You can trust your cow to the man behind the plow.
To the Republican party I lift my cutlass and say: "Scurrilous knaves, in the name of this sacred sword, be cursed!"
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The Sacred Sword Sorcerer
One of the big values I see in keeping a collection of sacred swords is the psychological effect of single mindedness. It's both satisfying ... and deadly.
You see that sharp point at the end of your sword -- and keep in mind it's called a sacred sword -- and it helps train your thoughts on one thing.
I used to do it with knives when playing Mumblety-peg. You may recall you put the tip of the knife on your finger, then flip it off to hit the ground and stick it. But I'd get razzed by the other kids when I'd focus on that tip touching my finger, because I'd go into a deep trance and strange things would happen, depending on what I was thinking.
My mind isn't real clear on all the details, but one time I got in trouble inside over some minor thing, then we were out to recess playing Mumblety-peg, and next thing I knew I went into one of these trances and the school burnt down. They gave me a stern talking to and from then on I restricted my revenge to more harmless pranks, like making the teacher's desk hover at the ceiling.
As an adult, though, I've kept it real low key. I tend to win Thanksgiving turkeys at the grocery store, that kind of thing. And an occasional car wash without quarters if there's no attendant on duty.
But now -- oooohhh -- with the Republicans threatening to kill Grandma -- oooohhh -- this sword is so sharp, and feel that point! This cutlass has to be 20 pounds, and it must be there's something superhuman about my finger, that it would not be pierced through. Ooohhh, my thoughts are being trained. This trance stuff is something they shouldn't mess with. If only they had a lick of sense, which of course they don't.
[Later]: Now I'm pointing it to the West! Now I'm pointing it to the South! Now I'm pointing it to the East!
"Scurrilous knaves, in the name of this sacred sword, be cursed!"
You see that sharp point at the end of your sword -- and keep in mind it's called a sacred sword -- and it helps train your thoughts on one thing.
I used to do it with knives when playing Mumblety-peg. You may recall you put the tip of the knife on your finger, then flip it off to hit the ground and stick it. But I'd get razzed by the other kids when I'd focus on that tip touching my finger, because I'd go into a deep trance and strange things would happen, depending on what I was thinking.
My mind isn't real clear on all the details, but one time I got in trouble inside over some minor thing, then we were out to recess playing Mumblety-peg, and next thing I knew I went into one of these trances and the school burnt down. They gave me a stern talking to and from then on I restricted my revenge to more harmless pranks, like making the teacher's desk hover at the ceiling.
As an adult, though, I've kept it real low key. I tend to win Thanksgiving turkeys at the grocery store, that kind of thing. And an occasional car wash without quarters if there's no attendant on duty.
But now -- oooohhh -- with the Republicans threatening to kill Grandma -- oooohhh -- this sword is so sharp, and feel that point! This cutlass has to be 20 pounds, and it must be there's something superhuman about my finger, that it would not be pierced through. Ooohhh, my thoughts are being trained. This trance stuff is something they shouldn't mess with. If only they had a lick of sense, which of course they don't.
[Later]: Now I'm pointing it to the West! Now I'm pointing it to the South! Now I'm pointing it to the East!
"Scurrilous knaves, in the name of this sacred sword, be cursed!"
Killing Grandma
I'm going to speak up!
I'm frankly scared about all this talk of "killing Grandma" and "pulling the plug on Grandma."
Anyone who comes around trying to kill Grandma is going to have to go through me! And I'm armed and dangerous, with Grandpa's guns and my own sacred sword collection.
The ones I've heard threaten to kill Grandma are the Republicans, Sarah Palin, Charles Grassley, and their fellow travelers. Heartless! And to think they used to brag about their compassionate conservatism. But now they're out there saying they can't wait to get their bony fingers around Grandma's neck. To snuff out her life. After 104 years you'd think she'd merit some respect from these cretins.
Grandma's not only from the Greatest Generation, but several generations before that. She's earned her place!
So I'm making this plea, and I'm asking nicely. Give up your evil scheme, Republicans! Grandma hasn't done anything against you! She's just trying to live out her years here on the earth where God put her. And there's no crime in that.
But it is criminal trying to kill her. So back off! Because I have old Betsy here on my lap, as well as Lord Cutlass, and I'll be looking out the window!
I'm frankly scared about all this talk of "killing Grandma" and "pulling the plug on Grandma."
Anyone who comes around trying to kill Grandma is going to have to go through me! And I'm armed and dangerous, with Grandpa's guns and my own sacred sword collection.
The ones I've heard threaten to kill Grandma are the Republicans, Sarah Palin, Charles Grassley, and their fellow travelers. Heartless! And to think they used to brag about their compassionate conservatism. But now they're out there saying they can't wait to get their bony fingers around Grandma's neck. To snuff out her life. After 104 years you'd think she'd merit some respect from these cretins.
Grandma's not only from the Greatest Generation, but several generations before that. She's earned her place!
So I'm making this plea, and I'm asking nicely. Give up your evil scheme, Republicans! Grandma hasn't done anything against you! She's just trying to live out her years here on the earth where God put her. And there's no crime in that.
But it is criminal trying to kill her. So back off! Because I have old Betsy here on my lap, as well as Lord Cutlass, and I'll be looking out the window!
The Country Strikes Back
Another few days has passed. Time really flies when it's sped up. Now I can see why someone could live to be 104, like Grandma has. Because she's really only living every other day. So if she's only 52 in the actual passage of time, she's younger than I! A few more days of this time warp and it might turn out that I am somehow my grandmother's father. But I'll leave that worry for another day. If there's a paternity fight you'll be among the first to know.
My worry today is on some of the reactionaries among the country folk, who may be a little reluctant to submit to my ideas of bringing them and the city folk together. I did confer with some of the higher ups, in addition to numerous underlings. Each had a small but vocal cadre of people who are proving hard to sway. They want to protect their old ways, they say, but it could be they're just stubborn, hard to convince because they're also simply stupid. That's always something to take into consideration.
But when an immovable object meets an irresistible force something eventually's got to give. And it ain't gonna be me. I'll step up the expertise if that's what they want. Every group dynamics trick, not to mention the various tricks of human environmental science and the lifestyle sciences. I've been doing this since kindergarten. I saw the angles, like how my desk should be set in relation to the teacher's desk to make sure she noticed me. And the way my blanket should be oriented in relation to the other kids' to make it stand out. But some teachers were stupid too, and so along the way I got a few dings on my report card for being needy, clingy, etc. You have them in every group of people.
