The Writing Walls are Crumbling.

Tags

Biden, bipartisan, debate, discussion, left wing, moving forward, right wing, Trump, walls

I have had a very hard time blogging over the past four years. It wasn’t just Donny and his insane cabal but his many followers. I have unfriended many people during this reign, and I have blocked many of them. And I did try to listen. I tried to understand the divide, not just in America but in Canada and around the world . I have teased and ridiculed not only Donny but these followers. I knew converting the mindless was not possible, but they were never my target. I targeted the middle-of-the road centrists, the non-partisan voters who see truth above party politics. Unfortunately, these people tend to be more laissez-faire and vote less than the indoctrinated [on both sides]. Biden winning the vote feels like a victory but a tainted one. We are not in a good place.

Now that we have a change on the horizon, can I dump the farcical memes and get back to arguing with logic? I hope I can. I hope we all can. I would much rather see far-righters and far-lefties write out what they believe and openly discuss their arguments. I would hope we can all sit down quietly, read others’ stances on issues, and work to some consensus. It is this back and forth playing with ideas that moves us forward. It is how I move my writings forward. I don’t write knock-out stories in one go. It takes many tries of pushing that theme or pushing this character or pushing that conflict. All of my best writing has come from pushing into areas I never ended up in. The same is true, I believe, for moving forward in social and political discourse. Life is story, and those of us who write a lot of story can attest that what we think is best almost always is not.

I could not write much about life these past four years because so many have adopted views of life I do not agree with. And no, it is not just the righties. I am anti-government. When governments in my Canada want to implement new programs, I cringe, because I know my government’s debts will rise with no compensating benefit. Too many pay no service at all to our enormous debts.

What do I want to Write About?

The list is long, and I don’t claim to be qualified to write about much of it. But the following is a quick list.

• Socialism
  • what is it?
  • where should social policies fit in a capitalistic society?
  • what do Liberals really want?
  • what are Conservatives afraid of?
• Competition
  • I am for competition, when it makes sense
  • when does competition not make sense?
  • how do we manage non-competitive units so everyone is happy?
• Executive Accountability
  • this is currently a critical problem in not only America but in Canada and around the world
• Taxation
  • does the low-taxation-of-billionaires model make sense?
  • what is the logical management perspective on achieving good government?
  • of course, taxation of expatriates and management of tax fraud.
• Reading and Writing
  • I work at my writing every day. I have many ideas on making writing more interesting and relevant
  • reading is a forgotten skill. We have millions of experts who do not read anything more than Facebook posts or their favorite news headlines
  • how to correctly punctuate lists 😉
• Racial Injustice
  • unfortunately, the list is endless!
• My many other interests: books, fountain pens, inks, poetry, nutrition, diabetes, and more.

There is so much to write about and such little time to do it. I’ve been sitting on my hands for so long, I don’t really know if I can do this. Is Humpty Trumpty falling off the wall enough to get me back into this? But of course I have to write. The only way we’re going to move forward as a civilization is through discourse and debate. I remember when the Berlin Wall started to come down. It was the day my firstborn entered the world. I was so hopeful. The world really did seem to offer a brighter future. But of course we’ve erected replacement walls, and unfortunately we always will. I think the purpose of my writing and many other blogs has to be the dismantling of walls. These ideological walls need to crumble.

National Poetry Month, PAD #7.

Tags

egg salad sandwiches, faith, god, jesus, religious nuts, Salin in the spirit

This is my seventh year of writing a poem a day (PAD) during National Poetry Month, April. I wrote a poem every day; though I think a couple times I didn’t post until the next day. I participate at Writers Digest Poetic Asides blog run by Robert Lee Brewer, the poetry editor for the magazine.

Robert usually gives a one-word prompt every morning. Often they will be posted at 6AM or earlier; though some days he obviously sleeps in until noon. As poetry editor, he certainly has the right. He at least has my permission. Robert likes us to name our titles after the prompt: pick a bug, title your poem with its name, and write the poem. I of course ignore such direction. For me a prompt is a trigger. I let it trigger a memory, an image, or a vague sensation, and once a word, a phrase, or an entire line takes hold, I write. It usually takes me about ten minutes to write my poems.

This was not a productive year. This is my year of the short story; which is largely why I haven’t posted in a while.. Also it’s because of #45, for I am afraid of what I might write. But back to important things: poetry. I wrote maybe 33 poems, and I did write every day. The thing is, my wife and I bought a new home in late March. We hadn’t planned to, but a house we had our eyes on dropped significantly in price. We said what the hell and bought it. We closed within two weeks, before our rent was up, and we took most of April to move. Our furniture arrived April 20. The house is a mess, and it may be years before we’re settled. It’s 29 years old and needs work. The electricians have been in and will be again. Plumbers replace all the copper tomorrow. New dishwasher, washer, and dryer have been ordered. A new Fridge might be ordered. We painted the entire place. We floored the basement (was cement). We ripped the basement steps carpet up and the steps still reek. The NB Power inspector comes this week to see if we qualify for rebates on improvements — the air exchanger is shot, the ducts need cleaning, and we want a heat pump. Not much time available for reading and writing. Not like I want.

here is a poem I wrote from two prompts. The first was the senses (one or all six) and the second prompt was write a response poem (to an earlier poem if possible). This poem is about a non-believer (in God/Jesus) who tries this nonsense and ends up staring at the ceiling lights while convulsing; the response is the pastor’s version (who we are led to believe in part one has no faith himself) who paints the person as a hopeless case as only the faithful can be slain (and evidence suggests that being slain is nothing but a self-fulfilling prophecy). But God has other plans, and both are humbled. Enjoy!

