Surreal Truth Is Everywhere

So what does it say about a person that you can walk into a tiki bar that you frequent (I was going to add regularly, but I think frequent implies regularity but not of the digestive kind), and you sit down at one of your regular tables, because there are only three that are fully in the shade during the height of summer which starts in mid May around here and the waitress wanders over and starts chatting and after a few minutes says, “So you want a couple of beers, Miller Lights?” and I reply yes and she hangs around a bit longer and chats before putting our order in and in probably the fastest turnaround time of beer order to delivery she is returning with our beers, and I say (mostly because I haven’t yet completed the opening thought)), “That was fast,” and she answers, “The bartender had already started pouring your drinks?”

Of course, the waitress wasn’t asking me a question, I was completing my opening thought. And oddly enough, I thought that might be my longest opening run-on sentence ever, but at 155 words, I think it might have been short by quite a lot. My ninth grade English teacher would be horrified that I used “a lot” when I wasn’t referring to a piece of property. I still have a difficult time saying “hey”  often opting for the more traditional “Hi” mostly because this same English teacher upon hearing one of us say “hey, whoever,” would always say “Hay is for horses.” I always wanted to say, but they’re spelled differently, but I never did.

But she did instill a love of language with all of its nuances in me. I type the way it sounds in my head and I like seeing it take shape on the proverbial page, though today that page is digital. Sometimes, I find it easier to write long hand, but every now and again it flows on the digital page.

And sometimes it comes out in weird ways. On the same evening that I had my opening thought, I was talking to this random guy at the bar. He was 69 and probably still is, and had a long white beard and was telling me some story that he visited all 50 states while he was still in the womb and I said, “So your mother was in the circus?”.  I don’t think he was expecting that, because he didn’t know what to say but he did give me a belly laugh.

Now, in rereading my first two paragraphs, I realize I could have used a few more periods and my decision to use quotation marks seems random. I’m not quite sure what’s going on with the random use of quotation marks but I think I could attribute my lack of periods to the fact that I haven’t had a period in almost eight years and I really don’t miss them. Though recently I began seeing a man and knowing him has given me a new appreciation for punctuation.

He’s great. Intelligent, funny, lots of interests, great kisser, wants to learn yoga and likes to dance. Neither one of us is big on texting so we don’t often engage in it. I’m a language purist and feel the need to spell out words and use punctuation. (I know, that whole leaving periods behind thing is more theory than practice.) He rarely spells anything out and uses no punctuation.  Sometimes I don’t know how to respond to his text because I’m not quite sure what he said.  And that always makes me laugh.

We spend a lot of time laughing so it’s all good although it often seems a bit surreal. Kind of how life seems most of the time when you just stop and observe. And I recently observed that I seem to have lost my way from my original thought but I’m sure you can figure out the answer to the question. After all, truth is everywhere. You just have to recognize it when you see it.

Advertisements

What Makes The Super Bowl Super?

So I hear there is a football game being played tonight. I’m not watching it. I’m not sure which teams are playing.

Nor do I care. I haven’t cared in a few years.

Not long ago, or maybe last year, I was talking to someone who asked me if I was going to watch “The Game.”

I said, No.

And then she said, “I’m just going to watch it for the commercials.”

And I said, or perhaps asked, “Did you hear what you just said?”

There was no reply, so I felt the need to fill the silence with words, “You are going to watch TV just to watch paid advertisements. Advertisements that companies have spent millions of dollars on for the sole purpose of inducing you to spend money on something you probably don’t really need. (There’s a bit of a dramatic pause here.) Just so they can make more money. (And this part is a bit quieter or more quiet if quieter isn’t   a word, and it may not be.) Capitalism has won.” (I’m shaking my head slightly at this point.)

I don’t remember how the rest of the conversation went.

But we’re still friends. Though I don’t hear from her as much as I used to. But it’s probably not because of that conversation.

And really, if you’re like most people, and let’s face it, I’ve said it before and I’ll probably say it again, most people are like most people, you will probably see these commercials 1000 times in the not too distant future. So why the need to see it the first time it appears?

I think it’s a little weird, but I chalk it up to societal conditioning and a general lack of interest in giving much thought to most everything,

I don’t think I’ll get to the end of my life and look back and say, “I wish I had watched more football.”

And I know I won’t look back and regret not having seen the premiere of a commercial.

But that’s just me.

So instead of football and commercials, I’m drinking a little wine, listening to some favorite tunes and sharing my thoughts with the universe.

How are you spending the evening?