One of the big tricks I have for the country folks is what I call the art of commisseration. But commisserating with people is very time consuming, because to do it to maximum profit you have to do it individually or, at most, with two. That means getting them alone, like during a break, finding out some of their grievances, then piling on with, "Oh, yeah! I thought I was the only one who felt that way!" And occasionally catching my breath at some grievance they've stated. You look in their eye with a look that says "That's profound" and touch their shoulder, and immediately use your body language to lead them back to the group. What you're saying is two things: 1) I couldn't agree more; 2) We need to lead this group together in seeing things our way. They'll thank us.
So if these cretins give me any guff -- and it seems that's what some of them are up to -- I'll be commisserating fast and furious. Then when their guard's down, wham! They'll be spinning dizzy in their own dust, with no choice but to rejoin the group on my terms. Because in the meantime, I've arranged chairs, desks, sofas, bulletin boards, every piece of furniture. And when I present, those who are in most agreement with me, they'll all be subtly rewarded with better lighting, better ability to hear, fewer reflections from the sun through the windows, etc. Anyone left at the perimeter or in the inferior seating will have to move up to those least in agreement with them if they want the advantages. And so forth.
But I hate to make this a seminar in scientific manipulation. But I notice you're not complaining. And there are some very good reasons for that. But we shall go on...
I went to the second Friday grange dance a couple days ago, and there's another one tomorrow. Of course I was much more trusted at the second dance than at the first. I saw the whole set up of the orgies, all that, trying to ensnare folks who were clueless. I saw the horses kicking a few young men to death. I saw the dressing room for the farmers' daughters. And lots of other stuff. So, a few more weeks of this and I'll own the dance. And maybe before we're through I can test out some group dynamics and science on these horses in their barns.
My worry today is on some of the reactionaries among the country folk, who may be a little reluctant to submit to my ideas of bringing them and the city folk together. I did confer with some of the higher ups, in addition to numerous underlings. Each had a small but vocal cadre of people who are proving hard to sway. They want to protect their old ways, they say, but it could be they're just stubborn, hard to convince because they're also simply stupid. That's always something to take into consideration.
But when an immovable object meets an irresistible force something eventually's got to give. And it ain't gonna be me. I'll step up the expertise if that's what they want. Every group dynamics trick, not to mention the various tricks of human environmental science and the lifestyle sciences. I've been doing this since kindergarten. I saw the angles, like how my desk should be set in relation to the teacher's desk to make sure she noticed me. And the way my blanket should be oriented in relation to the other kids' to make it stand out. But some teachers were stupid too, and so along the way I got a few dings on my report card for being needy, clingy, etc. You have them in every group of people.
One of the big tricks I have for the country folks is what I call the art of commisseration. But commisserating with people is very time consuming, because to do it to maximum profit you have to do it individually or, at most, with two. That means getting them alone, like during a break, finding out some of their grievances, then piling on with, "Oh, yeah! I thought I was the only one who felt that way!" And occasionally catching my breath at some grievance they've stated. You look in their eye with a look that says "That's profound" and touch their shoulder, and immediately use your body language to lead them back to the group. What you're saying is two things: 1) I couldn't agree more; 2) We need to lead this group together in seeing things our way. They'll thank us.
So if these cretins give me any guff -- and it seems that's what some of them are up to -- I'll be commisserating fast and furious. Then when their guard's down, wham! They'll be spinning dizzy in their own dust, with no choice but to rejoin the group on my terms. Because in the meantime, I've arranged chairs, desks, sofas, bulletin boards, every piece of furniture. And when I present, those who are in most agreement with me, they'll all be subtly rewarded with better lighting, better ability to hear, fewer reflections from the sun through the windows, etc. Anyone left at the perimeter or in the inferior seating will have to move up to those least in agreement with them if they want the advantages. And so forth.
But I hate to make this a seminar in scientific manipulation. But I notice you're not complaining. And there are some very good reasons for that. But we shall go on...
I went to the second Friday grange dance a couple days ago, and there's another one tomorrow. Of course I was much more trusted at the second dance than at the first. I saw the whole set up of the orgies, all that, trying to ensnare folks who were clueless. I saw the horses kicking a few young men to death. I saw the dressing room for the farmers' daughters. And lots of other stuff. So, a few more weeks of this and I'll own the dance. And maybe before we're through I can test out some group dynamics and science on these horses in their barns.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
A Friendly Vibe (Tweets 08-12-2009)
I'm devious when it comes to group dynamics, human environmental science, and lifestyle science. It's like going thru life with five aces!
Put on a few earth tone threads, blow dry my hair, sit to their left, and engage them with fascination for their lives, I can get anything.
It's this kind of cold scheming that will bring new life and happiness to our rural areas, the promise of a "New Tomorrow, New Today" for all!
I will convey to the Brotherhood a friendly vibe, and teach them we should make city folk comfortable, not run them through with pitchforks.
If you see my lips coming down the street, please take your lips and cross to the other side. Because, my darling, our lips must never meet.
Put on a few earth tone threads, blow dry my hair, sit to their left, and engage them with fascination for their lives, I can get anything.
It's this kind of cold scheming that will bring new life and happiness to our rural areas, the promise of a "New Tomorrow, New Today" for all!
I will convey to the Brotherhood a friendly vibe, and teach them we should make city folk comfortable, not run them through with pitchforks.
If you see my lips coming down the street, please take your lips and cross to the other side. Because, my darling, our lips must never meet.
New Tomorrow, New Today
Several days have passed. I've been in touch with several people from the country, including one I trust completely, Cousin Roto. I always wondered why he didn't invite me out to his place more often, and he confirmed to me that with changing times, the country had become a much more paranoid place, as they struggled to hold their own against what they took to be the encroaching moves of the city.
A lot of the pieces fell in place during our discussions. And in addition to visiting with Roto, who may very well come out of this sitting pretty, being related to me, I conferred with some of the underlings from the Grange Brotherhood, who wish to remain nameless for the present time. That fact alone shows the paranoia is running thick and deep out there. And they have other grievances, such things as there being very little movement in the ranks. Apparently once a tree sitter, always a tree sitter. So if I get the opportunity, I assured them I would grease the skids once in a while. I said this with a wink, and they got the idea.
