Did Anyone Predict The End Of The World Today?

It's one of those significant date days, 09-09-09. It seems like someone somewhere must have predicted the end of the world today. But I don't know if they did or who it could have been.

If they did, they're probably sweating it out, standing in their backyard with no belt, no metal, just a tie rope holding up their pants. I could have done it but I didn't think of it. And it's too late now. But there's always 10-10-10, next year.

Really, think about it, 10-10-10 next year could be the end of the world. It's three 10's. In bowling there's 10 pins and if you get them all that's a strike. Then in baseball, if you get three strikes you're out. So perhaps sports is pointing the way. The message to the world, "You're out!"

The problem with predicting the end of the world on a particular day is ... the next day always comes. Then there you are sitting there looking like the complete idiot you are.

And yet, what an existence you've lived in your time here! Always looking to the end! To you, the end can't get here soon enough, so that, What? You can be up in glory going, "Hey, this is the first time I've ever really enjoyed anything!"

Maybe enjoy your life here, because chances are, it's not really our destiny to be clamoring for the end. I think we're supposed to live life to the fullest while we're here, not be begging to leave. But what happens? You're miserable for one reason or another. Your dreams never worked out. You didn't get the girl of your dreams. You've got a mind that says purity is preferable but all around nothing quite meshes with your psychology. You're trying to escape your sins and your own shadow rather than understanding them. I know how it goes.

Learn from the past. Wishing and waiting for the end of the world doesn't make it happen.

The scientists say it's definitely going to happen someday, at some point between 5 and 25 billion years from now. So what year would that be? Will we still be figuring years the same? It seems like it. Why would we suddenly quit?

Let's say it's 10 billion years from right now, because I can add 10's really well. Also, let's skip 2009 and go with 2010 for this exercise. So ... 2000 + 10 + 10,000,000,000 will be ... the year 10,000,002,010. Did I get that right? I think so. That'll be wild, won't it? All those numbers in the year. But we'll have had several billion years of experience to get used to it, so it won't be any big deal.

Now, here it is, in the future, 09-09-[10,000,002,0]09. By then they're releasing the Beatles remasters on iTunes, so everyone's eventually happy. Except, and this is a big except, the world is going to end on 10-10-10, that very next year. Global warming has shrunk the world to the size of an asteroid. You wake up everyday with your blankets on fire because the sun's right in your face. Everyone knows by then the world's coming to an end.

You've got an asbestos suit and boots (asbestos being re-legalized because the excruciating heat is a lot worse than lung cancer). You're holding your pants up with an asbestos rope. You're out in your backyard. There's a solar flare, it consumes you. The end of the world has come!

You're finally happy!

The Connections Of A Story

The title here should be "The Connections of a Story -- How Certain Things Hook Together and Certain Things Stand Independently."

Even when a certain thing stands independently, at least in my view of a thing, it still has parts in itself that hook together. But, like common sense teaches (reinforces, or just is) ... ugh, I just lost my train of thought. Which turns out to be for the better, because it turns out to make my point in a better way than I would have. The problem is I took a drink of milk, then was worried about that parenthetical phrase "(reinforces, or just is)," and forgot ... ugh, I did it again, this time without the milk and merely because of that phrase.

It's just like parentheses, they always mess things up. They mess me up badly when I'm trying to read something, like a textbook -- or Finnegans Wake is notorious for this -- and there's a huge parenthetical section and before you know it you're lost. It'd be better, sometimes, if they just dropped the parenthetical part to an asterisked footnote and let you worry about it there. The parenthetical section just shows a mind that's being too particular and probably should let it go (if only...).

Anyway, common sense does teach-- See, I have problems with that. Common sense isn't "teaching." It might tell, suggest, or point out. But if it's common sense indeed (and there's no reason to term it such if it isn't) -- I'm not lost this time -- it's not a matter of you being taught, because you already know what it is that common sense is trying to say, or is saying. Try that again...

Anyway, common sense does say ... ugh, I lost it. Seriously. I heard Grandma moving on the bed and telling the cat to "Get down," then I had some peanut butter up against one of my back teeth I needed to scrape out, meaning my finger needed to be licked and dried, and finally, I'm worried about getting all my grammar right, the LYs on adverbs and all that crap ... so it's very easy to lose your way.

