the “Angel of Death” in the middle of route 9 in Poughkeepsie NY, really just some guy dressed as one at rush hour, but what if maybe it wasn’t just some guy? Part one is the highlighted linked first sentence here to lead this off, read that first if you’re interested … The Conversation, this said part two follows. Do so at your own risk?)

So, are you that guy who saw me on Route 9 in Poughkeepsie a few month’s back?

What?

Are you that guy who saw me standing in between lanes with my hourglass?

(overly dramatic voice over – A dark horizon of damnation looms with hopeless flailing and violent blood lettings and gouging’s and all nasty similar assorted’s and paintings of Hieronymus Bosch and posters of Farah Fawcett and Scott Baio all hanging from from damnation walls as far as burned out eyes can no longer see and even a child’s finger signed damnation pictures, on multi colored thick grade school paper, hang on refrigerators with little cat magnets)

Ok, well that’s a little unsettling and a bit silly, but I’m a little confused, a lot more than a little confused really, actually a bit freaked out right now. Where the Hell am I?

Exactly

????

So, are you that guy that wrote about seeing me there in Poughkeepsie?

Well, yeah, I guess

You guess?

Ok, I jokingly wrote about some dude I saw dressed as the Angel of Death in the middle of Route 9 between a couple of mattress stores and across from a T.G.I. Fridays and a specialty soap shop and a convenience store but … but it was just me writing a story!

And that I may have been ordering a burger from that T.G.I. Fridays while I passed the time being all Angel of Death and possibly thinking of doing Angel of Death stuff?

Well, sure, whatever I uh … you’re not gonna “scythe” me by the way, or whatever it is you do, point a death finger or something are you?

Not yet … spot on on the burger by the way, blood rare, locusts, frogs, extra cheese and fries and the apple cobbler dessert special. Who doesn’t love themselves a nice apple cobbler?

Ummmm, alright, with ya on the apple cobbler, grant ya that, some vanilla ice cream for a bonus if the cobbler is warm, who doesn’t, but …

Hey, I can do warm …

Of course you can

… and at the end you asked, as you were worried if I were there in the middle of Route 9 in Poughkeepsie to bring about the end of days, if I could at least have let you grab your dinner, feed your cats and clean a litter box or two before the end?  

But that wasn’t real!!! You were just some nutter in a Grim Reaper robe and hood with an hourglass and …

Careful

Ok, not nutter, maybe just some freak who …

What did I just say about careful?

Fine, fine. You were an actual Angel of Death, not some random guy in a bad costume in the middle of Route 9 in Poughkeepsie but the real deal

Now you’re getting it

But that was the best you could do?

What?

The outfit? The bad costume? It was soooo High School stage production, and the hourglass was soooo small, there wasn’t anything that you could have grabbed tha …

Hey! I grab what I can from the old plays! Hard to come by trustworthy folks around here, people walk off with costumes and props all the time, for Halloween and freaky parades and funeral birthday parties and never return them … I just grabbed the last things left. It served its purpose though right?

Well not really, it was more of a dark thrift store long coat that someone probably died in smelling of alleyways and sweat and what looked like a dead flashlight in hand …

Died smelling of alleyways and sweat … that’s not bad … can I use that?

… with a sweatshirt hoodie

But I got a compliment on it

Probably just being kind … oh wait, that was one chick who’s all goth on the weekends, she sees what she wants to.

You’re a dick

I’ve been told. You need to get your costume and prop people in line and get them to return shit. Halloween and freaky parades and parties as funerals or funerals as parties may have their place but …

Ok whatever, but you know you’re dead right?

(looking around) Jesus dude … is the cleaning lady off today …?

Really?

Oh right, bad exclamation, especially for here

You still know you’re dead right?

What? No, I’m not, I have cats

You’re not Bill?

Bill who?

That guy with the bus this morning, the one who wrote about me?

Oh, I read about that … awful business … we’re all so freakin’ immersed in cell phones … just one bad step when you’re not paying attention and WHAP!! SQUASH!! Bystanders turning in horror and puking on their shoes … and, hey, this Bill fella didn’t try take credit for that did he, say he was the one who wrote my thing about you?!

So, you’re not that guy? That Bill?

