Hi and welcome to the Attic, I'm Frankenberry of said Blog Title and I write of just my everyday here, sometimes funny, sometimes heartfelt, sometimes angry, sometimes funny again because, well, who don't like funny, thoughts on getting older and sometimes stuff that's just kinda shit. I pen and sing the occasional parody tune and other songs, sometimes I even get a little bit poetic or short story-etic or something like that. If you're joining me here I thank you, but just mind your head and feet and keep an eye out for my little Bella and Cricket The Blind as well as the memories of Raspberry (Razzy), Mimi the Quirky, of Blink The Lil' Kit, Grayson the Mighty, Shoes the Big Orange, Shana-Girl, Benny Good Man Benny Brown, Merlin & Bob. Wouldn't want you step on them or anything … 'cause then I might just have to throw you down the stairs … damned humans.
So a prompt for the holidays, an Etheree poem (no, I had no clue either) focusing on Christmas trees and themes of such. The full explanation of an Etheree poem and examples and the rest is in the link to the prompt from dVerse Poets here,An Etheree Tree, but it is …
… write in the form of this Etheree which is 10 non-rhyming lines graduating, per line, from 1 syllable in line 1 to 10 in line 10. The only addition to the form was two extra lines of only 2 syllables each at the end.
Now, not the original intent of the Etheree of course, but if you then center the 10 lines on the page and add the two extra lines for the tree trunk bottom you get the shape of a Christmas tree, which, well, just looks cool
It made me think of a favorite couple of pictures from so many years ago of Cal, the kitten, 2004 or so, in a house I shared with my sister and brother then.
Cal, one of the 5 kittens that were kittened to us by a pregnant cat (my brother named her Mia) who just showed up at our back door one day looking for a place to possibly stay. She had surely seen my Benny in his Benny to and fro’s around neighbor’s yards and flower beds and through his cat door and thought to herself in a wanting way, “these are good cat folk and this is just the place to lay my head” and proud, expectant belly in a toweled cardboard box world with lots of human hovering and eventual kitten squirming. She was also the Mom of my beloved “Shoes”, the Big Orange, who I would eventually write of quite a lot over his 11 too short years.
Well, this was from the first Christmas with Cal and Shoes (after we found homes for the others) and I thought they would be the perfect pictures for this.
Christmas Kitten
I
kitten
can’t see me
I hide in glow
of lights and baubles
pictures cute found subject
broken heirloom sighs know blame
but can’t hold true meaning account
Christmas purr instinct as a cat will
until climb down to plush skirt and cat nap
warm blinks
cat dreams
Oh … and since I mentioned it, this is one of that cardboard box that came with all the human hovering.
I have done a lot of songs, over the last 7 or so years, of the political parody type (but also some others) ones that you may know, but ones that I must consider in a new light now, the importance of, and whether or not I may be freedom of speechly able to produce more of them …
tick, tock, tick, tock .
Oh, you jest say you …
… tick, tock, tick, tock …
Anyway, another time. It’s the holidays, thanksgiving passed, and an album of the “some others” Christmas tunes now (ok, not an album) and the adventures of three characters, the hapless Stevie and Tommy and Stevie’s NOT hapless little brother Billy with one “Christmas” tune in the mix.
Now, however much I might love to envision myself an artist who comes out with the requisite collection of holiday classics at some point …
Studio: It’s Christmas, be all Christmasy and shit, it’s about time, we need a whole record …
… I do, actually, already have my own without that required studio mandate.
Two of them. I know, Christmas prolific I am!
Now, if two songs are enough to constitute an entire album, maybe with some remixes and extended plays and spoken word guest appearances (no, I know that’s not a thing) and one original tune that I haven’t written or performed just yet then I’m good.
First the story of Stevie and Tommy and Billy started here …
Ok, well, that’s all I got, but maybe it will be distracting enough … give me respite until the Holidays wear off, and January comes and holiday hangovers eventually fade then to figure out retreat and hideaways.
New Quadrille prompt, a dVerse poem of just 44 words with a word to include . This time around, in the prompt from Lisa, the word is “with”. And the 44 word count does not include the title by the way.