My mind isn't all that sharp either. About half my thoughts are off on other things I have to do today. I'm just happy to have words coming out of my fingers. Except it's disturbing if my fingers are operating independently of my mind, because how do I know? I might suddenly wake up and find out I'm inappropriately massaging someone below the shoulders and end up on an MSNBC documentary. The host will step out of the woodwork. They'll wrestle me to the ground. I'll be rolling back and forth, depending on where the cameras are, to make sure they get my good side.

What I'm trying to get to -- and I know this blog post is a hash today -- is -- let me reread that ... What I'm trying to get to is that certain stories (fiction, straight news, a descriptive piece, an essay) -- pressing on -- are, or do, stand independently, and certain others demand more connections, because they are ongoing pieces, like a novel or short story. That's a complete thought!

Everyone knows this, as common sense makes clear.

Weird Fashion

When I was at the bookstore the other day I came [this close] to buying a book on fashion trends, weird fashion, something like that. It was chock full of cool color pictures of bored, archly posed models. And I believe some of them were printed at angles for extra coolness.

O that I had bought it! I've been kicking myself ever since. But it was $14.98 and since I'm used to getting my books at thrift stores, anything over a few dollars seems high to me. I just need to remind myself that's normal for everyone else. And I'm certainly not going to find anything that cool at the thrift store, at least until 20 years from now when some current kid grows up and gets rid of her things.

The book -- I didn't catch the publisher's name -- was published by the same publisher who put out a book on tattoos. The books were right next to each other. Maybe I can Google it. (Nah, can't find it for sure. There's some tattoo books that look sort of like it but I can't remember it precisely. Anyway, it was the fashion book I wanted. But the tattoo book was cool too. It had some nudity, as people have their entire bodies tattooed in some cases.)

Why would I want this book on fashion? I'm not a fashionable person. That's for sure. I have a few boring shirts, a few boring pairs of pants, a couple pairs of boring shoes, one belt, some normal underpants, etc. My budget for clothes is zero. I don't buy fashion magazines, etc., etc. I would want it because of the fun ideas it might stimulate. I don't know how everyone else gets ideas for things, but I need to have my brain kicked into gear once in a while. Like when it's empty. Like now. And if I see a bunch of unusual patterns, strange makeup, clothes with wings, bushels of fabric piled high, that would do it.

I tried to go to a fashion blog. But she must have some kind of weird script on it because my computer rebelled. So my hard drive went into one of those terrible spins where it can barely quit. Things were being closed out -- my browser. Then it spun some more and the browser finally came back. Firefox has a message now saying "How embarrassing," that Firefox closed and is having troubles restoring your tabs. We went YEARS without seeing that, but now everyday there it is, "How embarrassing." Very annoying.

I would love to be a fashionable guy. Here I come, in a cute little T shirt, the bottom all askew, dipping down on the sides to a point, a V neck all the way to my solar plexus, a hat that looks like an inverted purse with a red feather sticking straight out of my head. My pants aren't Oshkosh B'Gosh, but more like Posh O'myGod. People's heads are turning as they see a series of bells and whistles dangling everywhere.

It's the fashionable life for me!

I Am Saying A Mumbling Word

I'm coming back around.

I took my dog over by the municipal lake. The water was shimmering. I could hear people on the far shore. Must have been some children because they were yelling.

We looked over the lake. Me with my two eyes. The dog with her two eyes. We stood there. Me with my two legs. She with her four. It would've made a great painting.

Then she took a pootie and the mood was broken. But I responded the best way I know how, to tell her she's a good girl.

I suddenly had a flash about existence, thanks to Underbrush (my dog). The flash was this -- and it was a flash -- that a dog's life is so temporary, meaning that ours is too. She would have no history whatsoever if it weren't for me remembering it. And there's no future either except standing by the lake, doing her bathroom business, eating, drinking, and sleeping. All that, again, I keep track of.