I hate to say I'm making inroads, because I'm as a superstitious as they come about counting chickens. But I feel like I'm miles ahead from several days ago, the last dance now being a couple weeks ago. I sat and stewed, seeking guidance from within. Then I decided if the world was passing me by anyway, I may as well put forth an effort. What's the worst that could happen? That the world would continue passing me by? You can probably tell by my tone that I'm alive and kickin'. That's true!
Quite frankly I'm thinking we can make the country a showplace, something that will be the envy of the city. In limited ways, perhaps, we can open up vast areas of our great countryside and invite city folk out to it. I'm envisioning some loosening up of the paranoia -- not all the way, of course, just enough to make things better -- with the idea, at least, that there can be some exchange of ideas, even perhaps a free flow of trade.
The city has been dying for new blood. And the city could use our crops. As it is now, with the paranoia, our farmers have used government subsidies to feed their families. Yet they've continued to plant crops, not as something to sell and that might feed the world, but to serve as better hiding places, outposts to guard against encroachment. And with paranoia, it's all fed on itself, to the point that most people don't even know the country is there anymore!
Amid this flurry of activity, I've come up with a new motto for the country. And if I have the opportunity to serve, I want it to be on all our stationery, fliers, TV ads, to be on T-shirts, etc. The motto is "New Tomorrow, New Today." I think it really hits the spot, because city folk, to the extent that they think of country folk at all, relegate them to yesterday. But this motto shows that we'll be thinking of tomorrow (future), while renewing the present moment (today). What could be friendlier sounding than that?
Along with the motto, I'll be seeking the help of design experts, graphics artists, to come up with a lively graphic scheme, which I'm envisioning as something like the sun about 20% over the horizon and perhaps we can work in a weather vane somewhere. Drawn in the current style of such things as informally yet as lively as possible, something playful yet serious, something that shows we're open for business and willing to engage. I love it!
Then down the road -- who knows when? With time sped up it could be tomorrow, but I hope not, because I need to prepare for this stuff sometime -- I want to teach the country folk to embrace their lifestyle. It might be like that commercial where the family in the old truck takes their produce to Kansas City for the farmers' market. Birdseye? Don't be ashamed of your old battle axe truck. Paint it and go for the charm factor. City folk love pride, which is why they make their buildings so tall. Then they go up there and look out over the country with binoculars to see if the country is also proud. And so far all they've been seeing is a bunch of black hooded guys in trees, flashing signals that interlopers are within 10 miles. That's no good.
With my design sense -- impeccable -- and my knowledge of group dynamics -- flawless -- and my abilities to convey the finer points of human environmental science, or as I like to call it, "Lifestyle Science -- Taking Life From Theory To Practice" -- outstanding -- there's really nothing that the country can't achieve!
I'll be conferring with Roto on this, and some of the Brotherhood underlings promised to get me some connections higher up, so we'll go from there. Speaking of lifestyle science, I'm thinking if I wear earth tone clothes that'll make them comfortable, and if I make sure to start out sitting to their right (like they're driving), then over time shift myself over to the power position, they won't know what hit them...
Right now I'm on top of the world, the Country World and the City World. I'm literally pumping my fist as I type this! Try it sometime!
"New Tomorrow, New Today!" So great!
A lot of the pieces fell in place during our discussions. And in addition to visiting with Roto, who may very well come out of this sitting pretty, being related to me, I conferred with some of the underlings from the Grange Brotherhood, who wish to remain nameless for the present time. That fact alone shows the paranoia is running thick and deep out there. And they have other grievances, such things as there being very little movement in the ranks. Apparently once a tree sitter, always a tree sitter. So if I get the opportunity, I assured them I would grease the skids once in a while. I said this with a wink, and they got the idea.
I hate to say I'm making inroads, because I'm as a superstitious as they come about counting chickens. But I feel like I'm miles ahead from several days ago, the last dance now being a couple weeks ago. I sat and stewed, seeking guidance from within. Then I decided if the world was passing me by anyway, I may as well put forth an effort. What's the worst that could happen? That the world would continue passing me by? You can probably tell by my tone that I'm alive and kickin'. That's true!
Quite frankly I'm thinking we can make the country a showplace, something that will be the envy of the city. In limited ways, perhaps, we can open up vast areas of our great countryside and invite city folk out to it. I'm envisioning some loosening up of the paranoia -- not all the way, of course, just enough to make things better -- with the idea, at least, that there can be some exchange of ideas, even perhaps a free flow of trade.
The city has been dying for new blood. And the city could use our crops. As it is now, with the paranoia, our farmers have used government subsidies to feed their families. Yet they've continued to plant crops, not as something to sell and that might feed the world, but to serve as better hiding places, outposts to guard against encroachment. And with paranoia, it's all fed on itself, to the point that most people don't even know the country is there anymore!
Amid this flurry of activity, I've come up with a new motto for the country. And if I have the opportunity to serve, I want it to be on all our stationery, fliers, TV ads, to be on T-shirts, etc. The motto is "New Tomorrow, New Today." I think it really hits the spot, because city folk, to the extent that they think of country folk at all, relegate them to yesterday. But this motto shows that we'll be thinking of tomorrow (future), while renewing the present moment (today). What could be friendlier sounding than that?
Along with the motto, I'll be seeking the help of design experts, graphics artists, to come up with a lively graphic scheme, which I'm envisioning as something like the sun about 20% over the horizon and perhaps we can work in a weather vane somewhere. Drawn in the current style of such things as informally yet as lively as possible, something playful yet serious, something that shows we're open for business and willing to engage. I love it!
Then down the road -- who knows when? With time sped up it could be tomorrow, but I hope not, because I need to prepare for this stuff sometime -- I want to teach the country folk to embrace their lifestyle. It might be like that commercial where the family in the old truck takes their produce to Kansas City for the farmers' market. Birdseye? Don't be ashamed of your old battle axe truck. Paint it and go for the charm factor. City folk love pride, which is why they make their buildings so tall. Then they go up there and look out over the country with binoculars to see if the country is also proud. And so far all they've been seeing is a bunch of black hooded guys in trees, flashing signals that interlopers are within 10 miles. That's no good.
