A BUD/s Instructor, i.e., a ‘Demigod’
“Lance’s Ramblings from his 115th Dream Stream”
“Call me if they die.”
I just said “Good Luck”–My Favorite Line From Bob’s Song.
‘Semi Consciousness Streams of Conscientiousness’
Raining upon My Hit Parade’
‘Nights in White Satin’ – that one makes no sense. That is why I put it in.
Vid Cred: Redbaron863
Or, last and least perhaps: “I have become my Grandfather, or How I became Andy Rooney in One Thousand Words or Less, an essay.”
Gentle Readers, it has not escaped my undying attention that I tend to lean heavily toward the overly-dramatic. The ‘trauma drama’ effect even. Call it a ‘crutch’ if you will.
Yep. Call it that.
This I do know. Therefore, I have (Through my magical powers derived from watching old re-runs of ‘Dragnet’—“Just the facts Ma’am. Just the facts.”—decided to ‘come on back down to Earth, Son’.
–Boz Scaggs: Lowdown)
My (solely appreciated) goal here is to present just ‘them’—just them facts.
I hope I am successful. For y’all’s sake.
When last we left our hero, he was leading his class to their first BUD/s workout. Well, you cannot really call it such: more like a medieval (‘I’m gonna get medieval on your ass’) torture session.
Even at zero five (‘Zero Dark Thirty?), The Grinder was a hot, miserable place to be, especially NOT designed for yoga or even step-up aerobics, and / or certainly not Pilates. (Gay Pirates?) No. ‘Twas Wasn’t. There is a reason they (Navy) call it ‘The Grinder.” You go ahead and figure out the obvious.
But this day I do not wanna write about Those Lazy Crazy Hazy Days of Summer…
I want to write about this:
I think. I think I am. Therefore I am… I think.
–Moody Blues, With apologies to René Descartes
Now Y’all, much of that I wrote late last night. (Under Some Influence)
Didn’t publish. (Thank Baby Hey Zeus). But I woke up this morning
(Praise be to Allah—Ah Ha!) And you, yes you! (My Human Friends) were on my mind:
To MORE BAD News Stories. I shall list them below so that you may share in ‘The Misery’ That is OUR ‘New World’ (You may thank me later. Send cards and letters…)
The Middle East is still throwing gasoline upon their (and our) raging fire
There will probably never be closure nor justice for Michael Brown or his family
Ebola is raging strong (But only in Africa: So, who cares, right? The WHO, that’s who)
ISIS is our new (never heard of till yesterday) National Crisis & Clear and Present Danger (or new best friend for our Military Industrial Complex, off of which I tend to make MY living)—Much hand-wringing and soul searching over that one. NOT! Damn! Put me in Coach! I live for this shit!
My dog has fleas… Fuckin’ fleas. Dogs!
My British GF finds me… well, of late, she don’t (find me)
I dreamt late last night about my favorite dead cat (Her name was Lucia and she was ‘The Cat From Hell’ and I miss her still—probably the only ‘real’ relationship I have ever had with ‘pussy.’)
My blood pressure remains off the chart and I think I may have given myself diabetes: Type Duh
I have been remiss in visiting and commenting on the blogs of my good friends
Maybe I will just go and eat worms. Maybe I like to eat worms…
Now, Don’t let it bring you down, but that is how I woke up. (And I was happy to have woken up… for just-one-more-day…stay?)
There really is no point to this post. Let us just call it “Unconscious Stream of Consciousness”.
And I will most likely, delete it (and y’all know, I am quick on the mouse trigger when it comes to deletion: I see it as a form of… birth control. So read fast!)
Now to the ‘Meat of the Matter’:
I want to write about ‘The Age of Innocence’: The Seventies.
Yep. I tend to live in the glory that was Roaming… You may bail out here. Here, in fact here is your parachute. Be certain to locate the RIP Cord before you exit the plane: Just a word to some wise and hey!
For those of y’all who still remain, I want to write about Karen Carpenter. Not ‘The’ Karen Carpenter, but the Karen Carpenter that symbolized how I felt about the Seventies. Yeah, that one. Her.
I woke up with Karen Carpenter on my mind (and yes: I have posted about her recently, but I wanted to try to explain why now)
I woke up with Karen and sadly not in my bed, but in my mind.
Because… of the ‘Age of Innocents.’ I call her one. The first casualty of the sickness that guides us: This American Dream of having to be some other person. A person, in the spotlight who is …. Drumroll: PERFECT!