In this flash it occurred to me the temporary nature of her place in the world. She'll join the dead dogs of the past soon enough, but for now she's living the best life I can provide. Her fur is soft, she seems happy, her breath stinks. And it will go on like that ... until that day.

The mumbling words I spoke today were to give her the various declarations of assurance and happy words to let her know we're on the same page. I tell her, "Hi, Good. How's the sweetie?"

By tomorrow I hope I've through being wracked by the events of the last couple of days. But even when you're wracked it's a rewarding experience if you can manage to look at life slightly cockeyed. The whole experience that I call "pulling your mantle up over your face" is in that. Really even if you don't have a mantle. Use a scarf. Use your shirt sleeve. Face the west or east or the sky and look at it with a face that's really set, intentionally set.

I'm Pronouncing All Of It Already Classic

I'm pronouncing everything about my Grange posts of the last month and more "Already Classic," meaning they're "Worth Their Weight In Gold."

It was an amazing journey, fraught with peril. I wasn't sure where it would lead. But I'm glad it had a happy ending.

Now I can turn the page. That is not to say there won't be any discussion of the issue in the future. Because everything has its ramifications.

I've been very withdrawn today, obviously, not saying a mumbling word about it. But the biorhythms will come back around, I trust, giving the future that promise.

No one should ever exclude the future or try to prejudge it. The feelings of this moment surely won't hold sway forever. For example, I can see myself driving out by the Grange very soon. See, my biorhythms have sprung to life with the mere thought!

Why shouldn't a happy ending be just that?

I'm Not Saying A Mumbling Thing

Yesterday was a day of some elation, probably too much. I went to bed last night without an enemy in the world that I knew about. Plus I had the excitement that still hadn't died away of the events of Friday night and the destruction of the Grange Sisterhood.

It will take some serious neglect on the part of a lot of people for them to ever make a comeback. But that neglect could very well happen if we become complacent. If I sense the neglect is there, I might need to make it official and step forward as the moral arbiter of this generation. But for now, I'm getting some very needed rest (1), and (2) Doing some withdrawal.

It seemed weird that there wasn't anything about the events of Friday night in the papers or on the news. I've lost track but it seems like a few people were killed -- and that all of it happened very much in the open. But it's like always, I guess, they missed the deaths of all the young men at the dances, they'll probably miss this too.

It's all the same to me ... I'm not saying a mumbling word about it ... It makes it cleaner not to have the authorities come around asking nosy questions ... If I can avoid questions and I'm not feeling especially guilty, it's all the same to me. There's no penalty for waving a sword.

It'll be better to just withdraw, let it all go away, don't say a mumbling word to anyone, and forget it.

As for the Grange people, I seem to have set off mass tumult mixed with mass confusion. "Does this mean what we think it means?" The answer is yes.

I was standing on my hill after all the excitement at the Grange. I had my cloak up over my face, looking to the horizon. Not saying a mumbling thing.

Put Me Amongst The Girls

I have great news to report: THE GRANGE SISTERHOOD HAS BEEN TOPPLED. And I toppled a couple of farmers' daughters too.

Think back to yesterday, when I engaged in some fierce sacred sword play, preparation for what I needed to accomplish. I was channeling single-minded energy with such intensity I was able to burn my initials in the lawn. The power of thought is so strong, quite frankly I won't leave home without it.

I picked one narrow, short sword to take to the grange dance. Then when the time came I drove down the hill and turned south. About as soon as I did, they were taking potshots at me. One of the men in trees shot out my back passenger window. But I kept on, my thoughts completely on point. I saw one of them up ahead raising his gun, so I moved his gun up with a motion of my sword just as he was shooting. Then glancing off to the left, across the road I saw another guy fall dead from his tree.

They seemed surprised to see me pull into the grange compound. But I parked and walked on toward a central point. No one was going to shoot me now. They wanted to see how it played out, perhaps toy with me. But if there's any toying to be done, all together now, put me amongst the girls...

Everything was mostly in motion. I could hear Johnny Hotshot's band inside the grange. Whatever preparations in the barn there were, they'd been done and folks were coming out. Back to my right, behind me, by the cars, were some of the callow boys of town, thinking they'd come out for some quick action. But if there's any action to be had, all together now, put me amongst the girls...