With my design sense -- impeccable -- and my knowledge of group dynamics -- flawless -- and my abilities to convey the finer points of human environmental science, or as I like to call it, "Lifestyle Science -- Taking Life From Theory To Practice" -- outstanding -- there's really nothing that the country can't achieve!
I'll be conferring with Roto on this, and some of the Brotherhood underlings promised to get me some connections higher up, so we'll go from there. Speaking of lifestyle science, I'm thinking if I wear earth tone clothes that'll make them comfortable, and if I make sure to start out sitting to their right (like they're driving), then over time shift myself over to the power position, they won't know what hit them...
Right now I'm on top of the world, the Country World and the City World. I'm literally pumping my fist as I type this! Try it sometime!
"New Tomorrow, New Today!" So great!
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Wang Dang Doodle (Today's Tweets)
As you are, I once was. As I am, you will be. (You wish!!!)
Wang dang doodle. I shall prevail.
The whole thing with the Octopus/Snake fight riled up something in my spirit, a fierce force that can't be dismissed. I've one thing to do:
And that's to listen to this record, as recorded by Joanie Sommers, "Johnny Get Angry"...
"Johnny get angry, Johnny get mad; Give me the biggest lecture I ever had; I want a brave man, I want a cave man; Show me that you care..."
Because I'm soon going to lead the Brotherhood (a rural mafia-type group), I went to buy some organic eggs. My connection to the country.
It's true, I did buy some organic eggs. First time ever.
Wang dang doodle. I shall prevail.
The whole thing with the Octopus/Snake fight riled up something in my spirit, a fierce force that can't be dismissed. I've one thing to do:
And that's to listen to this record, as recorded by Joanie Sommers, "Johnny Get Angry"...
"Johnny get angry, Johnny get mad; Give me the biggest lecture I ever had; I want a brave man, I want a cave man; Show me that you care..."
Because I'm soon going to lead the Brotherhood (a rural mafia-type group), I went to buy some organic eggs. My connection to the country.
It's true, I did buy some organic eggs. First time ever.
I've Reached A Decision
I've been messing with the psychological mechanics of speeding up and slowing down time most of the morning and so I didn't get around to writing this update until now. Which means I have to rush because the slowing down function isn't working right as of this minute. Or 10 minutes ago now.
Just know that, whatever the calendar says, and it's dead on in sync with everyone else's, by the time I get done here, even if it only takes minutes, I could very well be old and gray. Let me pause a minute and kick it. There. Against all odds, I believe I heard some slowing of the wheels.
What's all this about speeding up time? I'll get more into it as necessary, just to say now that I can't be content to wait and drag this crazy situation out. I need to have it resolved as quickly as possible. If I don't, there's going to be trouble with "friends" and "followers." As I found during the hiatus, they don't like things stretched out. They're into instant gratification. And, if Garrett Al is any indicator, gratification is exactly what they're after, whether mental (not in his case) or physical, as was his perverse desire. But enough about him.
I have reached a decision about the Grange Brotherhood, thinking back to the three options of a couple days ago. I came to this decision not lightly, but it's been a struggle unlike I've ever felt in my life. Because, think about it, the antecedents of this struggle go back generations. This is conspiracy theory stuff. Grandma and Grandpa had connections to the Brotherhood back when they were dating, probably. It could be they were moved around like chess pieces with the aim of bringing them together so they would eventually have my mom, who would eventually have me, who would eventually be sitting here as I sit today, either their Savior or the Antigranger they fear.
Think about my heroic dream yesterday, terrifying stuff. The Octopus creature versus the Snake headed man. I still can't get over the vision of that terrifying cobra hood. Cobras have the weirdest heads in nature. A few more years of evolutionary history and they'll be flying squirrels. Cobra parents always feel like they should trim back some of Junior's head but then their doctors tell them that's what brings the real pleasure later in life. So they fall for it every time, the child cobra goes to snake school, the other kids are always making fun of the cobra's hood. Like, "Don't whisper around him. He can hear you!" And "The slightest puff of wind and he'll sail away!" This is also why the cobra's hearing is notoriously bad. Every sound being accentuated, their ears wear out early on. So you see it in India, the owner has to play his flute right down in their basket to rouse them. You put a flute to my head the first thing in the morning, I'm going to bite you. But my hearing is also top notch.
Anyway, about the dream. There they were, in a death struggle. The Snake, I believe, wanted to wrestle. The Octopus wanted to rassle. Because snakes are used to writhing, wrestling comes naturally to them. Octopuses have the more chaotic atmosphere of the ocean as their natural habitat, so rassling comes more naturally to them. The Snake, though, being the subtlest of creatures, and very wise, was able to adapt to the Octopuses' moves. The little snake heads popped out and bit the Octopus very badly. Then I woke up.
But today I drifted off in my chair and saw the end of the dream. The Snake wins! By some very dexterious coiling, he had all eight Octopus legs pinned to the canvas. Later, the Octopus was seen -- time having been sped up -- old and gray in a nursing home, refusing to say much about it, but still signing autographs eight pictures at a time.
I am the Snake. I will prevail.
So my decision, the decision I have reached, based on this dream, is this: That not only will I join the Grange Brotherhood, one day* I will be the Grange Master who leads the whole organization!
-------------------------
*"One day" could be as soon as tomorrow, thanks to the speeding up of time. But that really would be much too soon. I need some things to write about before we get there. So please be patient.
Just know that, whatever the calendar says, and it's dead on in sync with everyone else's, by the time I get done here, even if it only takes minutes, I could very well be old and gray. Let me pause a minute and kick it. There. Against all odds, I believe I heard some slowing of the wheels.
What's all this about speeding up time? I'll get more into it as necessary, just to say now that I can't be content to wait and drag this crazy situation out. I need to have it resolved as quickly as possible. If I don't, there's going to be trouble with "friends" and "followers." As I found during the hiatus, they don't like things stretched out. They're into instant gratification. And, if Garrett Al is any indicator, gratification is exactly what they're after, whether mental (not in his case) or physical, as was his perverse desire. But enough about him.
I have reached a decision about the Grange Brotherhood, thinking back to the three options of a couple days ago. I came to this decision not lightly, but it's been a struggle unlike I've ever felt in my life. Because, think about it, the antecedents of this struggle go back generations. This is conspiracy theory stuff. Grandma and Grandpa had connections to the Brotherhood back when they were dating, probably. It could be they were moved around like chess pieces with the aim of bringing them together so they would eventually have my mom, who would eventually have me, who would eventually be sitting here as I sit today, either their Savior or the Antigranger they fear.