No one is perfect and certainly not me (though I am pretty close). Yet, no one is perfection. We cannot be. There is no God and if you believe that there is, you are about as far removed from ‘Perfection’ as a Human…
I should delete that sentence, as it is not Germane, nor German, to my point. Let me think on it…
Back to The Seventies: The Age of Innocents (I was innocent; were you? Probab’ly not.)…
I am running on empty now/here.
“I don’t know where I’m runnin’ now; I’m just runnin’ on…
Warmest wishes to you now, my Friend
Bien sûr. C’est très libérateur; j’ai lu ça dans un magazine ;D YES man! Missed you Lance. Hope to read you, very soon . .please let me know when you are
I have been ‘revisiting’ my blog of late (last two hours in fact), and I am searching for rainbows (see Marshall Tucker Band: google it if you must) and I am intrigued by this comment of yours and I want to revisit it-write about it.
(Yes, it was that good-your comment)
Merry…. Aw fuck it! I don’t believe in Christmas.
Happy Day to you!
(That’s more me)
I thought I might post some more stuff.
s’il vous plaît
Reblogged this on Texan Tales & Hieroglyphics and commented:
Wow! I cannot believe I used to write shit like this and call it… wait for it… ‘literature’
The vids are OK.
Just the links Dear; just the links….
Be very afraid.
I would say merci to you if this words was not so overused ~ I feel so lucky to have you Lance here
You do know how to make people happy
I love my poverty Sadie.
I really do.
Damn it Lance – I wanted to click on those videos, but scared to death I’d get the Ebola 😉
I was a teenager (13-19) for the majority of the 1970s, and personally I LOVED that decade – but it was different for teenagers than it was for those returning from the war. I agree – at least 2 different 70s, depending on your vantage point. But those $6-$10 concert tickets were awesome ☮ (Of course back then if you earned $30,000 or more a year, you were really kicking it! Times have def changed!) Enjoyed your musings 🙂
My job is done.
‘Fraid, ya left me speechless, (and that is rare)
First off… #7… too funny.
I always enjoy reading your blog though I will admit at times, it is above my age level. You do educate the young mind (in what I’m not sure, but something)
Now, for what really bothered me… All this time I did not know you had a flaw.
We all do, but yours made me drop my mouth…
SMH – disappointed… thoroughly disappointed.
Okay, I’m off for the night. 🙂
Have a good one Lance.
I may drink too much.
I beg (beg?!) to differ: But I have no time for debate on this subject at present, but… I shall. And soon.
Yeah, Jackson Browne is an ass. He did practice (till he got it right) woman abuse. He should have been called out on that one.
He did make good music.
I was aiming for ‘nice’– not my style–hey!
Lance! The Box! The Box!
Don’t think outside of it!
That ‘box’ inflames me….just sayin..
As for the Seventies, No. We can never go home again. (I do believe some poet said that, some years and beers ago)
So, it’s only most of it that’s bullshit? Or only most of it that’s pure bullshit?
Either way, I’m a-fuckin’ off now. I can’t type and light my pipe at the same time.
Heathen, My Good Friend,
You make me laugh, but…hahaha
Your questions…well, they…
So fuck off!
Not really: just hyper-bole up in he’ah.
That is a Texan Thang…
We shall remain friends as long as you can ‘unnerstand’ that most of what I post is just bullshit.
What I don’t understand is why we aren’t experiencing a renaissance of the 1970’s right now. It seems like approximately equivalent social ills are causing people to be meaner rather than mellower this time around.
The 50’s was the age of innocence. You’re off by 20 years. The 60’s took care of any “innocence,” if there actually was any.
Didn’t Jackson Browne punch out Darryl Hanna’s lights? Yes, he’s a jack-off and his music is boring. A two-sinner.
Ya know Annie,
I agree with you. I have Nam Vets in my family too. I understand.
There were, in fact ‘Two Seventies’. One was nice (innocent); one was horrible, But after the Sixties, we wanted to delude. We wanted the Seventies to be the “Me Decade.”
We tried, but that damn TV! It was always there to remind us…
I have a lot of opinion on that decade… perhaps I should shut my mouth.
Thanks so much for your comment.
NOt sure I consider the 70s the “Age of Innocence”…more like “Age of Innocence Lost”. Why? I remember guys coming home from Nam. One local with a large family..and he was so messed up, he couldn’t even walk down the sidewalk…he had to be in the middle of the road, and usually he was arguing with himself in Vietnamese. Dad stepped out one day and said “Soldier, you’re home. You’re home” and he cried. Nothing innocent there..