Slain
*if you don’t know what Slain in the Spirit is, watch this. 

You can feel it inside you
The command of God to fall and flail

You can smell his cologne wafting
Strong enough to knock you over

You can taste the after-service sandwiches
Eggs whipped to a frenzy, held together with mayo

You can see the fear in his eyes
For he knows neither of you believe

You feel his push and you laugh
Was he expecting miracles?

You stare at convulsing lights
In that fashion that says you missed something

A Gentle Touch

You stroll up here full of doubt
Want to see what it’s all about

No expectations to fall or speak
Slinking through life with no left cheek

All you really want is to turn and leave
To mingle with the women on this summer eve

Your eyes are empty distant shells
Your fingers caress your Samsung cell

I touch you gently for your fear is real
You fall and flail, and I bow and kneel

 

 

Trump and Climate Change

Tags

Algae Fuel, Climate Change, Donal Trump, Nuclear Fuel, Paris Agreement, POTUS, President Trump, Solar Power, Trump, Wind Power

So the Donald has pulled out of the Paris agreement and the world is doomed. At least that’s the initial reaction I see from many. If you believe in science — how anyone can not believe in science baffles me — then you already realize this hardly makes any difference. Climate change will happen regardless of how we try to stall it. Say goodbye to the east coast of North America.

Before we all drown, we will become poorer. At least Americans will, the populace anyway. The rich will keep on getting richer. I am talking about oil. Trump is committed to maintaining fossil fuels as America’s fuel: oil, coal, and gas. No need for all these windmills and solar farms. No need for more dams. No need for new alternative fuels like algae oil. No need for clean, safe nuclear power.

The world is moving to new fuels. I now see wind farms in my remote corner of the continent, and “net-zero” solar homes are making the news here. Some countries, like Germany, are targeting 60% of their energy from renewables in the very near future. One day in 2016 they achieved 95% and even hit a point of negative cost where they paid people to use electricity. Current estimates have the USA meeting their energy demands from only 19% renewable energy sources.

What’s amazing is that the economics are so clear. It costs a hell of a lot of money to extract fossil fuels, and it’s only going to get more expensive. New coal is deeper than old coal was, and new oil is in more hostile environments. Can you imagine drilling in the arctic where the oil runs as thick as tar? Can you imagine American workers revelling in -40c conditions to ensure their muscle cars run cheaply? While the rest of the world moves to alternative fuels, the economies of scale will make it cheaper. In summary, economic growth is in renewable fuels, whether America gets on board or not. I can see a future in the not too distant where the only major oil production is in the middle east and the American arctic. And of course Russia. They sail the same model of idiot boat that America’s alt-right does.

But corporations understand this. Oil companies are all engaged in algae research: algae oil can theoretically plug into much existing infrastructure like pipelines and refineries. It is a direct replacement for fossil fuels, a renewable fossil fuel. We are all moving forward to combat climate change anyway, regardless of anything President Trump does. And it’s because that is where the money is now focused.

So why all the opposition to the new money-making machine? Can the alt-right not bear to engage in change? Change is what made America supposedly great. My answer is, in part, American exceptionalism. I fight for tax freedom from American extra-territorial taxation, a practice completely at odds with its raison d’être — taxation without representation. But there are other areas America refuses to change. It sticks to its backward imperial measurement system; because, you know, it was devised by Americans. The USA refuses to consider changes to food guidance, despite the overwhelming evidence that sugar kills, not fat; because, you know, that will mean less money in their pockets. The country refuses to control guns, yet every other advanced country does. It refuses to supply universal healthcare, despite it making economic sense; because, well, it’s socialist, and we can’t have socialism. Fascism is fine, but fuck socialism.

What this decision comes down to, in my opinion, is power. The religious, alternative right thrive on slanting reality, and the only purpose is to achieve and maintain power. The attacks against the press, against the judiciary, the dismantling of institutions (like education), is nothing but megalomania. And this walking away from the Paris Agreement feeds into the alt-right propaganda machine. All the little Trumpian rednecks out there are ejaculating wildly over this victory, over the proof they are right and the lowly libtards are once again proven wrong. It’s a propaganda dance, and it’s dangerous. The danger here is not the planet being wiped out by the climate but being wiped out by our loss of freedoms. Donald Trump, the alt-right, the religious right, and any group who tries to impose their ideals on humanity is our real enemy. Anyone who cannot think, assess alternatives, and make decisions based on fact rather than stupid ideals (and yes, this includes much of the left wing, but they don’t hold the dice right now) is our real enemy.

Wake up and smell the real threats.