Think about my heroic dream yesterday, terrifying stuff. The Octopus creature versus the Snake headed man. I still can't get over the vision of that terrifying cobra hood. Cobras have the weirdest heads in nature. A few more years of evolutionary history and they'll be flying squirrels. Cobra parents always feel like they should trim back some of Junior's head but then their doctors tell them that's what brings the real pleasure later in life. So they fall for it every time, the child cobra goes to snake school, the other kids are always making fun of the cobra's hood. Like, "Don't whisper around him. He can hear you!" And "The slightest puff of wind and he'll sail away!" This is also why the cobra's hearing is notoriously bad. Every sound being accentuated, their ears wear out early on. So you see it in India, the owner has to play his flute right down in their basket to rouse them. You put a flute to my head the first thing in the morning, I'm going to bite you. But my hearing is also top notch.
Anyway, about the dream. There they were, in a death struggle. The Snake, I believe, wanted to wrestle. The Octopus wanted to rassle. Because snakes are used to writhing, wrestling comes naturally to them. Octopuses have the more chaotic atmosphere of the ocean as their natural habitat, so rassling comes more naturally to them. The Snake, though, being the subtlest of creatures, and very wise, was able to adapt to the Octopuses' moves. The little snake heads popped out and bit the Octopus very badly. Then I woke up.
But today I drifted off in my chair and saw the end of the dream. The Snake wins! By some very dexterious coiling, he had all eight Octopus legs pinned to the canvas. Later, the Octopus was seen -- time having been sped up -- old and gray in a nursing home, refusing to say much about it, but still signing autographs eight pictures at a time.
I am the Snake. I will prevail.
So my decision, the decision I have reached, based on this dream, is this: That not only will I join the Grange Brotherhood, one day* I will be the Grange Master who leads the whole organization!
-------------------------
*"One day" could be as soon as tomorrow, thanks to the speeding up of time. But that really would be much too soon. I need some things to write about before we get there. So please be patient.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Tweets - 08-10-2009
Introduction:
My activity at that website came in one burst of energy, as I'd had the whole day to think about my revelatory dream, written about earlier.
-------------------------
There's 1000 directions this thing with the Grange Brotherhood could go, but thank God for that revelatory dream last night. It was cool.
Over there you've got Super Octopus, seething, pulsating tentacles. Over here, Snake Head Man, with snake chambers like Whack-A-Mole boxes
If they ever make my 'Grandma Slump' blog into a movie, I'll get extremely rich just off the action figures.
They're in a death grip. Octopus has tentacle suction cups all over Snake's hood. But Snake darts out a metallic tongue and moves him back!
Then it's Arms vs. Tentacles, 2 vs. 8, the odds are in Octopus' favor, until the snake boxes open and the tiny biting heads each sink in.
Snake Man has to twist and turn to allow them to take Octopus, and says, nicely, "Let me know when you're done back there!"
With dreams like that I hope I never wake up. If I could find some reliable way to Velcro this bedpan in place, I'd never have to. Dream on.
------------------------
Do you know what Skoal chewing tobacco's slogan is? "Welcome to the Brotherhood." Is that a sign?
My activity at that website came in one burst of energy, as I'd had the whole day to think about my revelatory dream, written about earlier.
-------------------------
There's 1000 directions this thing with the Grange Brotherhood could go, but thank God for that revelatory dream last night. It was cool.
Over there you've got Super Octopus, seething, pulsating tentacles. Over here, Snake Head Man, with snake chambers like Whack-A-Mole boxes
If they ever make my 'Grandma Slump' blog into a movie, I'll get extremely rich just off the action figures.
They're in a death grip. Octopus has tentacle suction cups all over Snake's hood. But Snake darts out a metallic tongue and moves him back!
Then it's Arms vs. Tentacles, 2 vs. 8, the odds are in Octopus' favor, until the snake boxes open and the tiny biting heads each sink in.
Snake Man has to twist and turn to allow them to take Octopus, and says, nicely, "Let me know when you're done back there!"
With dreams like that I hope I never wake up. If I could find some reliable way to Velcro this bedpan in place, I'd never have to. Dream on.
------------------------
Do you know what Skoal chewing tobacco's slogan is? "Welcome to the Brotherhood." Is that a sign?
Personal Silence And Stewing
I ended yesterday's post with these words: "What I will do ... is something for me to contemplate ... in the counsel of my own heart ... with the light and dark alternately rising and descending ... in personal silence and stewing ..."
I'm right in my element with this thing. Personal silence and stewing is exactly what I like to do if there's an opportunity, and I've got something decent to stew over. And with this whole thing involving the Grange Brotherhood, the good and bad sides, I'm full to the brim with opportunities. It's all a huge wonder.
As for "the light and dark alternately rising and descending," to further quote that very nice paragraph (I give it 5 out of 5 knuckle polishes), the way I picture that is the idea of a man sitting in one spot with the sun rising and the sun setting on him. If that could actually be done, which I don't think it could unless you had a bedpan and a refrigerator right at hand. But apart from the literal light and dark rising and falling, I could take it as the mental/spiritual content of my own agonized heart. A situation in which I go through periods of light and periods of dark as the silence and stewing is very much prolonged.
At one point this morning, I was positively radiant with the light. I had enough good things going on that I could've healed the world. Had I so deigned. But then just moments later I was in such a fit of darkness that I could've crawled around on the floor naked like a crab seeking a drain for a faster descent. A shadow fell across my face. My eyes were darkened, bereft of light and life itself. Something vast and terrible is happening, because I don't usually have my shorts in such a knot, usually being in a fairly good mood.
What is the content of all this stewing, all this perplexity? The awful quandary I'm in concerning the Grange Brotherhood, whose besetting of me along the way, then testing (tormenting) of me at the dance, brought forth numerous issues, mostly of a negative sort.
I hope you can tell I'm worked up about it. So much so, in fact, that anything could happen. The options I presented yesterday, 1) Joining the Brotherhood; 2) Ignoring the Brotherhood; 3) Attacking the Brotherhood, are all still operative. I'm casting about for signs -- flailing wildly -- and I can't help thinking one will be coming very soon. A person can't function with this kind of constant turmoil. I need it to end! But exactly how it's going to end, I do not yet know.
