writing – Page 6

5:39 am

June 15, 2025June 21, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry7 Comments

Now this is kinda exciting, not really but kinda, like hearing that “winner” sound at the Deli when Sandy runs your lottery ticket and you realize you’ve maybe gained 20 bucks back on the hundreds you’ve spent over the last 3 or 4 months trying to grab a dream (you know it isn’t more than that as Sandy ain’t dancin’ or calling a lawyer) but still kinda exciting ‘cause my new headphones are here! My new headphones are here! while Steve Martin bounces in spirit with a phonebook and I literally just ordered them last night.

5:39 am “delivered” email.

Yay and wow and cheers to you Amazon driver person! I hope at least you can go home early and have something of a Sunday.

And yay and wow and cheers to you Jeff Bezos … for like five seconds. You’ve still got a lot of ‘splainin’ to do for your acquiescing knee bent protection money spending sitting privileged in the back bleachers all proudly for coronation photos and your hatred of unions like some sweat shop boss and holding back WaPo opinions and just general Jeff Bezos questions as you aren’t what you seemed.

Shit, I’m guessing 5:39am driver guy or gal might be thinking a question or two as well, just not out loud.

But you get a temporary mulligan, a one I will rescind though and mark that ”gift” 8 on your card in a heartbeat (you really need to work on your putting game. I would have killed you in mini golf … Oh, I know how to play this windmill … and this creepy generic clown with the hole in it’s nose?)

But it is still a little exciting anyway as the duct tape on my old ones was really starting to scratch my ears more annoyingly than it already did. Duct tape can work for a lot of things, as we all know, back car bumpers, corners of cell phones, gas lines you accidentally dug up without notifying anyone you would be digging, small parts of bridges, even relationships if you are into that sort of thing, but headphones? Not so much.

So 5:39am driver gal or guy? Thank you. Now clock out little early if you can. It’s a Sunday.

It’s also kinda exciting as I don’t really do “purchases” other than trips to the grocery store but that’s just a necessity to keep me and my Bella and my Cricket alive, I just don’t do big things and anything over 75 bucks is a big thing for me so a hundred bucks for these new Sony MDR 7506’s is a big thing (I am only name brand on two things, Hellmans and headphones). But my Mom in her infinite Mom’d wisdom left me and my Sis and my Brother a few dollars, certainly not some huge windfall inheritance that the three of us would fight over like in a Lifetime movie or a cage match but enough to have me feeling a little flush for the first time in … well I couldn’t tell ya as I have never felt flush. I love what I do, have loved what I do for too many years now but it ain’t affording me any Rockefeller status so having a couple of extra bucks is new and welcome.

Now Beck (my Sis and housemate and dearest friend and landlady who only asks for a few dollars and be subject to her and her “circle’s” weird blood letting rituals on Monday nights (I think they speak Welsh in them if only to confuse me and Tuesdays can be a bit of a slog) and to be a backup guy for her Saphira, Arthur & Rikki cats if she is out of town down the state at Buck’s place, tells me, knowing me, that it is alright to treat myself to a few things now especially as that is what Mom would have wanted. Hell, I’ve just been happy enough to not have to worry over grabbing lunch “out” and not brown bag it courtesy of Mom without having to crunch numbers so Beck’s assurances and Mom’s extra Momness has been a small bonus and with it? Well, a necessary new computer (a few months ago) and a new pair of headphones to plug into it.

Also a new computer chair that will be here, I hope, just before my birthday in a couple of weeks which is a big one, no, not the chair (though it does have “executive” in it’s descriptor and will allow me, more comfortably, to fall asleep in it like any old man worth his salt, I mean, that’s what old men do right, fall asleep in chairs?) but a first birthday beyond the milestone of a new zero from a year ago.

You see when you have milestone birthdays, besides being able to exhale a sigh of relief that somehow the universe hasn’t been paying too much attention to the stupid shit that you’ve done for the last ten years, like the blood results for a feared checkup that show Ok counts of what blood does when it’s being counted and not of what you did last Wednesday, but you realize that for whatever this milestone is you could at least say, for a year, that last year I was still in my 20’s or 30’s or 40’s or 50’s.