Very much NOT thank you and my name is Steve by the way and I am very much alive, with cats … just fed them as a matter of fact

Yeah, you told me about the cats thing … you don’t have a girlfriend do you?

What?

Never mind, I’ll leave you be … a NOT Bill as you say … for now … here’s my card

/////////////////////////////

Dude can you NOT not knock shit over?

(overly dramatic voice over – A dark horizon of damnation looms with hopeless flailing and violent blood lettings and gouging’s and all nasty similar assorted’s and paintings of Hieronymus Bosch and posters of Farah Fawcett and Scott Baio all hanging from from damnation walls as far as burned out eyes can no longer see and even a child’s finger signed damnation pictures, on multi colored thick grade school paper, hang on refrigerators with little cat magnets)

Sorry (after bumping into a mantle and crashing a snow globe onto the floor) so sorry, I can pay for that.

How?

Well, I do have mone …

No, no you don’t, you’re dead, you couldn’t take it with you as all those fucking songs were trying to remind you.

You mean like that one Alan Parsons Project tune from … hold on … love that song … the one from … ummmm …

From Pyramid … from Pyramid? Third album? It’s just one of the litany of endless song drivel about the obvious Bill … and always in an attempted profound kind of way, like that was gonna somehow get you in her pants at that dive pub while you drunkenly jotted things on a napkin hoping to impress her with how “deep” you were …

My name’s not Bill

What?

My name’s not Bill, It’s Steve

What?!!! Seriously?!! You want to quibble about names?!!

Well, it is kind of important it seems, especially since he’s the guy with the bus and the WHAP!! SQUASH!! and shoe puke, not me!!

Do you hear yourself?  … (bending down to try and clean up pieces of the snow globe) Man, where the fuck is a broom and dustpan when you need one …

Probably with the cleaning lady who obviously isn’t here today

… you know this one was one of my favorites?

I really am sorry

It was Pompeii, all of them huddled together in fear while the ashes … oh those ashes … glorious stuff … how it floated death … you could shake it up and … like deadly Christmas … and now you’ve gone and fucked up Christmas

Sorry, I didn’t realize there was a mantle here, whodathunk? I can be a bit clumsy … plus I’m kind of new to this plac …

(overly dramatic voice over – A dark horizon of damnation looms with hopeless flailing and violent blood lettings and gouging’s and all nasty similar assorted’s and paintings of Hieronymus Bosch and posters of Farah Fawcett and Scott Baio all hanging from from damnation walls as far as burned out eyes can no longer see and even a child’s finger signed damnation pictures, on multi colored thick grade school paper, hang on refrigerators with little cat magnets)

Does that ever stop? Or is it like when you’re on hold for that associate that might or might not pick up in like 17 to 22 minutes?

Sorry, pre-recorded thing, usually closer to the 22 or really past that by a good margin, usually eternity … of course there’s a mantle Bill … why wouldn’t there be a mantle, or are you judging me, that I can’t have a nice house with proper house things, like mantles?

Have you looked around here lately?

Sarcasm not appreciated Bill … I mean where the hell are you going to display your proudest of knick knacks and set them up for the holidays?

It’s Steve

What?!!!

It’s Steve, you called me Bill again

You know Phil when I find my broom I’m going to beat you to death with it and …

Well, not much point in that if I’m already dead as you say right?

… well I’m going to beat you death with it twice and then clean up Pompeii (picking up tiny characters) I mean look at this, all spooned together, how cute is that?

It’s not really. It’s kind of sad

Ok ground rules Dave

It’s Steve

Ok ground rules Chris, I don’t care of sad, not caring of sad is pretty much what I do, it’s just a tired human trait that helps them explain how they feel when one of their’s gets dead. And I don’t care how it happens. It can be a bus …

That was awful … WHAP!! SQUASH!! puke …

Shut up Frank … it can be a bus, or a knife or a loss of head … like Highlander, loved that Sean Connery with his Scottish swish, though that whole immortal thing was just funny, so dramatic, so unreal, he’s right down this way if you’d like to meet him, it can be a tall bridge swan song, it can be cancer or a gun shot or shots like in the movies or even in your real world like at traffic stops, don’t be black by the way, even the simplest of cuts that just get ignored and then fester till sepsis sets in, that’s one of my favorites, so slow and so, so preventable … ain’t nothing sexier …

But?