I probably should mention a dream I had, which could have some prophetic bearing on the important matters at hand. I witnessed a titanic struggle of two superhuman forces. One side was a gigantic octopus, with enormous outstretched tentacles, literally with brass knuckles on each one. The air holes or suction cups you always see on tentacles were seething, in constant motion, as though trying to pull in its victim by an inner pressure with its domineering will.
The opponent was a snake-headed man, a head and hood like a cobra, then from the top to the back of his head was a swarm of smaller biting snakes. It's like they lived under small trap doors, the shingles or texture of the snake's head, then popped out when called upon. As the octopus reached out the snakes popped out in defensive posture. And as the bigger snake, the snake head proper, lashed out, also with sheer indomitable will, the octopus recoiled and spun with a backwards retreat, a retreat however that kept it in position to strike at any time. (There was so much hissing I might've hissed the bed. Forgive a desperate old man his joke.)
All in all it was a pleasant enough dream, but I woke up before it resolved itself.
I'm right in my element with this thing. Personal silence and stewing is exactly what I like to do if there's an opportunity, and I've got something decent to stew over. And with this whole thing involving the Grange Brotherhood, the good and bad sides, I'm full to the brim with opportunities. It's all a huge wonder.
As for "the light and dark alternately rising and descending," to further quote that very nice paragraph (I give it 5 out of 5 knuckle polishes), the way I picture that is the idea of a man sitting in one spot with the sun rising and the sun setting on him. If that could actually be done, which I don't think it could unless you had a bedpan and a refrigerator right at hand. But apart from the literal light and dark rising and falling, I could take it as the mental/spiritual content of my own agonized heart. A situation in which I go through periods of light and periods of dark as the silence and stewing is very much prolonged.
At one point this morning, I was positively radiant with the light. I had enough good things going on that I could've healed the world. Had I so deigned. But then just moments later I was in such a fit of darkness that I could've crawled around on the floor naked like a crab seeking a drain for a faster descent. A shadow fell across my face. My eyes were darkened, bereft of light and life itself. Something vast and terrible is happening, because I don't usually have my shorts in such a knot, usually being in a fairly good mood.
What is the content of all this stewing, all this perplexity? The awful quandary I'm in concerning the Grange Brotherhood, whose besetting of me along the way, then testing (tormenting) of me at the dance, brought forth numerous issues, mostly of a negative sort.
I hope you can tell I'm worked up about it. So much so, in fact, that anything could happen. The options I presented yesterday, 1) Joining the Brotherhood; 2) Ignoring the Brotherhood; 3) Attacking the Brotherhood, are all still operative. I'm casting about for signs -- flailing wildly -- and I can't help thinking one will be coming very soon. A person can't function with this kind of constant turmoil. I need it to end! But exactly how it's going to end, I do not yet know.
I probably should mention a dream I had, which could have some prophetic bearing on the important matters at hand. I witnessed a titanic struggle of two superhuman forces. One side was a gigantic octopus, with enormous outstretched tentacles, literally with brass knuckles on each one. The air holes or suction cups you always see on tentacles were seething, in constant motion, as though trying to pull in its victim by an inner pressure with its domineering will.
The opponent was a snake-headed man, a head and hood like a cobra, then from the top to the back of his head was a swarm of smaller biting snakes. It's like they lived under small trap doors, the shingles or texture of the snake's head, then popped out when called upon. As the octopus reached out the snakes popped out in defensive posture. And as the bigger snake, the snake head proper, lashed out, also with sheer indomitable will, the octopus recoiled and spun with a backwards retreat, a retreat however that kept it in position to strike at any time. (There was so much hissing I might've hissed the bed. Forgive a desperate old man his joke.)
All in all it was a pleasant enough dream, but I woke up before it resolved itself.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Tweets - 08-09-2009
Preamble: Friends, and I do believe you are all my friends, I only have one tweet to preserve today. So of course you know it better be a good one. And I believe it is.
It is a very succinct reiteration of something I said on my post, basically the three options I saw at that time vis-a-vis my dealings with the Grange Brotherhood.
Without further ado here it is, and I will have something brief to say afterwards:
-------------------------
It's quandary time: 1) I might join the Grange Brotherhood; 2) I might withdraw and ignore them; 3) I might take them on as an enemy. 1 2 3.
-------------------------
That's nice. It reminds me of one of my biggest fears in life, which I know is beside the point, but since I recall it now this is the time to set it down.
I used to hear about guys going out to the rock quandary near where we lived. But I myself never went to one, at least for the same reason they went there. The quandary, I guess, was abandoned when the vein had run dry (I know the feeling).
Anyway, what they left behind was a big hole that was filled with water. The rumor was that it was 400 feet deep or something. The guys would be out there swimming, maybe drinking, and a lot of foolish horseplay would ensue. I heard of a few guys drowning out there. So it's very dangerous. 1) It's the middle of the night; 2) These guys are fools; 3) There's no supervision; 4) You get the idea.
It is a very succinct reiteration of something I said on my post, basically the three options I saw at that time vis-a-vis my dealings with the Grange Brotherhood.
Without further ado here it is, and I will have something brief to say afterwards:
-------------------------
It's quandary time: 1) I might join the Grange Brotherhood; 2) I might withdraw and ignore them; 3) I might take them on as an enemy. 1 2 3.
-------------------------
That's nice. It reminds me of one of my biggest fears in life, which I know is beside the point, but since I recall it now this is the time to set it down.
I used to hear about guys going out to the rock quandary near where we lived. But I myself never went to one, at least for the same reason they went there. The quandary, I guess, was abandoned when the vein had run dry (I know the feeling).
Anyway, what they left behind was a big hole that was filled with water. The rumor was that it was 400 feet deep or something. The guys would be out there swimming, maybe drinking, and a lot of foolish horseplay would ensue. I heard of a few guys drowning out there. So it's very dangerous. 1) It's the middle of the night; 2) These guys are fools; 3) There's no supervision; 4) You get the idea.
And Then...Silence
I'm sitting here in rank silence.
The swirl of events that was the grange dance, the lead-up to it, getting there, being tested to the absolute max by a bevy of grange matrons on full display in the grove, being sustained against the hooves of assassin horses, then actually enjoying the dance and my time, is all so fresh in my mind that I am silenced.