Perhaps Polly Wants A Cracker

I’ve been ridding myself of stuff. All sorts of stuff. I don’t want to dust it anymore. Not that I am a dust freak. I don’t spend that much time dusting. Maybe once a month or so in either direction. But I want to do even less of it.

And some of the stuff or most of the stuff was stuff that was given to me. I don’t talk to most of those people anymore. Not sure why. Also not sure why I was keeping some little knick knack or small bottle of jewel colored glass. But I was.

I’m not now. Though I did keep the plastic parakeet.

Polly. Or Polly is what you called her. I’m not sure it was a her. Can plastic be a gender? And if what is true in most birds is true in parakeets especially of the plastic kind that the more vibrantly colored ones are males, then Polly is not a she.

She’s green. With a little bit of yellow.

You gave her to me for Christmas. She arrived several weeks or months, I can’t remember even though it was just last year, after Christmas. She’s battery operated and even came with a battery. You were happy to hear that.

She’s motion activated. At least I think that is why she moves her head and tweets. Though she often does it when no once has entered or left the room. I think perhaps she is sensitive to the air conditioner cycling on and off.

I got used to it. The tweeting whenever.  Others noticed. Not that there have been that many people who have encountered her. My mother and I think my neighbor. But when Polly tweets they hear it and ask about it.

Then I have to explain how it was a gift from you and why I’m not sure why you would get me such a gift. A joke, perhaps? I shrug as I say it.

But I know the real reason.

You told me you got me the plastic parakeet so I wouldn’t be lonely. We hadn’t seen each other in almost a year when you gave it to me. And it seems unlikely we’ll see each other again.

Somehow, I am unable to tell people that.

And I don’t know which is sadder: That you think a plastic parakeet would cure loneliness or that I knew it wouldn’t.

First Draft

We had another of our great conversations last night. We have them almost every night. I’m only telling you this because you weren’t there. Not really. Some might say I was talking to myself. But that doesn’t capture the essence of what transpired. I could see you slouched on the couch, beer in hand, smiling that smile that makes me smile just thinking about it. And I admit that I did most of the talking which is so unlike our actual conversations where you carry the conversational load, but I could hear your voice when you asked a question or commented on my commentary. And we laughed. Quite a lot.

Not healthy. That’s what most would say. Not healthy to have imaginary conversations with someone you will never see again. ‘Not never’ is what you said. Never is what I felt when you told me you were leaving. But that last day we spent together, you really wanted to know if I thought we would see each other again. You kept asking me that question.

“Seems unlikely,”  was my answer which works in more situations that you might think possible. And still you pushed me for a more definitive answer.

“Depends.” This works in almost every situation because almost everything is relative. Of course, you didn’t like that answer. You sometimes view the world in black and white when I tend to see it in shades of so many different colors. And it’s not possible to know what the future may bring while we are still in the present. But still, you pushed. You had to know.

Sometimes when you replay the past over and over again, the details start to blur. You know the gist of it, the mood of the moment, the guts of what was exposed, but the little nuanced details that took you from the start to the end, those start to blur, just a bit. The exact words get jumbled up and then you think you know what happened, but maybe you don’t. Not really.

And sometimes, you see the exact moment when the mood shifts, the momentum changes, the players realize you can see right through them. You know the world has shifted on its axis and you know your life will never again be the same. Those moments stand out.

 

I know I’m a day late and probably many dollars short, but this is in response to the daily post writing challenge of a twenty minute stream of consciousness writing exercise.

 

A Thought Becomes Me

I’m lost in thought. Or is thought lost inside of me? So many thoughts chase each other around. Are they trying to build on each other or are they simply trying to become something other than what they are? And what exactly are they? Half truths or distantly remembered platitudes or a snippet of dialogue or the terrifying task of putting feelings into words. I don’t know and I can’t figure it out which is probably why the previous sentence isn’t even a sentence in the truest sense of the word. Or the only sense of the word, since I believe a definition of sentence would be something along the lines of a word or group of words conveying some type of thought or action and containing both subject and predicate.

An example may be in order. But not an example of a sentence because examples of sentences are everywhere here if you know where to look. And by the simple act of reading, you know where to look. (I had to go back and add the comma in the previous sentence because I wasn’t sure that you would pause where I paused as I was thinking the thought that became that sentence and if you didn’t pause where I paused then you might not experience my thought the way I experienced it. Of course, that might not be such a terrible thing.)

