For A Moment

*Sequel to ‘Lady Projection’*

For A Moment

She spoke through my window
Smile and hair still aglow
“Your poem made me cry”
Didn’t even ask her ‘why’

Maybe she’d been moved
Some little pain removed
Someone’s caring care
Had taken it to bear

For a moment

Or merely felt encouraged
Not to be discouraged
Or maybe just persuaded
To feel cautiously elated

Or maybe just contented
By thoughts I had presented
Or words that I had written
Had left her slightly smitten

For a moment

But suddenly I knew
None of it were true
Never could it be
She and me, me and she…

Red gave way to green
Had to leave the scene
The traffic left behind
Some sadness for my mind

Hard truth in the knowing
That simply bestowing
A poem wrapped in money
Makes me anybody’s Honey

For a moment

Lady Projection

She had done up her hair
I’d seen her standing there
In rain and in shine
Holding up her sign

Almost a living fixture
A living breathing mixture
Of bad luck and circumstance
Bad luck and no finance

But today her hair done neat
Defiantly to speak
With smile upon her face
“I am the Human Race!”

And I became aware
Almost enough to care
Yet caring was my daring

So damn the horns a’blaring

Her sign read ‘Single Mother…’
Her look not like the others
‘Single mother—Laid off work’
(By some inhuman jerk?)

She’d braved the heat
The dusty street
Suffered callous faces
Eyes diverted other places

But today her auburn hair
Was shining everywhere
Bright and done up right
To cancel out her plight

But who would see her showing
Who would look with knowing
The care that she had taken
To be shunned and thus forsaken

Great Songs for a Rainy Day

“Here in Savannah  Memphis it’s pourin’ rain
“Palm trees in the porch light like slick black cellophane.

“Will you still love me when I get back to town?”

vid credit: Christian T. Davies

Not really melancholy, but if I were, this song just might push me further that way, in that direction.

Peace,

-Lance

Real sorry, but I am now officially delirious with tooth pain. This tooth is some kind of bitch, let me tell ya.

Obviously sleep is not an option.

(The pain is just too overwhelming)

So… I just sit here and post stupid shit to take my mind away.

“Calgone! Take me Away!’

“I am as constant as a Northern Star.”

Vid credit: novaultrano1

“Constantly in the darkness? Where’s that at? If you want me, I’ll be in the bar.”

I guess it’s just a Joni kind of day…

“Laughin’ an’ cryin’. You know it’s the same release.

“I told you when I met you, I was crazy.”

Vid credit: Christian T. Davies

OK, last one and then I’m done (I really need to find something else to do with my hands)

“Diving down to pick up on every shiny thing.”

Video credit: JoniJourney

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Y’all Wanna Know The Worst Tactile Sensation Ever?

Shitter.png

 

Of course you do.

It is when you go to flush the toilet and that handle snarls back at you, rather limp-wrist’d, as if to say,

“Not tonight Asshole. Go back to sleep.”

(Now, in some truth, I could probably improve this post. For example: I should not have referenced ‘limp wrists”. In truth, y’all know how it is when you go to flush that toilet and there just ain’t no resistance. “Limp Wrists’ was just about all I could manage at the time of publishing…. (Isn’t that funny? Like I am a fucking news paper?) Dead-lines!

Some one shoot me!

(Make it quake! Head Shot! Right thru the mouth–or better…the mouse.)

God and some foll’ers will thank  you.

Foretelling  ‘Foreboding’ (See? I tend to edit as as I go… My father once tole me, “Lance! Enuff! Enough! It takes an editor to be smart; that is why we make more monies.”) some deep sea-toilet trolling (trolling?)  diving to fix.

Yeah…

Really?

Don’t think so.

Maybe tomorrow…

(There are three (other) toilets in this ‘Mouse-House’)

“So, fuck off.”

(My toilet did not reply)

Yes,  I talk to my toilet… don’t we all?

“Take your hand off that mouse Mister! Don’t make me come over there.”

“Yessir! Please don’t shoot me; I’m just the piano-player.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me. What do you think, Jim?”

“Yeah. Bullshit. Shoot him.”

“OK.”

Bang! Bang!

“He gone.”

(Sorry, Si Robertson; some of this … this is probably out-of-context)

Then again…

Maybe not.

We will not even begin to speak about your brother.

Damnit! I miss Christopher Hitchens!

 

Even more embarrassing:

You know the toilet is broke dick dog.

Yet…

You still try to ‘visit.’

And it takes three tries to get into the door.

(Yet, it is a really small door–just sayin’– and not so easily navigated, drunk nor sober)

Only to be so disappointed (yet again) over the the whole toilet experience.

OK.

Fine!

Resist?

Naw!

Below, please discover Lenny’s take on toilet-training.