Shut up Steve it’s all abou …

Finally, you got it right

What!?

My name, you got it right

Of course I did Steve, I know everyone’s name

But?

Have you looked at my mantle, the one you just bumped into and blew up my Pompeii snow globe from (with a just “hang in there” cat poster hanging above it with an infinite list of names superimposed)

Wow, that’s a lot of names … wait … hey, I had that poster!!

Everyone had that poster Kirk

It’s Steve

Shut up Sherry

Whoa I’m a woman now?

Does it matter? You’re all dead

Yes, it does …

Yes, I know Terry, Terry was was your mother’s grandmother’s husband’s name blah blah blah blah …

It was?

You just told me that right?

No, I didn’t, though I kinda like Terry by the way

What?

I kinda like Terry

Not Alejandro?

Where the fuck did that come from? No, I don’t speak Spanish though that is kind of sexy … no Terry’s Ok, I mean if you’re going to call me something that isn’t Steve I can be Ok with Terry.

Whoa hold up, this isn’t one of those gender things is it?

What?

It’s just those conservative guys keep gong on and on about gender things like it’s the end of the world … and if anyone knows the end of world, well, it ain’t that. Believe me.

No, I just like Terry, it can go both naming ways and oh, they were Steelers quarterbacks by the way

The whoers?

The Steelers … a football team. I loved my 70’s Steelers.

Ok, whatever old man but we’ll go with Terry, yeah, I’ll remember that now plus Steve sounds a bit of a dullard name

Hey, no it doesn’t!

Shut up Terry

I’m not dead by the way as you seem so intent on believing and I keep trying to tell you

Right, of course you’re not, they all say that

No really, I’m not

You’re not? (giggling to death self) You sure (more giggling)?

Yes, I mean no, I have cats like I said.

????

Yeah, cats, the one’s I fed like 5 minutes ago before this nightmare and you confused me with some dude named Bill who apparently was too much of a moron to not look up from his phone for a second before stepping off the curb and a WHAP!! SQUASH!! shoe puke … I’m so I’m not dead yet, as a matter of fact that one (peering into a swishy looking mirror thing) is meowing right now like she’s at the funeral of a lost cat friend and splashing water around her water bowls like some kiddie pool and annoying the shit out of me and that one, Bella is yawning at belly rubs on a kitchen table in a living room with an “oh you’re all good girlfriend” dinner’s right up … and that’s me, giving the belly rubs.

Well that’s weird.

What?

Me seeing you through this swishy looking mirror thing while you’re right here, that’s kinda new. But it’s more than that.

What is?

You have a kitchen table in the living room?

What?

You have a kitchen table in a living room …. that a cat sleeps on?

Yeah … your point?

You don’t eat there do you? Gross. Oh, never mind (looking around – fucking cats) How are you here then?

I don’t know, you tell me.

Dammit, really? (looking around twice) Son of a bitch I’m going to be in so much trouble.

Well, that’s all you, dinner and litter boxes and water bowls here man, just figure out a way to get me … ummmm, back to “me” I guess, probably through that swishy looking mirror thing. Here’s my card, my still living card.

///////////////////////////////

I don’t know Ma’am he seemed sooooo dead … if ya don’t mind my asking though, what’s with that swishy looking mirror thing? … Ok, my bad, gotcha, backing out of the room now …

///////////////////////////////

interminable that one. Bill? You didn’t lose another mirror did you?

What?

Aunt Lib And Birthdays

So my Aunt Lib and I almost share a birthday, right around where Summer is finally in swing for the too shortest of time it always seems before the dreaded. She called me Friday to remind me of such shared and to apologize for her card not being in the mail just yet like that was a necessary thing. To tell you the truth I had kind of forgotten but somewhere in my head I also knew that I had forgotten on purpose, as I do every July, as is there anything better than an Aunt Lib phone call to remind you of cards sent every year since, well, since?

I took the call at the backside of the station here, out the back door as I knew, with speaker on, that it would be gloriously Aunt Lib loud, and listened to the rat-a-tat-tat word machine gun that is an Aunt Lib no words edgewised or even shoehorned on my end, no words being able to wedge their way in but I beamed when I walked back in as only an Aunt Lib can make you beam.