Well, I thought to one of my cats and my well practiced solitude.
Earlier this week was a prompt at dVerse poets of Dragons and some history and to write of such. Now I missed the “window” to include an entry to this prompt but I still thought to get to something about Dragons, thus …
A Dragon’s Lament
I am ‘bout fold up my wings
my lament
of Dragon lore and settling scores
with villagers who I wish fight no more
fly over to tremble their thatch
homes
and thatch fields and thatch clothes and thatch thoughts
they too easy to burn brittle
if so
and turn
into fiery jackals wishing my hide
to feast in grand time at my demise
.
They can have my riches
though I have none
of what would I do
if so
with even some
piled glinting, blinding high laired in dragon stories
told
from the point of pike and mobbed pitchfork flamed dance
She took an almost step and then held back, “Oh, you two are going to be in sooooo much troub …”
“You mean Ralph and Ant?”
It was in that imperceptible but perfectly clear sound of that initial pindrop you could distinctly hear through the laundromat noise, right before the blinding light and the temporary stunning and the disappearing knock-off magazines and other assorted items … including herself.
But it was deep and heavy, filled with bass or was it wispy and floating like an angel’s falsetto dropped from a cloud into a void, she wasn’t sure, and her head sat static apart from her body as it walked away and walked back and walked away and walked back again looking for a wall to possibly bounce off, a door jam to bruise a nose on, or maybe a set of stairs to fall down like some headless ghost or an almost there drunk.
And she was missing a shoe.
Her voice just almost wouldn’t come again but then it echoed, loudly, and startled her.
“Hello? Whooaa that’s loud!! … Where am I?”
“Exactly”
“Oh great, cryptic (she sighed to herself) … fucking fantastic.”
“You know you weren’t supposed to find us, none of you were but your friends, the smart one and the fat one, just wouldn’t let it go …”
With a bit more bearing, Jenn then said into the void.
“Ok, hold on, but we weren’t supposed to find you?! Seriously?! You left one of your portals to wherever the hell this place is, in a dryer, in a laundromat that also happens to be a pretty popular juice bar, in the middle of a fairly big town, what did you expect?”
Silence now … profound silence.
“Hello?!!? Jenn said again but with a definite note of annoyed impatience now.
“Sorry, we were conferring”
“Conferring?! Conferring about what? And who is WE?!?”
“WE were conferring about what we expected leaving one of our portals behind in this place you describe and WE is, are … well, WE”
“Oh, I see”
“We were hoping you would”
“Jesus!! No, I don’t see!!! I was in a laundromat with my friends, who had found what they thought was a portal of some type in a dryer to some wherever or whenever and we were testing it and then I sat in it, thinking what the hell and why not, and Ant put in some extra quarters just in case, and then I ended up here, in some void, talking to a disembodied voice who is actually the spokes something or other for a bunch of creepy otherworldly voyeurs who apparently leave portals just lying around in other worlds’ laundromats they don’t intend for anyone to find. No, I DON’T fucking see!!!”
Sit: wonder what the hell time it is and check on the cows
Sit:be thankful of some quiet and that no one makes phone calls on Fridays anymore
Sit: depend on mind
Stand: pee, quite a few times or just think you have to. Understand that you are old and it’s just what old does (sprinkle this pee idea in, sprinkle unintended, at numerous other break points during narrative)
Sit: work on something you thought was the greatest idea since the wheel, sliced cheese and the toaster oven this morning
Sit: realize you ain’t got shit
Sit: Don’t look at the news, at least not now, another time with furious intent, you know you’re good at furious, but not at this second’s moment
Sit: re-read some of your things
Sit: Where the hell are the cows?