Appearing like a vision of both loveliness and hideousness, out came the orgy participants and the farmers' daughters with the young grange men playing their part as suitors. If you didn't know better you'd think they were deep in heat. The grabbing, groping, soon to become a group grope. The farmers' daughters looking bored, the young men very much into it, the matrons chests heaving, busting at the seams, the men in full arousal. But if there's any arousing to be be done, all together now, put me amongst the girls...

They were arrayed in the grove, the farmer's daughters calling for the callow boys to come over. The orgies were getting down to business. I stood my ground, taking in the full scene. I felt for my short sword in my pocket. It felt hot, blazing. Then from the barn came Lemuel with the horses in proud procession. They were heading over by the fence, setting up to destroy the boys from town. But if there's any destroying to be done, all together now, put me amongst the girls...

Lemuel saw me -- they must not have told him I was there -- and he seemed surprised. There was a strange look on his face. Not exactly fear. He moved in to quiet the horses and seemed to be whispering something to the lead horse, Honest Maude III. Everything had come to a head!

The boys from town were beginning to move that way. But I pulled my sword and pushed them back. They fell backwards and were knocked unconscious. The orgy clumps were seething and sizzling like a devil that knows perdition's at hand. They doubled down, getting it on even more intensely. I don't know what the farmers' daughters were thinking, but they were no longer acting. This was their life and they needed to play the part with fervor. But if there's any playing to be done, all together now, put me amongst the girls...

Into the midst of that seething, writhing mess I strode -- like John Brown -- purposely putting myself where the horses would have the best shot at me. Hallelujah! The Moment I Was Born For! Just then Lemuel ran for the trees and shot me a look of approval. I glanced down at the horses' hooves. They had extra sharp horseshoes, cleated in a major way, kind of like the chariot wheels in Ben Hur, but of course not as long.

I raised my sword to the heavens and felt such a surge of righteous power go through me, the lights of the grange compound flickered and Johnny Hotshot's sound system went out. We heard nothing now but the stillness of a late summer night and the moans of the orgies, now much heated up. The horses turned toward me, looking over their shoulder to get their aim right. But if there's any aiming to be done, O teacher, put me amongst the girls...

I reached down -- no man can do this and survive! -- and unsnapped my pants, unzipped myself, took off my pants, including my undies, and stood there as proud as I've ever been in my life. The sword lay limp on the ground. But not to worry, the true sword was very much present and accounted for. At this sight, the horses went into a mighty frenzy. I should've been kicked to death well before now. Hallelujah! I spun there in place for all the grange to see. Maybe in some parallel universe I'm still spinning!

The orgy hushed. They were ready to say Sayonara to me. Ha ha! The horses, in a mighty frenzy, were now so enraged, not knowing what to do. But what they did is they began kicking each other wildly. And with those sharp Ben Hur cleats finding their mark, being embedded in the heads of one another, it was a sickening scene. Blood was in a wild spray, horses were falling dead in a terrible arc all around the perimeter of the orgy field.

I stood my ground, with naked orgy participants running in fear for the sidelines. Then I spun again while thrusting my hips, and I think I was unconsciously shrieking several of the most powerful incantations of Peruvians rituals, as my mind was not understanding but my spirit gave the utterance. When I aimed at the barn -- thrust -- it burst into flames. When I aimed at Lemuel's house -- thrust -- I saw the lights flicker inside and heard bloodcurdling screams from within. When I aimed at the horses -- I quickly pulled back -- as the last survivor sat back on his haunches and put up his front feet, just like in the westerns.

I stood there like that then as all things except the burning barn became very quiet, perfectly still. It was then that two of the farmers' daughters came and straightened out some of the blankets. I really hate to spell out precisely what happened next, except to say I'm still smiling this morning. And if there's any smiling to be done, all together now, put me amongst the girls...

After what might be called a personal climax of sorts, I learned that Lemaperu and Peru's spirits were merged with the horses. It was their Peruvian deviltry that had died. The others, being very afraid, went along with them out of fear. Even Lemuel had had enough, and what he was whispering to the horse was being whispered to the Peruvians, "Your day has come!"