I feel like I'm torn, to be honest, between competing, insistent impulses. Having passed the test, assuming there aren't others yet to come, I could very well be on my way to becoming a member of the Grange Brotherhood, if that's what I wanted. That would be a big step, because at that point I'd be a part of something vast, with underground connections, the long reach of organizational tentacles, and access to the mechanics of testing others. At this time next year I might be dressed like Spy vs. Spy and sitting in a tree with binoculars, flashing signals up the road.
Or I could withdraw from the whole thing -- which is what I believe Grandpa did -- and let them more or less forget me, melting back into city life, refusing to go back to the country. While the Brotherhood no doubt never forgets, even they are surely not forever rustling through their files looking for people to provoke. It has to be the same with them as with the rest of us, that in the course of time old grudges are pushed to the back burner. I know for me personally, something will seem crucially important one week, but then two weeks later it's forgotten completely, or at least the minor details.
With the Brotherhood, they are of course subject to mortality as are we all. Generations rise up and fall, and even many of their own sons leave. You'd think that'd give them some pause to reflect on pursuing others who may have lapsed, if they can't even keep the screws tight on their own children. I'm convinced of it. Maybe a grange master was very hard nosed in the '30s or '40s, back in Grandpa's heyday, when, they say, his reluctance to go to the country began, although I wasn't yet born and can't say much about it.
But grange masters come and go. I don't know who they've all been or even who the current master is. But they don't start out masters. So I assume they take on some of the same tone, perhaps unwillingly, of the society as a whole. In this day it'd be Live and Let Live, or aspects of that. It could be the grange master likes to keep up appearances only but is himself a very cool guy. The normal rough and tumble when he's acting officially, but laid back at home. I just don't know.
So I could join with the Brotherhood, or I could withdraw silently and forever shun the country.
The third option is obviously the one most fraught with peril, and that is to take on the Grange Brotherhood head on. After all, why should I have been subject to their terrible testing? Just because I went into the country? Just because I wanted the pleasure of a dance and perhaps a relationship that would lead to matrimony and child bearing? Who gave these guys the right to decide who lives and dies? Maybe I've been marked all along. It would explain a lot of the disappointments of my life. Let's say they had it in for Grandpa because of something that he did in the '40s. And so they've been following me, making my life miserable.
These are not the ways of an organization that have people's best interests at heart. These instead are the ways of an organization that is acting out of paranoia, the lust or will for power, and it's very reactionary. There's no legitimate reason why I should've been threatened with death a couple nights ago! I'm a man, not target practice for a horse.
What I will do ... is something for me to contemplate ... in the counsel of my own heart ... with the light and dark alternately rising and descending ... in personal silence and stewing ...
The swirl of events that was the grange dance, the lead-up to it, getting there, being tested to the absolute max by a bevy of grange matrons on full display in the grove, being sustained against the hooves of assassin horses, then actually enjoying the dance and my time, is all so fresh in my mind that I am silenced.
I feel like I'm torn, to be honest, between competing, insistent impulses. Having passed the test, assuming there aren't others yet to come, I could very well be on my way to becoming a member of the Grange Brotherhood, if that's what I wanted. That would be a big step, because at that point I'd be a part of something vast, with underground connections, the long reach of organizational tentacles, and access to the mechanics of testing others. At this time next year I might be dressed like Spy vs. Spy and sitting in a tree with binoculars, flashing signals up the road.
Or I could withdraw from the whole thing -- which is what I believe Grandpa did -- and let them more or less forget me, melting back into city life, refusing to go back to the country. While the Brotherhood no doubt never forgets, even they are surely not forever rustling through their files looking for people to provoke. It has to be the same with them as with the rest of us, that in the course of time old grudges are pushed to the back burner. I know for me personally, something will seem crucially important one week, but then two weeks later it's forgotten completely, or at least the minor details.
With the Brotherhood, they are of course subject to mortality as are we all. Generations rise up and fall, and even many of their own sons leave. You'd think that'd give them some pause to reflect on pursuing others who may have lapsed, if they can't even keep the screws tight on their own children. I'm convinced of it. Maybe a grange master was very hard nosed in the '30s or '40s, back in Grandpa's heyday, when, they say, his reluctance to go to the country began, although I wasn't yet born and can't say much about it.
But grange masters come and go. I don't know who they've all been or even who the current master is. But they don't start out masters. So I assume they take on some of the same tone, perhaps unwillingly, of the society as a whole. In this day it'd be Live and Let Live, or aspects of that. It could be the grange master likes to keep up appearances only but is himself a very cool guy. The normal rough and tumble when he's acting officially, but laid back at home. I just don't know.
So I could join with the Brotherhood, or I could withdraw silently and forever shun the country.
The third option is obviously the one most fraught with peril, and that is to take on the Grange Brotherhood head on. After all, why should I have been subject to their terrible testing? Just because I went into the country? Just because I wanted the pleasure of a dance and perhaps a relationship that would lead to matrimony and child bearing? Who gave these guys the right to decide who lives and dies? Maybe I've been marked all along. It would explain a lot of the disappointments of my life. Let's say they had it in for Grandpa because of something that he did in the '40s. And so they've been following me, making my life miserable.
These are not the ways of an organization that have people's best interests at heart. These instead are the ways of an organization that is acting out of paranoia, the lust or will for power, and it's very reactionary. There's no legitimate reason why I should've been threatened with death a couple nights ago! I'm a man, not target practice for a horse.
What I will do ... is something for me to contemplate ... in the counsel of my own heart ... with the light and dark alternately rising and descending ... in personal silence and stewing ...
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Tweets - 08-08-2009
The first one is not a tweet. This is the preamble to the tweets, which are recorded here daily or as often as I can manage, that my children, if I should ever meet a girl and have kids, will have a full record of what their father said. Every word being holy, I hate to commit linguistic onanism by having any of them fall to the ground:
Hey, it's 08-08 today, which with August being our fattest month, and it being the eighth, that's a very fat combination. What would be fatter? August 28 looks pretty big. Let me run through the possibilities. 20, 22, 26, 28, 29. Those are good sized, the 6 has a beer belly, the 9 a fat head. But 8 is big on both ends. Anyway...
Now that I have a feed back to Twitter when they get the bugs worked out of it, it's going to be sort of like double posting, but these will only have some kind of small 140 character (thereabouts) feed link, so it's no big deal.