Why is this a big one coming up? Because I am going to officially be in my 60’s and I can’t get the fuck out now, I’ll have to wait another ten years to say last year I was in my 60’s.

Well, here’s to 5:39 am drivers, duct tape not duct taped to my ear for sound, comfortable eventual chairs and Moms still doing Momness even from the great beyond.

Brand New Trump Key (song) Revisit and Nonsensical Cats

June 7, 2025July 4, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry8 Comments

Ok, I am going to stretch here just to get to where I want to go, which is to eventually re-visit my version of a Melanie tune from a year ago because it still works and stuff needs be reminded … plus, I got nothin’.

My good buddy Rick, a lifelonger just minus the first 18 years or so (though I’m sure he would have gotten along famously with those first 18 or so) posted this beyond troubling meme to his Facebook page a couple of days ago, a one whose facts we troublingly know too well …

… to which I replied …

Sadly, none of the current Facebook response circle emoji’s really cut it here. I don’t wanna Like it or Love it or Care for it or Laugh at it (as this shit ain’t funny … well it is, but in a tragically sad comic bang my head bloody against the stupid until I am moved to the “soft room” in the wing that people only whisper about or OOOOOH it like “Whoaaa?” this is some sort of surprise, or be Saddened by it as that is just too obvious or Anger at it as that is more obvious still.

No, and I know there are emoji’s that can convey this, but we need an additional circle added here to the Facebook response choices, a “What the Fuck!?” emoji circle, one specifically designed for this current administration or just in general really, one that doesn’t just say “What the Fuck!?” but is understood to say, instead, “What the Fuck U Boxes of Rocks?!” while also implying apologies to Boxes of Rocks everywhere for dragging them into this conversation at all and unfairly associating them here as their “intelligence” far outweighs anything we see on a daily … and they are rocks (sorry, again, no slight intended Rocks … “None taken, we’re rocks, we get it” … cool).

Ok, this all a little too involved, but ya know what, maybe that’s it. A new response emoji circle, not a “What the Fuck!?” but one that is just a confused looking Rock, like a pet one from back in the 70’s that wondered just what the hell you were doing (appreciate the comfy bed of straw an’ all but I’m a rock). Plus, boxes of rocks need be paid their due as they have unknowingly really stepped up their game for the comparisons these days.

… and then there were texts to my sister of pictures of cats and even texts to my nephew Matt of pictures of cats … and that one cool pic of an old ruby red muscle Mustang that I saw at the grocery store on way my home Friday night, stopping for some cat litter and a twelve pack and a dried out dozen wings for dinner, that I missed taking a pic of (though I would at least tell him about it)

… and then I would go on and on and on about what pissed me off on a production guy Friday to either of them or even to cats (there is always something by the way, to piss you off, as a production guy, on a production guy Friday that you can tell Sisters or Nephews or cats about when you get home).

… and then it was to taking pictures of cats while sitting in bathrooms who were wanting for company and marveling at that new clean shower curtain you bought at Dollar General a day earlier, the one that wasn’t trying to become it’s own ecosystem, finally (though the old’s former rainbow of colors were quite pretty).

… and then you would get to that version of that Melanie tune from a year ago and feel like you’d accomplished something even though you had nothin’ other than that old Melanie tune you started with and were stretching this post for to get to, but one that still works.

So “Brand New Trump Key” … a re-visit then it is.

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Brand New Trump Key

I rode my motorcade to your city last night

To spin some lies and give you all such a fright

To harp on victim-like and rail conspiracies

I know you trust me know I’m just what you need

Well, I’ve got brand new world in mind here now

Take heart my unhinged screed

I’ll be proven right my ranting now

You just need to wait and see

I know what you need it’s a Donnie me

A fascist change of scene

Well, I’ve got a brand new world in mind here now

It just ain’t democracy

I ride my plan of year twenty of twenty five

I got my dee-scipes proving be worthy scribes

Of new world order in these United States

If you don’t subscribe you’ll surely be less than great

Oh yeah

Hah hah hah hah

Oh you will face my wrath

Hah hah hah hah

Oh yeah yeah yeah you’ll wish you hadn’t said that

I ask my people to stand up and be strong

Kiss my ring say they knew it all all along

That I was chosen by the man sittin’ way up high

To lead a fascist state while democracy dies

Well, I’ve got a brand new way to look at things

Won’t believe what I’ll bring

A brand new U.S.A. prosperity

‘long as you call me King

La la la la la la la la la la la la la

Well, I’ve got a brand new world in mind here now

It just ain’t democracy

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… and then there were cats.