There might still be some mopping up, but for all intents and purposes, the Grange Sisterhood has been destroyed!

A Day Of Fancy Sword Work

PROLOGUE:

Dark, dense brooding ... then a field of light ... and back into the thicket. A sacred sword pointed is powerful, humbling the horses.

A day of adjusting, conjuring, bringing all energies to a head. My motivations being pure, I shall prevail. Tonight the zipper comes down!

Tonight the orgies will end and the true morality will prevail. Long live the town! Long live the country! I'm steaming mad at dirt.

I will boldly proclaim the work in which I am engaged. The key to everything is right here ... But first I have some normal errands to run.

We're out of shampoo, need cat litter, athlete's foot spray, baby aspirin, and a few other normal things. Off for my day. Goodbye.

COMMENTARY:

There's never been five more powerful, more meaningful tweets written. Earlier today it was an unconscious power fest that brought forth these words. After what I've been through this week, being shot at and being confronted by grange assassins, my consciousness had burrowed itself in a hole, concerned with having a nice day. My conscious mind said Live and let live. But deeper forces have been at work, which I didn't even realize until those five tweets presented themselves. It was expressed in such a way that, rereading them later, I was floored. I had my marching orders!

The fourth is perhaps less important than the first three. For therein I promise to write this blog post which is now being done. The fifth is definitely less important than the first four, because that concerns some household errands I needed to run, which I don't know that I will accomplish.

So, there's never been three more powerful, more meaningful tweets written than the first three. The fourth is great because of the resolve to declare my work. And the fifth is great because it shows I have not (and must not) lose the connection, no matter how strange my work sounds, to the day to day affairs of life.

So the fourth and the fifth are still very powerful, very meaningful, joining again their rightful place with the first three as the five most powerful, most meaningful tweets ever written.


SWORD WORK:

I did quite a bit of sword work today. Twirling, pointing, stabbing at things. Some of it will be related below.


THE GRANGE DANCE:

There is a grange dance tonight. It should be certain death for me just to show up. But I have the confidence that I shall prevail.

My confidence is the result of an extensive process of psychological stewing that accompanied today's fancy sword work. I started with the dark, dense brooding mentioned above. What was around the half acre that was decaying, I studied with close attention. I ceremonially cut some dying weeds and in the mind's eye saw them become black. Things will submit to me, then I will tend to them in their submission.

I passed one of my cutlasses over the objects of my attention and found myself with a bucket of water to rinse them clear. This very bad week was redeemed, the power the assassins held over me had been exposed to the light of day. What problems I had with the Grange society going from the Brotherhood to the Sisterhood, I resolved. No matter what gender they are, they're going down!

As I continued this important work, I saw a dawning of light before me, giving me the full assurances that the true morality is about to be revealed. The disparate parts of my consciousness are reuniting. My full purpose is becoming manifest. My true nature is being revealed, the one who brings rejoicing for all!


EPILOGUE:

Farmers' daughters: Put on your skimpy pants! I'm on my way!

My Relatively Immortal Tweets Of The Last Few Days

These "350 followers you get in a day totally free," they're like CRAP followers, right? Not actual people writing actual tweets, just CRAP?

~Look at me, I'm wonderful. Shooby dooby wah. I'm not a bit like you and you and you .... I'm a super showbiz star.~ --The Bonzo Dog Band.

Whoa, TweetDeck laid about six eggs right in a row. [Written about some bald guy I'm following, whose picture showed up all at once six times.]

Check the meat in your freezer. It's always later than you think.

I don't want an asterisk next to my name at the graveyard, meaning I died less than honorably with unfinished business.

Snagglepuss has been to the dentist, so now it's just Puss.

I'm eating oatmeal. Somewhere a horse is starving.

When making your will, don't forget the food pantry. Without instructions, your heirs could empty your freezer and throw away the meat.

I'm going to jump into this intellectual stream, among all the people I'm following, put my finger to my lips, and go "Blubb, blubb, blubb!"

If anyone sees the link to my blog, which ought to be coming on, please don't read it. I had writer's block real bad, and it's just crap.