Troll: step up from under the stairs and announce yourself on the way to a sister who will still be alarmed anyway
Troll: give Rikki, who has your number, knows your footfalls, just at the top, around the step bend, the waddling jiggle jelly belly furry bowling ball with a head some pieces of hard food as a treat and a thank you of her attention
Troll: give Razzy, the sweetest of old girls some treats as well and for the same reason
Sit: realize you still ain’t got shit
Sit: detail your weekend itinerary
Remember: one post that told you you still have inklings of being alive. Re-post it00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 … have a cat foot, feets, foots mock you with zeroes
Sit: Laugh at the concept of sleep
Sit: look for cows and hope it’s not too late into a Sunday just yet to call them home
Lay: grab an elusive Z … or two but don’t get ahead of yourself on stringing some more of them together
Forward: repeat next weekend
Now: be good
Now: know cows do come home
//////////////////////////////////////////
(from up top … Remember: one post that told you you still have inklings of being alive. Re-post it)
(originally posted Oct 15, 2023)
I noticed
I got a bit melancholy tonight as I thought of younger days in my made excuse to hit the pharmacy on my way home for a third time in three days claiming old and having forgotten something the first two times around. The melancholy? The pretty Walgreens pharmacy girl. An unintentional intentional forgetting I guess.
I had been there twice in two days, for legitimate reason, the first to the refill of the relatively recent prescription I have of the smallest of pills that are now old man necessary in the largest of ways to keep the blood pressure on keel and then the second, the next day (after I had forgotten to get it all done in one) to a refill of the other pills that I am life tied to now after having discovered an adrenal deficiency that landed me in some hospital shuffling nine days sock footed sliding slippers shift slide dance with nurses and visiting doctors and pudding (or Jell-O) seven years ago.
But the melancholy came from this third day where I told myself I had to, with ulterior motive, go back and grab some Pepto that I had forgotten to pick up on either day to try and hold off the eventual nights where my heartburn or something of the sort keeps sleep at bay and has become quite a bother. I also thought to maybe pick up anything else for appearances sake in case my obviousness of a single item was noticed, paper towels would work I said to myself, yeah, maybe even some TP and Tums and …
I stepped up to the pharmacy counter, sorta fake purchase in hand, hoping to finally have a sec after the first two trips netted only her coworker and his remarkable beard and perfect quaff of hair above it.
She (a day three reason) immediately recognized and checked the alphabet drawer boxes under “F” for a bag around all the others in an overstuffed pharmacy library (so many people, so many ailments) without me asking.
She gave me a “???” look.
“Ok, sorry, nothing to check for me there right now, I’m all medicined reminded old dude good” I said “I just thought I could pretend that I am checking on prescriptions so I could ring my things up here instead of that line up front that is about a dozen people long, including at least two older women maybe getting ready to pay with a check.”
“Sure, only for you” she said with a laugh and a fetching smile.
I suddenly found myself being young again and talking to a pretty girl and remembering when I would have done such or do such now, usually pretty awkwardly after a maybe initial burst of confidence.
I let her know that her new dark color wave of whispy long flowing shoulder falling hair was a great look and sans glasses too, working even better simply for the change of it, which it did, does.
“You noticed?”
Any guy who has missed this is an idiot.
“Well yeah, of course” I said “been meaning to point it out (been dying to) but I just haven’t had chance to be at the counter with you to tell you so”
She smiled a million dollars.
Now, I have long ago given up such things, appealing to pretty girls like I were young again knowing that I have really nothing to offer now, I am broken, old, have suitcases of shit, history under my eyes, have very particular single habits, I have vices, I have broken myself almost intentionally after too many reasons to break, my breath is hard fought these days, I am out of shape, I am a single dude with two cats (formerly so many missed more) and whatever sad cliché that might imply my care of such worries put to the wayside for times to write of things just like this, but she smiled those million dollars and for just that one moment I was not my aged age any longer and I was reminded that she would have been just who I would have awkwardly tried to grab the attention of back when. The pretty girl who would have caught my eye and maybe a me hers if I were so lucky.
And that was it, though I will have to refill my stay alives in another month or maybe even go through paper towels and TP waaaay faster than any single guy should.