On A Shelf Between … (poem)

June 3, 2025June 3, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry20 Comments

Newest Quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets from Lillian, dVerse’s 44 word invention just, with each prompt, to include one particular word.

This time around? The word “sunrise“.

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On A Shelf Between …

They live inside,

worn flowers between pages

of a red velvet picture book

with prettied painting of a sunrise

in a box

between

letters and monuments

on a shelf

between

sweet still scented scarves and wool socks

behind that hat you wore so well

While Thomas Went Mad (part one: Smoothing Stones)

June 1, 2025February 7, 2026by Stephen J FrankenberryLeave a Comment

While Thomas Went Mad (part one: Smoothing Stones)

Thomas thought of madness quite often or at least what madness would allow. I mean it’s madness after all, he thought, would I, me, he or that beleaguered soul in a muddied street below seen from a high window who could be me even know?

No, he walked the halls leaning, for balance, sliding his left palm on those ancient and smoothed stone walls over words not quite worn, though he knew that would take more time, well beyond his, well beyond his imagined, words he only partially understood (were they of Master Pembroke, of his stories of devout guidance or were they of Saint – he so wished to meet Saint someday) but only the good parts of the words of course, he hoped, assumed, thought, wished through his unrelenting stark dark visions, or dreams, instead, as he was more inclined to call some of them, the kinder ones, the simpler ones, yes, that was a bit easier to couch, much more benign but what if he were backwards in thought, a pretzeled logic instead where that what which was are would could seemed stitched together with a thread of hope, that reality wasn’t the walls but the dreams, or … are actually not that at all, instead meant only to distract from the harsher ones and the mundane walls and the awful, nonsensical wanderings of his head?

Thomas thought hard on this, as hard as he could, as hard as his fractious mind would allow in shoulds and woulds and coulds and maybe’s though, he was sure, as absolutely sure as he could be expected to be in his me’s, I’s, he’s that still existed somewhere in that me, I, he, he knew, primally at the base of the hairs on the back of his neck, the ones on his arms, the ones on his legs even in the shorter ones below that just confused him as they made no curling sense, especially when they gave way to tall, that this wasn’t actually madness after all as right side up becomes wrong side down while sliding his left palm, for balance, along smoothinged walls, with words inscribed that he was erasing over time, he just knew … but I can’t be expected to have madness make sense now can I he thought? I must just treat it, address it in simple maddened minded maddening terms. Maybe even embrace it.

And Thomas waited this madness and walked and leaned for balance, and smoothed those words over time with his left palm of he or a his or a mine and he waited as there would be a time … that was all he knew … for what he couldn’t say but there would be a time.

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Master Pembroke watched his halting, hiccupping screen, tapping it like that would help “What do you think?” he said to Minor Pembroke “can we proceed?”

“I don’t think so, not just yet sir. He is still smoothing the walls”

“Oh, the walls Minor, it’s always with the walls”

“But he needs to see, or feel that he is rubbing them smooth, alter his perception of time, let him know that this is the only real”

“Ok, I will defer to you then, but when does it just become, you know, cruel?”

“Have you your sash Sir?”

“No, I don’t … have you seen it?

“It’s right under your chin sir”

Fumbling his neck “Oh it is, it is right here, thank you Minor … such a funny thing … it was always right here wasn’t it?”

“You are always welcome Master. Now time to rest”

“Indeed Minor. I am a bit tired”

“How about we let Missive Pembroke here get you to bed?

“That would be nice”

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Thomas had dreamt again, no darkened vision, all of his Thomas’s, the he’s and me’s and I’s and even the them’s, the one of the house, no, cottage, yes cottage with painted window flats, shutters, is that what they were called, of the one where it got closer, again, though seemingly imperceptible if anyone else were to witness or even join his dreams and go mad with him, all of the him’s, but they knew, he knew, that the grass was just a little taller, he could actually count the spokes on the cart now and the former blur in the window now had spots that could be eyes and even blue, no brown hair?