Get me a microscope! I'm up and atom!

Yesterday I was bummed that a fictional house was nearly destroyed by a gang and gunfire. But today I'm happy, knowing it will be fixed!

I'm so happy today! This is a great day, so great the sun is rising on all four horizons!

September is a great month. It starts with S ... and that's one sexy letter!

The S is so sexy ... even the word sexy starts with it!

Look at the curves on that letter. It's got it up here facing that way .... It's got it down here facing that way ... the S.

@jimmywellington The beauties of the alphabet are in the eye of the beholder. But it's good to know someone else is thinking of this! in reply to jimmywellington

How does someone with only 33 tweets get 25,999 followers. I saw one. If he had me it'd be an even 26 ... but what's the point?

Give me a lever and a bathtub and I could move the world while displacing water. -- Archimedes

Here's the answer to your prayer: Quit worrying about it.

You're always wondering if you can trust my advice. Remember, I'm not as young as I look.

I am walking around in a mall bookstore, completely uncomfortable in my own skin.

Everyone is potentially a genius. Notice I said potentially. You just have to be really, really, really, really smart.

Can something be relatively immortal?

The Clarence Chronicles (Tweets)

Boys shouldn't play with dolls. My Uncle Clarence did and got shot.

That's actually true about Clarence, but it's been 60-some years. It pays to die under notorious circumstances. We talk about you forever.

And I didn't even know the guy ... since the jealous husband offed him before I was born.

That'd be Grandma's brother. Her generation kept it hushed up. But mine says, "Tell us the details of Clarence's killing again, please."

How bad would that be, caught in flagrante delicto with some juicy peach, then glance up and perhaps see the blaze of a gun at five feet?

There's No Place Like Home

I'm up with the chickens today. It's a beautiful day, like in a musical. The sets are all idealized like that. Looking out, the garage and tools and things setting around it look like the backdrop for the Opry, well swept. I might go out and yodel a few happy tunes and work with a lasso.

I'm puttering around. Thank God for the house patching industry. They were here and got the place fixed up. I'm shivering thinking about what it would've been like if the Grangers had taken the freezer right through the wall. It would've made a better story ... that's about it. As it is, I had them leave a few bullet holes, in case the place is ever made into a museum.

I've heard of that being done. We went to a museum. Some guys had robbed the bank, like 1890, then hid out in the museum. They shot holes in the wall, which are carefully preserved to this day. So, see, the town is saying, "Thank God for those robbers back then or we wouldn't have anything to be proud of today." It makes you think if you went there to rob the bank today, they'd give you a big bouquet and ask what took you so long!

But the life of crime is no life for me. Nor is the life of crime-solving. Nor is the life of running around the countryside investigating, trying to stamp out organizations who prey upon their fellow man. As for today, anyway, I'll leave that to those who know how. I was getting too personally involved anyway. I'd be almost willing to overlook their crimes for a chance with Lemaperu. And her mom wasn't half bad either. But it'll never be.

Which is OK. Because today I'm singing the old refrain, "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home." How often did they tell me that over the years? Too many! It humbles my heart that so often I live like it isn't so. I look at these four walls -- thinking of this room in particular -- and think Wow, I'm cooped up. This isn't a life for a full grown man. If I'm willing to live here, why would I neglect the rest of the world? But as soon as you do, what happens? You get shot down. I about got shot down right here, when the world came calling.

No, here are my things. A stack of CDs. This computer. A glass of milk. A cup of tea. The tie I wear to funerals. An empty candy bag. My hot jazz hat. Other things. I need to appreciate what I have. And where I have it. This old house.

Someday, I suppose it's bound to happen ... Grandma will die. And some guys will carry her out on a stretcher. But until that day! ... Until that day we will live life to the fullest right here!

Then some years later, however many, who knows? I myself will pass on. I'll just be sitting here. Or maybe I'll be curled up in bed. Maybe I'll feel a hot rush flooding my heart or brain. Maybe I'll see the lights of glory. And raise my arms until they collapse in that final ecstasy. It's bound to happen, sad as it sounds. I'll probably lay there and rot before someone finds me. Then the same guys will bring in their stretcher. They'll have their faces bound up or under big gas masks. They might carry the whole bed out in the yard and pick me up with a machine to avoid infection. Then set the bed afire -- my estate be d---ed!