A trio of co-workers, Steve, Flounder and Seth at the Latham office of our stations in the Albany area, where I work remotely now for our Beacon group since I moved up this way, were talking earlier this week of a new superhero character they wanted to build, “Prospector Man”, something about an old-time prospector who somehow ends up in this day, some time travel shit and portals according to Flounder, and starts doing whatever “Prospector Man” superhero things might be done in this age, with hammers and swishy watered pans in streams or brooks with glinting gold flecks and “Eurekas’s!!” or fools “Goddamits!” and “Take that you bad guys!!” with Batman comicy “Pows!!” and “Ouches!!!” and “Kabooms!!” and broken rocks with prospector tools and maybe a prospector hat.
It’s all about the hat is what I’m thinking, super heroes gotta have a look right? for legitimacy? even though I don’t really know what a prospector hat may look like.
Now I didn’t get all the details as I was just kind of walking past their conversation of character building on my way to the kitchen to wash my fork and knife, from my lunch, in the kitchen, in the sink, a newfangled stream/ brook, to put them back in my kit in my knapsack in a tall plastic cup in the left hand corner of my desk as you would be wont to do when wanting to wash a fork and knife from your lunch and worldly travels, but I did catch enough that I thought it sounded like a bit of fun.
Then, as I walked past, with my still dirty fork and knife, looking for a stream or a brook, Steve said, “Oh, and Frankenberry could do the theme song” to which I stopped and said “sure?” as Steve has heard some of my tune things. But knowing that Flounder and Seth hadn’t, I figured I’d send ’em an example of a superhero theme and kind of remembered this one from November of last year about a feared possibility then, but sadly a worse realized one now.
A new version of the Mighty Mouse theme song, just with an orange tint (I also have a Ron DeSantis version … there is a link below …)
Listening to it again after some time (I had pretty much forgotten about it … what? I have a lot of these), I realized this one is not really a best example of fun, but though a year old, it is still pretty spot and relevant, very relevant actually, frighteningly relevant.
I think Prospector Man needs to start breaking some rocks here and now
Well, whatever, I will leave that to the movie version.
I know this a long way to go to just repost a tune I had forgotten about, though one that was prescient, but Prospector Man could just save the day, especially if rocks are heads.
Well, that theme song popped into my head again but with the thought of a revisit and instead this time of an Orange Devil.
So, I reworked the lyrics.
I also unintentionally worked in the word “rue” and then thought of Val Kilmer and REAL GENIUS (absolute 80’s comedy gold)
“Rue the day? Who talks like that?”
No, that means nothing here, it’s just funny … right Mitch?
So, a new version of this one then, for the orange instead. Oh, and Ron? You might want to better choose your battles especially when you aren’t able to differentiate horror from human.
Anyway, here is some fun not fun.
Despot Don (Mighty Mouse Trump Theme Song)
MAGA livestock flock to hear the sound
At the rallies where lies abound
“Here I come to save the day!!”
And root out vermin in an ode to Nazi way
.
Yes, I’ll save the bloodline from its plight
Of being muddied by those not white
Even expose leftist fascist thugs
While dimly missing such a statement’s rub
.
I’ll be following the blueprint of 20-25
To destroy democracy is what I’ll strive
Like mind, hive blind, right’s time, will be mine!!!
Hi and welcome to the Attic, I'm Frankenberry of said Blog Title and I write of just my everyday here, sometimes funny, sometimes heartfelt, sometimes angry, sometimes funny again because, well, who don't like funny, thoughts on getting older and sometimes stuff that's just kinda shit. I pen and sing the occasional parody tune and other songs, sometimes I even get a little bit poetic or short story-etic or something like that. If you're joining me here I thank you, but just mind your head and feet and keep an eye out for my little Bella and Cricket The Blind as well as the memories of Raspberry (Razzy), Mimi the Quirky, of Blink The Lil' Kit, Grayson the Mighty, Shoes the Big Orange, Shana-Girl, Benny Good Man Benny Brown, Merlin & Bob. Wouldn't want you step on them or anything ... 'cause then I might just have to throw you down the stairs ... damned humans.
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A personal exploration of autism from a brother’s perspective, including family relationships, philosophy, neuroscience, mental health history and ethics
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