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“C’mon Thomas time to wake and take you for your walk”

This Missive Pembroke was different from the others, the ones that beat him and made him make promises he didn’t understand, even signed in blood sometimes on paper they wouldn’t allow him of his own, and she was taller too, tall enough that she wouldn’t need a ladder or even a simple stool in the orchard for an apple. He found himself, all of his selves liking her, though he realized it was most probably that she just didn’t beat him or ask of him things. She just put him to bed and then, lifetimes later, would wake him for his walk.

“Take your time Thomas” she said with genuine patience and an even seeming care, this is where the bruises and even blood would come with the others if he wasn’t spry enough. He didn’t know what he had done, or hadn’t done, to deserve this new Missive Pembroke but it, she, was most welcome.

“Thank you”

“Did you sleep well?”

“You know we did not”

“Sorry Thomas”

“What? What? WHAT?!! Apologies, the others are demanding me to ask if you have a name?”

“Yes, it’s Missive Pembroke of course”

“No, What? WHAT!!?? I’m getting to it … sshussh … no, an actual name. You surely had a mother? A one who called you something, even just in the fleeting early moment, something coy and cute, just between she and you?”

“I don’t know what you mean Thomas”

“(Sigh) it’s just that you call us Thomas, and so sweetly, but all I can call you is Missive. It just seems so … we don’t know … so distant, so impersonal”

“But I am not distant Thomas, I am right here, is my name really a matter?”

“No, you’re right Missive Pembroke, you are right here and that’s all that matters and blah, blah, blah (all the while all his selves went to the cottage in search) blah, blah, blah, blah …”

“Wow, you are quite chatty this morning Thomas”

“Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah (then, suddenly, one of his me’s, his him’s, found a two-wheel in the ever talling grass, a one they knew for some reason, a one that had a name scratched name on it’s body, like with a nail or a sharp sprig) Ok … Lily?”

The Missive stopped short, taken aback, she hackled suddenly “what did you say!?”

Thomas flinched, scrunched “What? I am sorry” and hemmed and hawed while all his Me’s ducked their heads and scrambled for unified thought “I just thought we could go into the garden one of these days … to maybe … maybe there are … Roses … yes Roses there, or Lilies, Daffodils maybe too, something to smell, to admire, something more than walls in halls”

The Missive shrunk the hackles “Yes, Thomas, that would be nice and is a fine idea, there are Roses there and Daffodils and even Petunias, so pretty right about now, but all the year round. Yes that is something we should do soon”.

All of the Thomas’s noted that she didn’t say Lilies.

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When We (I) Were Writers (poem)

May 31, 2025June 12, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry13 Comments

The idea here, from Grace, was to make a try at at a different poetry form, Trolaan.

As per Grace’s prompt:

Trolaan, created by Valerie Peterson Brown, is a poem consisting of 4 quatrains. Each quatrain begins with the same letter. The rhyme scheme is abab for each quatrain.

Starting with the second stanza you use the second letter of the first line of the first stanza to write the second, each line beginning with that letter.

On the third stanza you will use the second letter on the first line of the second stanza and write the third each line beginning with that letter.

On the fourth stanza you will use the second letter on the first line of the third stanza and write the fourth each line beginning with that letter.

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So, I thought back here to my undergraduate days when I, and my friends, envisioned ourselves as writers, poets.

When We (I) Were Writers

We (I) were words at seeming will

Wrought with grand poetic intent

With a hubris of great writers of skill

Willing envied youth to supplement

Every piece was poring/pouring soul

Even knowing in my heart to avoid such a thing

Easy it was claim “soul” glorying to all my one unfounded old

Entreating “hearts” then even made me worse for sing

Vanity of but soul would make readers quake at my depth

Vowing to pen classics worthy of masters

Vacating a notion of things just, just things to be said

Venturing not into words that mattered

And I came about but in slow, still, revelation

Amid not the soul nor heart’s cliche but the every day

Aweing how sudden old wrought dramatic word made way for just, just simple observation

And that that, that simplest of thought, just might be the true soul say

An Extra Tuesday And An Oompa Loompa Song … Again

May 27, 2025June 8, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry6 Comments

Well, my PTO has finally rolled over (Paid Time Off by the way, not Paul Tried Origami or Patty’s Trusted Oncologist (hey that’s important) or Palantir’s Takeover Onesies and an owned from your get go cute baby t-shirt (which are all understandable mistakes … I’m with ya) … I’m only pointing/spelling out these possibilities as when as when I was first introduced to the acronym I worried that I was going to have to go to meetings in the town hall basement community room with Parents and Teachers and bad coffee and day old donuts and fold chairs into that long contraption that collects chairs at the end after listening to Madge drone on and on about whatever Madge drones on and on about.