I don't mind talking about it. Then the museum people can come in and get things arranged for the tourists. Whose first question will be what happened to his bed. It'll be an interesting story. He died alone and no one noticed him, etc. And right there on the lawn is where it burnt.

Not exactly the Fantasy World of Harry Faversham, but it's something to think about on a beautiful day. I don't mind starting with a cold shiver. ... But this is my desk and these are my things. There's no place like home. None, nada. If there's anywhere else like it, I'd be interested in knowing where.

I Was Trained To Be A Wallflower

I know it sounds like something out of the "True Confessions" magazine. But this has been the story of my life, and I never knew why. Now I know what happened: I was trained to be a wallflower!

And it goes way back. But let me hasten to add, Grandma and Grandpa always had my best interests at heart. They were looking out for my very survival. And now, in addition to gratitude, I'm also flattered by what they were saying about me in the process. Because they really had to work to keep me alive, they knew I was a hunk, had virility, and was a lady killer.

But that's exactly what you can't be in our area. Being a lady killer is exactly what will get a young man killed in our neighborhood!

We were what you would call grange people. Our place being on the outskirts of town, we were as much country folk as town folk. We could swing both ways ... and did. But if you do, you're oftentimes hated by both sides. So we kept some town connections -- shopping, supplies, amusements -- but our main socializing was in the country, the grange. The town stuff wasn't smiled upon.

But so far so good. This is what I remember from the file (now in grange hands). I remember it from my actual experience not as much. I was mostly off having a good time with the other kids, including, now that I look back on it, a generation of farmers' daughters who still hadn't blossomed to the point that the leaders could use them as weapons. We were innocent kids ... but it wasn't to stay that way!

A little bit of hair puffs out here, some extra bulging there, and the girls get bulbous in places, spilling out over their midsection so badly they have to wear a support garment just to keep everything up! It can lead to things best left unspoken ... none good. Like death!

Now I realize, because I was an outskirts kid, the nucleus of the grange people were determined to put me to the same test as young men from the town. I would be tested and I would fail. I would've been kicked to death when I was 13, 14, 15, 16, etc., as sure as anything ... except ... God bless them ... they kept me alive ... my blessed grandparents raised me and trained me to be a wallflower.

Of course I had the same hormones as every other kid, but they were always channeling me away from having high expectations about relationships. I'd be wanting to go out on a date and they'd get me a new frog or ant farm, anything to replace my urges. It went on like that, to the point that we did very little socializing at all. Must dress drably, must avoid perfumes and fragrances, must line the bed with cold water bags. The binding of hands, wearing blinders at the beach, etc. And anytime there was a possible activity with mixed company -- like someone invited me out -- it was time instead to go clean out the crawdad tub. Got to get ready for fishing in the morning! Even though no one said anything about fishing earlier on.

And that's the reason -- that has to be it -- why Grandma and Grandpa dropped out of the grange all together, much to their discredit with that society. To save my life.

As for the grange, and some of the circumstances behind all this, according to the file, everything seemed normal till the leader of the grange was killed by a jealous husband, then the leader's wife took over on a sympathy vote. From then on, women took on a more important role in the organization, as the aggrieved wife appointed them. Whether from revenge for that one man's adultery, or some other psychological quirk, the new leader and those under her took a hard-line stance against sex and men in general, leading to all these terrible tests.

That was when the mysterious deaths of young men and boys started up. They had only one horse for the job in those days, "Honest Maude," who must've been everything her name implies. And from then on it was just a matter of inbreeding and skewed horse training to bring us what we have today, Lemuel's proud team of assassin horses.

It was around 1962 when my family dropped out. And the same year I was baptized. Because they must have known I would try something -- reach for my zipper -- and perhaps be killed. So better to be safe than sorry.