So far, every word is an example. Darkness falls. That’s another example. But where does darkness fall from? Are we applying a metaphor? Are we equating darkness with a curtain that comes down over a window or a stage? But not all curtains fall. Some are pulled together in some way. And the way the light leaves a space when a curtain falls or is closed is not the way we experience the change from day to night unless you’re on the equator. If you’re on the equator the change from day to night or night to day is quite abrupt.  I know because I was there once with there being the equator or thereabouts. It’s not like there’s a sign. But I was told I was about twenty miles from the equator. South, if you crave details or are a stickler for directions.

I didn’t check the coordinates with a GPS because GPS wasn’t a thing back then. Nobody even talked about it. Though some people must have been thinking about it because enough satellites were launched to get us to where we are. But it’s not dark where we are or where I am but it will be eventually.

And that’s the problem with ‘darkness falls.’ It’s the gradual eventuality of it on most parts of the planet.  Something to do with being tilted on an axis, I think.  Darkness doesn’t so much fall as it becomes. It is an ever changing state. It slowly becomes more dark until it becomes more light. Light and dark are just different versions of the same thing. One cannot be without the other.  Light and dark define each other.

We are all light and dark. Not necessarily equal parts of each and probably not even a constant state. (Not every group of words masquerading as a sentence is really a sentence. I have no excuse. My high school English teachers would be appalled.) And of course, we’re probably all a little tilted on an axis, too. I’m less appalled by my fondness for sentence fragments but that probably has something to do with the tilt of my axis.

Perhaps the axis is ever changing the degree of its tiltiness. Tiltiness isn’t a word or it wasn’t until I just used it in a sentence. I’m pretty sure that’s all that matters. Mainly, because most things don’t matter. It might even be that nothing matters. But if nothing matters why do I care if darkness falls, or wraps around us or slowly becomes? Though darkness doesn’t become everyone and not everyone becomes dark.

I suppose I care because darkness gets a bad rap. Many are afraid of it. Most don’t want to embrace it. But there is a depth to it. Much the same way there can be a brilliance to light. And while most tend to want to step into the light, darkness offers a respite or perhaps just invisibility. It becomes a place to be lost in thought. Or a place where thoughts come to play and lose themselves in the inky depths.

Lifted from Gocomics.com

Lifted from Gocomics.com

I’ll Never Tell Except When I Do

So it has been awhile since last I posted and I never thought that I would be posting about ‘never’ which is just like ‘ever’ except it begins with a different letter and has a negative vibe unless you’re using it to show moral judgement in which case, just stop doing that because nobody likes it. Of course, you might be thinking my previous sentence was judgmental and filled with moral ambiguity, and you might be right about that, but you would be missing the point which I may not have clearly articulated so I really cannot fault you for missing it. (Though does ‘articulate’ only apply to spoken words, because if it does I may have to find a new word for my non-spoken words, but just in case it only applies to spoken words, you should go back and read my previous sentence out loud.) My point, and I do have one, is that I never wanted to write about my feelings about never and I wouldn’t have except the ever tricky Daily Prompt prompted me to do it. More specifically it challenged one and all to

Tell us about a thing you’ll never write about.

Of course, by telling the world what you would never tell us you are in fact telling us about it so it cannot really be done this telling of a thing you would never tell. And therein lies the problem  and not just as it relates to non-Whovian time travel. The problem is the eternal not everness  of the definition of never which I believe is a contraction of ‘not’ and ‘ever’ which eventually lost its apostrophe much like we lose our virginity though without the fun of having sex – an immaculate contraction conception, if you will and I believe I just did. Of course, I may be wrong about the etymology of ‘never’ but not the definition.

Not ever is a very long time to not do something. No matter what you may think you would never do, you never know until you find yourself in that position of having to make that choice. That’s not to say I never say never.  I say ‘Never say never’ quite often, usually when someone is telling me that they will never do something. I do endeavor not to say never as it relates to something I may or may never do. Because you just never know.

 

 

Thumbelina To Spare Ernest From Decades Of Wordiness

Some of you may remember that way back in September or there abouts, I volunteered to update the tale of Thumbelina for H.E.’s F*cked Up Fairy Tales project. It was due no later than April 1st and in keeping with my procrastinating nature I finally sat down in earnest, but not with Ernest as I don’t know anyone named Ernest, the last week of March to write my story and then emailed my tale on March 29th with a whole day to spare which is like a month early to normal non-procrastinating types.

I was a bit nervous about it as I had not written a short story since high school and that was decades ago. It is now up on her blog and you can read it there. It is a bit wordier than my normal wordiness, but I think it is a quick read. I’d love to know what you think so you can comment there or here though there is probably more convenient. Hope you click over there and check it out!