I mean, I feel bad for the loss of Mr Sniffems Smarty Pants, who was like 98 in human years and walked with 3 canes (don’t ask), but somebody really needs to start a fund to get her another cat, and it’s even tacked on three extra days now as I have hit the ten year mark at the stations (Oh, you shouldn’t have, that was waaaaaay too kind and they were really nice, even the “Happy New Year!” “It’s Her Birthday!” and “You Finally Graduated Now Go Get A Job And Get The Hell Out Of The House I Have Plans For Your Room” ones you got in a bundled discount and I didn’t even know they had “So Sorry For Your Loss” balloons as well, but it’s the thought right?) so I figgr’d to add Tuesday to this already extended weekend and take my first renewed day.

A bit of a vacay if you will or staycay as I’ve heard it phrased by those in the witty cool know (and which is more my old man speed anyway) as I don’t go out, I don’t travel or have any need to, I don’t go to events, I’d even avoid my own funeral if I could get out of it, though that’s a question of the Devil, and a one that would probably be my last anti-social hurrah, I have even conditioned my friends to not trying to bother to ask their “Hey, what are you doing this weekend” questions and before I belabor this some more and repeat myself from an old post that explains it (it is here below) that explains more in full of how I don’t do, or care to, or give a shit to … plus it also comes with a really fun re-play of my version of the Oompa Loompa song by the way, if you haven’t already heard it, so don’t just dismiss me out of hand.

I have though noticed, over the last few years, that if use up my PTO time too early, like by a couple of months, as I always do, I spend those last couple of months being overly tired, on edge and noticeably scatterbrained.

“Well how about you dole them out with more of a plan then, so you don’t waste them too early”

‘Yeah, fuck you Captain Obvious, but you’re right”

“I told you”

Note: Never admit ANYTHING to Captain Obvious and give him a win. He’s a nice fella an all, well meaning surely, but he can be a bit of a dick in his judgements and condescension so that all you’re gonna wanna do is slap him upside the head or knee cap him if you know the right people but that shit takes time, so many layers there, including paying off your uncle’s debts (he’s always loved the ponies, they’ve just never loved him back) plus, violence is never the answer, at least not on an extra Tuesday.

Wednesday? Well, that’s up in the air.

This one extra day though? A Tuesday? More than welcome.

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April 2, 2024

So a friend, Drew, recently posted to the Facebook this meme …

… and I thought well, what if the Oompa’s showed up at the funeral of this meme guy, a fella named Bob maybe, whose ‘last mistake’ was actually his LAST mistake.

Now, if anyone was wondering why it’s been so long since I’ve had a girlfriend, probably not, well, this is the kind of thing that I think about and do for fun which goes a long way to explaining said singleness.

I don’t date, don’t go to movies, or dinner, or events, or play pickleball, or go “clubbin'” and whatever that might entail (sounds expensive and I ain’t got the wardrobe for it as I’m sure sweatpants aren’t gettin’ me past the bouncer) I don’t nature hike, I’m not a regular at any monthly game nights with friends, I don’t Church, I don’t Astrology (seriously? the phases and prickliness at holiday get togethers of Mars or Venus? Be more concerned with the “aura” of that rogue planet we pissed off in the late 40’s, I don’t go to family get togethers with anyone new and pretty in tow to make Aunt’s happy (Oh, “finally” they would say in small Aunt klatches quieting any busybody speculation), I don’t gym or bike or jog or even walk briskly, not that some exercise wouldn’t hurt, I don’t do anything in groups though the one’s I am not in might sometimes remark unfairly of such, no, I just do this sort of stuff and other writing things silly and not silly, oh, and I have full blown conversations with cats.

It’s amazing what you can learn about a cat’s daily by the way, if you just take the time to listen.