We had problems over the years, which I should leave out. The relations between town and country hardened. The radicals' scheme was to turn the town into country and the country into town, or to adopt its better aspects, something like that. And they influenced town women over the years, infiltrating the Mode-a-Day dress shop, making radicals of them, etc.

The women made it into a totalitarian organization, with extensive black lists, poisoning of animals, etc. It was about 1963 that our shed was burned down and my dog died. So Grandma and Grandpa no doubt took all that as a warning.

A whole generation has passed since then. So why are they still doing all this stuff? The killing of young men by horses. The radical strain is still there. And there aren't enough caring, loving parents or grandparents thinking ahead and making their sons wallflowers to save their lives.

400 Posts!

Tooting a party horn and throwing broken glass as confetti ... they said it couldn't be done ... someone must've said that.

But here I am ... proudly thrusting a fist toward one of my broken down doors ... four centuries ... if posts were years, I'd be older than the King James Bible, just by a hair.

So what's that put me at, something like the time of Shakespeare? And Shakespeare, for all this great qualities, never wrote 400 books! In fact, I've got everything he ever wrote and it's only one book.

The last 400 years have been all mine. To make the most of. To party hardy!

I've still got a freezer. They didn't take that away from me. And it could've happened. 400 posts in cold storage, each one dated and time stamped by the Blogger people. And I did it without anyone's help. I've only quoted people a few times and always with attribution.

This is my day! It's like fulfilled prophecy, or something. The sun came up for me today ... being very happy ... it arose on all four horizons ... a most wonderful day!

It's A Brand New Day

I could numb, I could be bitter. But no. I'm rising above it all. Nobody and nothing's going to get me down.

I've been shot at and rushed, held at gunpoint, and made to bare the contents of my freezer. My doors have been broken down, the screen door ripped by someone's knife, and they could've (but didn't) hooked up a chain around my freezer and pulled it right through the side of the house. That would've been much worse.

As it is, it does cause some heartache -- I'll admit it -- to see my curtains flapping in the breeze, shattered glass still shattered everywhere. But there's a simple solution to that. I'm not going barefoot or in stocking feet like normal, I have my shoes on. And I called a friend of my cousin in the house patching industry, and he's supposed to be here later this morning with a crew. So all that's cool.

Yesterday I had the darkest spirit of foreboding, or whenever it was. It had to have been yesterday, I guess. (I'm really rising above it.) I knew the possession of that file without a backup would be a problem. But now that it's gone, I'm fine with it. Of course they would want it. Whether there were any really deep dark secrets in it -- I only went through it for an hour -- I don't know. But the grange people are a secretive bunch. They don't take kindly to folks poking around in their business. So I guess I had it coming to me.

As far as I'm concerned, at this moment anyway, I'm willing to live and let live. Because I'm up here somewhere, rising above it all. What a glorious morning! I have a view of the sunrise today that I don't usually get, since there's usually a block between me and it. But with the windows all shot out, it's definitely a stunner. And that's touching my spirit in a positive way. I should've opened myself to an armed gang much sooner, just kidding. But I'm looking at the payoff. I can see the sunrise in a clearer way, and don't forget I have the roll of yellow "WARNING" tape the police left as a souvenir. It takes years traveling from one black market to another for one of these!

I checked on Grandma. She's fine. Slept right through it, bless her heart. In fact I thought I heard her giggling in her sleep today. So maybe she's up on a cloud with Grandpa. She'll be up after a bit going to the bathroom and I'll fix her a little something for breakfast. If she asks about the breeze, I'll just tell her it's a great day to be alive, etc., and that there was some terrible gunplay last night and that we're very fortunate to still be here.

So I've been up a while. I've surveyed the damage. Could've been much worse. Going to be better. Live and let live. Do what I can to make things better. Maybe I'll reach out once again to the Grange Sisterhood and let them know No hard feelings. We may as well live together. We have a rich heritage together, going way back.

That's the sense I got from the file. If there was a falling out -- it's past. And if I felt like quashing this secretive, brutal, totalitarian conspiracy of the country, that was last night. I'm fine today. Today I'm more interested in mutual understanding and making peace.

And ... today I'm more interested in this beautiful sunrise. And in sweeping up the glass so I can take my shoes off.