(and of course: entertaining, or reasonable facsimile)

 

Gainful Employment

No, when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor, right before the mast, plumb down into the forecastle, aloft there to the royal mast-head. True, they rather order me about some, and make me jump from spar to spar, like a grasshopper in a May meadow. And at first, this sort of thing is unpleasant enough. It touches one’s sense of honour, particularly if you come of an old established family in the land, the Van Rensselaers, or Randolphs, or Hardicanutes.

And more than all, if just previous to putting your hand into the tar-pot, you have been lording it as a country schoolmaster, making the tallest boys stand in awe of you. The transition is a keen one, I assure you, from a schoolmaster to a sailor, and requires a strong decoction of Seneca and the Stoics to enable you to grin and bear it. But even this wears off in time.

What of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, weighed, I mean, in the scales of the New Testament? Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain’t a slave?

Tell me that.

Well, then, however the old sea-captains may order me about—however they may thump and punch me about, I have the satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that everybody else is one way or other served in much the same way—either in a physical or metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the universal thump is passed round, and all hands should rub each other’s shoulder-blades, and be content.

-Melville: Moby Dick

So here I find me, working for pittance at UPS. “Seasonal Employee” they call it/me. Good. Seasons are good. I missed having ‘seasons’ when I lived in Southern California. Yes, seasons are good. Why, you may ask, do I take such a job, slinging parcels, dealing with antiquated computer systems, dealing with… well, dealing.

I do it for many reasons. I shall list them below:

  1. I need to get out of the house
  2. I need to ‘connect’ with real people again (No offense to all y’all out there in Radio Land), but yes: Real Folks
  3. My job search to get me back to “The Sandbox”, “The War”, aka Mid East, has not brought me instant gratification.
  4. I enjoy physical labor.
  5. Beer money is needed.
  6. I have never found anything wrong with honest, hard work.
  7. Need I go on?
  8. Didn’t think so

My philosophy on these matters has always been as was Melville’s. I take the job. Do my best. Never mind that I am always the ‘smartest-person-in-the-room’… I am good at acting, and even faux sycophanting (Is that a word? Of course it is)

And I must say, there is something rather endearing and fulfilling about having someone want you for gainful employment. I mean, it is good to be valuable to someone, or to some entity, n’est-ce-pas? Even if it is just seasonally…

More on this later

 

Kroger’s

This is the Kroger’s I visit every day.

I have found nothing but nice (Yes, BLACK) people there, helping me.

This happened Sunday.

I cannot even imagine.

Not at MY Kroger’s. 

Never.

http://www.clarionledger.com/story/news/2014/09/08/three-injured-least-one-arrest-memphis-kroger-beating/15277461/

I am saddened.

Spike Lee is a hero of mine: He gives good movie and ya just gotta love Samuel L. Jackson… Just saying:

There needs to be some space.

For race.

Video Credits:

MOVIECLIPS

 

Memp-iphany

This afternoon I suffered a brief epiphany. Now yes I know, there is no such thing as a ‘brief’ epiphany. All epiphanies are brief. (“an experience of sudden and striking realization”) By definition. But I suffered one, brief though it was, now it is mine. I aim to keep it and make it not brief.

My ‘sudden and striking realization’ struck me at Kroger’s, standing in the check-out line and in my usual hurry. There was a man in front of me in one of those grocery-store golf carts. He kept bumping into shit, trying to navigate. He was cheerful. The cashier was cheerful. They both laughed at his lack of driving skills. Then… I had to laugh too. With them. Then it hit me. The cashier lady was black. The bumpy lousy grocery cart driver was white. In Memphis, this is how we roll: people are Kind to one another, regardless.

In Memphis Tennessee. My adopted ex-pat State, right there on the spot, I fell in love. Yes! Love! (took me far too long)

Ask me why? Why today? Why after so many times in which I have railed against the slowness of the shopping cart? The slowness of the cashier. The slowness of the people to gas their cars when the light turns green and I am in a hurry (hurry for what?) The casual way life is approached?

I cannot answer, but it hit me today.

It hit me! Suddenly!

I used to be that way.

That way. That bad way.

And I was happy, being mean.

Then I got in a ‘hurry’ and I was even less happy.

Never took the time to talk to folks. Never said ‘Hello’ Never helped someone needing help. In Memphis, people still help people; they have a conversation in the check-out line. Those waiting to check out, check their egos in their cars. Life is sublime. People are Nice! Nice! Civil! Nice Civil People! Can you imagine?

I need this.

I needed this!

I have it now.

I had an epiphany.

I have an epiphany.

And I am gonna keep it.

And I am gonna take it home (To Texas) when I git there. ‘Cause, although we had it, we lost it somehow. Lessons I learned in Tennessee..

We need it back.

Hidden Agenda?

Yep!

You may bet your ass…and the cow…and the farm…

Now, y’all sort it for me.

I will listen.

But I still love my Country