Here they are, without further preamble:
What a great dance last night! But I saw things that the eye of man is not meant to see. Just like in the song 'Mama Told Me Not To Come.'
RT @jimmywellington: I wonder what Nietzche would think of Superman Underoos. | If Underoos are underwear, Nietzsche would prefer Uberwear.
I'm not going to say everything that goes on in the bathroom, but I'm starting to think maybe the I DID IT dance isn't necessary every time.
Amazing Race, how sweet it was But is that show still on? I watched it years ago, but haven't 4 a while. I'm wondering if it's here or gone.
-------------------------
Shout out to Jimmy Wellington (jimmywellington): You need to be a follower of me in return. I like seeing your funny writings.
"grandmaslump" on Twitter.
Hey, it's 08-08 today, which with August being our fattest month, and it being the eighth, that's a very fat combination. What would be fatter? August 28 looks pretty big. Let me run through the possibilities. 20, 22, 26, 28, 29. Those are good sized, the 6 has a beer belly, the 9 a fat head. But 8 is big on both ends. Anyway...
Now that I have a feed back to Twitter when they get the bugs worked out of it, it's going to be sort of like double posting, but these will only have some kind of small 140 character (thereabouts) feed link, so it's no big deal.
Here they are, without further preamble:
What a great dance last night! But I saw things that the eye of man is not meant to see. Just like in the song 'Mama Told Me Not To Come.'
RT @jimmywellington: I wonder what Nietzche would think of Superman Underoos. | If Underoos are underwear, Nietzsche would prefer Uberwear.
I'm not going to say everything that goes on in the bathroom, but I'm starting to think maybe the I DID IT dance isn't necessary every time.
Amazing Race, how sweet it was But is that show still on? I watched it years ago, but haven't 4 a while. I'm wondering if it's here or gone.
-------------------------
Shout out to Jimmy Wellington (jimmywellington): You need to be a follower of me in return. I like seeing your funny writings.
"grandmaslump" on Twitter.
The Big Dance
I'm operating on just a few hours of sleep this morning, so I hope this all comes out OK. I got in late after spending a few eventful hours at the Friday night grange dance.
For those of you who know my area, it's down the hill, then south a few miles, then you turn back west. About halfway down that road, take a left and it's on your right side, just a piece. All along the way I was thinking of how many people have taken this route ... and how many never came back.
I was driving slowly, very reticent about the whole thing. Along the way I'd glance up into a tree and see one of the Grange Brotherhood leaning against the trunk about 10 feet up. Up ahead, then, I might see a small mirror in another tree flashing somewhere else in the vicinity, who knows where. And maybe arms waving. All very subtle. (They need to have me as a member. I could teach them some of the first principles of stealth.)
Steadily I made progress, frankly afraid. I started thinking, It's been a good run. I've enjoyed life for the most part. And if I die tonight, they'll probably think of something nice to say at my funeral.
I got there and parked and walked toward the grange. I had regained my courage, since everything seemed so normal. The strangest thing I saw was an old farmer leading a team of about 10 horses from around back over toward the fence at the grove.
Johnny Hotshot's band was already playing and couples were dancing. I felt my wallflower nature coming on. But I went over by the drinks table and had a few and finally worked up the courage to approach a young lady -- a farmer's daughter in the tightest little blue jeans cutoffs -- over by the former grange masters portraits.
Just then, I don't know what it was -- there must've been something in the drinks -- I felt woozy and started to swoon. This is where it got interesting. You remember how I'm an expert in Group Dynamics and Human Environmental Science? As soon as I got woozy I felt something physically move in my brain. Like mental overdrive. Imagine you saw a jeweler take out a super loupe and stick it in his eye, and he's able to evaluate an entire diamond mine at 50 paces. It was like that.
I staggered up against the wall, and my eye went funny, with everything about the inside of that grange being mentally mapped, with chart lines, labels and everything, including all body language of the people, right down to a scientific understanding of the corsages the women were wearing. All in a flash. I even perceived the band was about to take a break. And it turned out later they did!
I had asked the young lady to dance. But in that fateful instant her face flashed and I saw the outlines of an orange beak momentarily flicker. Then two men across the room, looking normal in every respect, except another flashing came and in that instant each wore black hoods. They were signaling to her to take me outside. She steadied me and I went with her willingly but with complete understanding of the nature of this tryst, that there could be no trust. My hopes of getting lucky were never realistic in the first place.
She led me toward the grove, obviously for the romantic charades. And indeed, I saw couples scattered on the grass, apparently intoxicated and beside themselves. One woman was being chased across the lawn by a farmer with the handle off a scythe. She was giggling and her top was unbuttoned.
And then I saw it! Over next to one tree, there it was, the thing that I thought lived only in sick legends, but there it was in fact, a full blown figure eight orgy! Next I glanced over where the trees are thickest and there were the horses from before! This was it! I was being led over here to test my morals. And if I dared so much as to touch my zipper, it would happen. One or more of those brute horses would rear up, let out a dreadful "hee haw!" and I would immediately be kicked to death. And deserved it too, knowing all I know.
At that second I had a choice to make, which was no choice. She was offering her honor, but would I honor her offer? Absolutely, positively not! The Group Dynamic SLASH Human Environment was as plain as the beak on her face. It was the oldest Grange Brotherhood trick in the book. The supposed "lovers" huffing and puffing? Every eye was on me so I looked away. If I'd been kicked to death, they would've separated without a woman's sigh. And I would've made my bed in a shallow grave, with the horses being led back to the barn and given an extra large lump of sugar.
But not tonight... I'm sorry I had to disappoint those horses and their big bucked sweet tooth.
Back inside, the band was coming back from their break. We danced. And I danced with a few of the old grange wives, careful to keep their big ponderous bosoms from touching me even if it meant dancing at arms length. I could see some of the Brotherhood, husbands standing in the shadows by the curtains just off the stage. Endlessly testing me. I definitely wasn't going to get lucky with any of these gals.
I enjoyed a few more drinks, did some more human environment mapping and group dynamics mental filing and went home. All in all, for the most part, I'd have to say it was a lovely evening.
-------------------
* The photo collage does not represent the actual people and animals at the grange. It is for illustrative purposes only. The farmer's daughter wasn't quite that cute.
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