“Really? You meditated in a window in the sun (napped) while contemplating the mysteries of the universe (still napping) and then woke up and went to the litter box?!”

Yeah, that ‘single’ status ain’t changing anytime soon I don’t think.

Anyway, for the dearly departed Bob, who took one final unintended bus ride to the sky.

Oompa Loompa Bob Song

Oompa, Loompa, doompety-do
I’ve got a little story for you
Oompa, Loompa, doompety-dee
it’s about Bob so please listen to me

What do you get when you’re walking a street
Lost in your cell “hey, that video’s neat”
You don’t pay attention to what’s in your surrounds
Including that curb’s last mistake to be found

I don’t like the look of this

Oompa, Loompa, doompety-don’t
Step off that curb Bob please tell me you won’t
Oompa, Loompa, doompety-please
Lift your head, look around at that bus bearing down

… Ya big dope!

… Ya really dead dope!

… Oh, Bob

One White Leads To Another (revisit – song)

May 24, 2025May 24, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry7 Comments

Thought to go back to something from a couple of years ago.

Originally a response to Ron DeSantis and his Ron dreamy land baron remembrances and his attempts at rewriting history, but, as the always obvious continues to become even more always obvious now, there is this and example of how honest, truthful and critical thought can fade given the right condemnation and empowered white grievance.

To The Fixx “One Thing Leads To Another”

The deception some white folks

Is want present false history

State by state they pass laws now

To hinder what kids can and cannot read

—

Just to protect them they claim

From truths about black and white

But when some books shed light

Difference wrong and right

That aren’t white enough they balk and they say

—

We’ll teach history no mention of trees

Oh when

One white leads to another

We’ll point out wrongs in history’s long stories gone and then

One white leads to another

—

The intention is to

Teach alternate washed whitey tales

Where there wasn’t a time then

Where justice judged with far different scales

It wasn’t baked into fabric since a father’s slave day

Where ownership was the way

But when an academic thought critiques that it’s never changed

They just ban CRT while they exclaim then

—

Teach history as only we can see

One white leads to another

We’ll point out wrongs in history’s long stories gone and then

One white leads to another

—

Yeah Yeah Yeah

—

One white one one white leads to another

—

Indoctrination is their fear into liberal ideology

That kids might fall not wanting them to

To learn now how to actually think free

Hear opinions both sides even some they disagree

Can’t have them thinking that way

‘Cause if critical thought questions white supremacy

Indoctrinate instead with our own theories

—

We’ll teach history as only it can be

One white leads to another

We’ll point out wrongs in history’s long stories gone and then

One white leads to another

—

Yeah Yeah Yeah

—
One white, one, one white, leads to another
(One white another)
One white, one, one white, can’t teach of others
(One white another)

One white, one, one white, empowered white brothers
(One white another)
One white, one, one white Liberty mothers
(One white another)

One white, one, one white, leads to another

(One white leads to another)

Songs of Angels & Devils Or Devils & Angels (poem)

May 22, 2025May 26, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry8 Comments

New Quadrille prompt this week and this one from Kim. It’s that dVerse Poets 44 worder that asks to include one word.

Here?

“Quiet”

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Songs of Angels & Devils or Devils & Angels

One sang itself as quiet

One sang itself as noise

Another tuned truth

While another lyric’d lies

Yet another was fear of light

And that one? Fear of night

Yet they sang, sung together

To confound

Leaving us decipher songs, sing on/of our own

Of Glasses, Old Men & Sisters (post-post)

May 18, 2025May 25, 2025by Stephen J Frankenberry2 Comments

So in the header for my blog here I do my best to give you an idea of what to expect if you decide to do some rummaging around some strange man’s attic or scream, after such, for help to anyone who might be listening on the front path three stories below to get you out of the shackles and chains (though, good luck with that – these are new double paned storm windows).

I mean, no site worth its salt doesn’t give you some sort of idea as to who or what is behind it and what to expect of its content right? Even if it’s just a pithy slogan.

News sites are good for that.

Washington Post – “Democracy Dies In Darkness” … or at the end of a slinking, weak willed, million dollar pen for an inauguration fund.