She’s an inspiration, a wonder, shorter and slightly heavy shouldered these days though, with an all gray and a still disappointment at my lack of Church but still an ok as long as I’m being a me “just don’t tell me of your liberal things Stephen … do you still have cats? ” she says. ”what about those Steelers this year?” she says. I have other things Aunt Lib I say, not liberal things, it’s not all about always trying to make points that you and I don’t agree on and yes I still have cats.

She is the closest thing I have left to my Dad as they were just peas.

I don’t tell her of my liberal things, just like I didn’t really tell my Dad of them in the college days, though I wish I had, and she doesn’t tell me of Aunt Lib things in that regard though she baits me in the most wonderful unsubtle of ways always wishing to maybe make me somehow “come around” like this phone call would suddenly be the magic pill.

“Dad? your sister is doing that sister thing again” I say to the sky and the wind and the sounds of birds with a wink.

“She IS one minded Stephy’”.

A one minded that you love with all you got as it’s genuine. There is not a lot that is genuine left in this world, not anymore, but Aunt Lib? She deals in genuine.

I told her that I would email her some things of mine that were just things, just thoughts and moments that had no political points purpose, just things about my every day, or past days, that would let her know that I was alright, or maybe not alright depending on the take, but still alright in the grand scheme of small Steve world things.

She emailed me back earlier, that she would take the time to give a look when she got back from Church … I so look forward to the response.

We Are (song)

The boss guy let everyone out Friday at 2, he’s good that way on holiday weekends and it is much appreciated. Hung around though for something that’s been in and out of the head wordin’ for a couple of weeks, the let out early a bonus as I was able to do what I do in song attempts for a few hours, having made sure all my shit was dotted and T’d (at least I hope so) for a long weekend to then get home at my regular hour to the furry girls with some editing play in hand for the workin’, headphones down.

Plus it was my birthday, the old man that I am. Whodathunk I’d be close to 60 someday? I know years are what they are, that they add up, but still back in my best of days it seemed so far away as to be almost unfathomable. But this was my gift to myself, just time to do what makes me happy … and sad, and frustrated and wanna throw shit angry.

Editorials in song.

This one is a bit of a drone, an Iggy Pop drone of his “The Passenger” but with a hook that just sticks.

We Are

We are the hypocrites

We’re pro-life but abandon born kids

Body autonomy’s a right against masks

And vaccines you’ve no right to task

Don’t tread on me, no you can’t even ask

But female autonomy’s a thing of the past

We’re disingenuous

We cry at vigils of schoolkids

More lost to our well paid hubris

We thought and prayer and rationalize

Blame our morality‘s claimed decline  

Not in our war chest for power outsized

Our lack of action is your fault it’s not ours

We sing la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

Pompous self righteous is what we all are

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

La-la

We are

We are the Christianists

Women’s rights we won’t allow

Rape incest even under-age now

They’re just a new day’s opportunity

While we strut about in our piety

Making sure you bring about babies

Promptly out of mind once do the light they see

Authoritarians

Free speech is what we insist

The right to misinform

The right to prop-a-gan-dize

And you can’t criticize now

Speech is what we decide now

We’ll legislate what you can and can’t say

Or violently bring your free to waste

Got our own rigged election plan

100’s GOP’s in on the scam

Break at states the will of them you’ll see

Not of the people but new you and me  

Results just for GOP’s new you and me

Our vision of a Democracy that’s just died

We sing la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

Minority drunk w majority court

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

La-la

We are

We are the activists

From the court we legislate with new twist

It’s not the leftists we warned in past

Boogeymen to scare conservative kids

No it’s a Clarence bloc with a backwards breath

A new Christian way with a brand new breadth

And scope of what rights just might be next

And how we now can control your ways

The ones we know the Devil helps sway

Generations precedent progress gone away

A Singin’ la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la, la-la

We are

We are exceptional

Shoulder above all the ne’er-do-wells

Who think history’s about truth’s to tell

Not our re-write aleviate guilt

With no systemic racism cloud

We were just caretakers of a new world 

On the back’s of lessers who still owe us the price we paid

Singin’ La La La La La La La La La

We are