“Fair and Balanced / Most Watched, Most Trusted” … always with the jokes and works in progress for them there folks over at Fox “News” huh?

Voice of America “… choke … gasp … Kari … suicidal thoughts … reels … choke … the devil’s handmaiden … Lake …” Ok, that one’s a little lengthy and ungainly.

“This is CNN” … boring and noncommittal has its place I guess.

MSNBC “Lean Forward” … but not too far, leaning forwards or backwards, either way, can be a concern especially when dependent on the winds.

One America News Network … “The Wheels On The Bus.”

Breitbart … “Fuck You Democracy”

And others …

White House News (Propaganda-R-Us) and Travel Agency … “So Many Possibilities” … (that one can change on the fly though, depending on the legality or Karoline’s light ultra or meta ultra condescending mood).

But mine simply lays out for you to just expect things written of my everyday “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 story-etic or something like that.”

Well, I have covered almost all of this ground recently, a funny one of a cat named Arthur and a one of just bits and pieces, a few things for Mom (so miss ya my dearest friend … and this one) a couple of new parody tunes and re-posts of older ones, and quite a few poems (poems) and short fictions (short fictions) too.

But the important thing of note here is that I’ve been able to come about all of these pieces while wearing the right pair of glasses, my “close” glasses.

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Lilly the Car has been making some unwelcome sounds lately, like she’s carrying a bucket of steel stones under her belly, which, truthfully, she has probably been sounding alarm of for quite a while now, cries for help, I just haven’t heard them from listening to my damned heavy metal return to old school volume Deep Purple for open windows in nice weather. That rumble of Ritchie Blackmore and the boys might have even contributed to it.

But when I finally turned the volume down I realized, shit, there might be an issue here. My apologies Lilly, you and my mother could surely commiserate on Steve, still, after all these years, never listening to those pleas to please turn that crap down.

So, I inquired of a shop, which was a concern of mine since moving up this way. Could I find a place like Lou’s (from many years down in Beacon) that I could trust? Well Beck (my Sis if you didn’t already know) via my nephew and his gear head friends, recommended a place called Hari’s that I immediately liked it as I couldn’t find it under “Harry’s” with any search. Nope, I just liked it.

Then I asked Beck if she could follow me to drop Lilly off and then give me a ride the rest of the way to my day. Her commute mirrors mine, or can mirror mine in times like this as she works just around the corner.

And that was it, thanks Beck with a wave. But when I went inside to my desk, started the process of a day, I realized that things were a bit fuzzy.

First thought? Oh, son of a bitch, my eyes just got really bad, like seemingly overnight, then I looked at my phone, even worse, as that shit is small and now I was going to be checking on the going rate of pencils. I was suddenly Burgess Meredith in that classic Twilight Zone episode “Time Enough At Last” where he finally gets his wish for people to be gone and leave him alone in a huge library, with countless books to read for the rest of his days, only to then break his glasses.

Then? “Oh, son of a bitch twice!” I’m still wearing my “driving” glasses. There was relief for a moment, whew, I don’t have to make phone calls to the eye doc I also haven’t found yet for a checkup and distressing news.

But now I had to take my wave back and call Beck to ask for another favor, a much bigger one. Your idiot brother left his “close” glasses in Lilly and is instead wearing his “driving” glasses which aren’t worth a spit if, ya know, ya ain’t driving and could she circle back to the shop, Hari’s, and save me?

Though I can laugh about it now, stupid unintentional things that can follow me from the moment I wake to the moment I go back to sleep (though a lot stupid happens then too, just nonsensically and with more color) but it was debilitating. It gave me a greater appreciation for what I do still have, two pairs of glasses? That’s a non-starter of an imposition.

And it gave me a greater appreciation of a sister who surely just sighs often but still loves me anyway … for the most part … I hope.

Well it seems now that not only will I have to shell out a few bunch of dollars to fix that bucket of metal stones from under Lilly’s belly (you don’t want to know the estimate, let’s just say the number is equivalent to that of a ton of bricks) but I will also have to shell out some more for some backup glasses to leave in my always places … just in case.

Ok, now I have covered the “thoughts on getting older” (for recent things) part of my header as well, or more realistically “thoughts on BEING older”.

Son of a bitch, thrice.

(Love ya Beck … Sincerely, your old man brother)