 

NaPoWriMo/PAD 2016 Day 25

For today’s prompt, write an exercise poem. The poem could be about a specific exercise, or it could just incorporate exercising into the poem. Or it could be dedicated to a piece of exercise equipment–so an ode to an elliptical machine or those hand grippers or something. Of course, not every exercise is physical; there are military exercises, mental exercises, and so on.

I think it’s important for us to work through our writing. Inspiration is rather easy to find. Read some news, read some blogs, take a walk through town, strike up a conversation, or just sit and watch and listen t people. If you can’t find inspiration, you’re not living. But turning these multitudinous triggers into poetry, prose, a blog, an essay, an article, or a comment on a news site is the hard part. It takes work, even when it’s easy.

Knowledge also helps. I won’t claim to be there yet, but I am working on it. Today I started on a little treasure I found at Value Village. In Rhyme and Reason, John Metcalf and Gordon Callaghan begin discussing connotation. They give seemingly endless exercises and only a few pages in I am seeing the worthiness of re-examining how words affect our writing.

If you were underweight, which word would you most like to be called? What does each word suggest?

1. Skinny
2. Scrawny
3. Slim

Simple exercises with far-reaching impacts.

My first poem came after a mid-morning nap. I’ll admit it: I was drinking last night. Our 4-men book club discussed Thucydides (because we still haven’t all read the beast) and Us Conductors, and it was my turn to provide drinks. I brought some Forty Creek Barrel Select Canadian whiskey and made Manhattans. I had also made my own bitters with Vodka, so we had the Manhattan and Russian angles of Us Conductors covered. Round two was the same but with Angostura Bitters for comparison. Both were good, but the traditional won 4 to 0.

Three ounces of alcohol a drink on a Sunday night with a chaser of straight whiskey because it’s so damned good, makes one drowsy on Monday mornings. I was up at 5:15am, made some coffee, and was back in bed by 9am, but with exercise triggers to ponder.

 

So here’s the first. It’s rather divided, but I think it has content to work with. I suspect an end result, if there ever is one, will look vastly different.

Untitled

Choices are thinning with the hair
There will be no more offspring for this old horse
no more free reigning, in greener fields
where the fillies hop and skip, and prepare
for their runs through the gates

The alarm with the disappearing slider wakes me
2:30 is early enough to eat, read, and catch the five o’clock news
Second sleeps might be luxuries, to the rodent racers
Those high-flying traders of options
But I exercise mine in my own good old time

The second came later, after dinner, after reading some Alice Munro and Metcalf, and after feeling primed to sit and write. So I sat, penned a poem, then edited it as I typed it in. It changed quite a bit as I typed. I think this one has more substance, but I am not happy with it. Pillars of Society. Some odd, disparate metaphor. Still, it has some potential imagery. I like Nixon square and the outreach line.

Pillars of Society

Sturdy, as the piles that hold the pier
the container ships dock and bump
Nixon square, offering basket holey
my eyes search for hope in my lone workout room
not hide in full halls, were the outreach works my pockets
the power-poles guard by wracked body, my racked mind
the only four pillars I trust, with weight on my chest
I wish the pillars of society were as reliable, were as strong
I wish I could revive them with simple protein drinks
and a designed exercise program
but I’m afraid he’s too lazy to care, anymore

 

America the Rock, America the Island

Tags

change, economic, growth, island, rock, technology

I am unhappy with my homeland. This realization has been slow developing but it has been steady. A person wants to believe their nation is a great country. American patriotism is an ingrained propaganda based on solid values. After 55 years, much of it remains but much has been whittled away. When you live abroad, you seem to pay closer attention to home than many homelanders do, but it is tempered with a much broader, global perspective. Americans, even the broader thinkers, are myopic to the core. I moved to Canada in 1970. My father was not a draft dodger but a teacher. He had a Masters of Music from UW in Madison which he later upgraded to a PhD. He took a job at the now defunct Nova Scotia Teacher’s College, and we settled into life in this new nation. It was exciting. It was eye-opening. And it was confusing. During grade three in Lodi WI, I made a complete and accurate map of South America. To me Canada was a red blob (the province of Ontario) in the arctic with little to offer but a rustic, backward, third world lifestyle. The quick discovery that Canada was a vibrant, cool place didn’t shock me. What bothered me, and what still bothers me, is I knew almost nothing about the nation.

Many times I have wondered how any American could be unhappy with their country. Unhappiness and disagreement are common and arguably necessary. One doesn’t improve without disagreement. But I mean vitriolic hate. My adult life has all been spent abroad, and I have heard such sentiments. I have no direct quotes, but these are generally not public figures. They hate violence; they hate war; and they hate America’s invasionary habits. While I am immensely unhappy with America, I don’t hate it. I don’t hate the people, as is a common sentiment among expats happy to live abroad who share my sentiments. I have family and friends there. I still hold strong American values, strong human values of right and wrong, of freedom, of liberty and the pursuit o happiness. I still think I hold noble values, but they’ve been tempered by said perspective. My pen [this post] writes to improve.

Living abroad, by no means perfect a perfect existence, has provided a more worldly view. Canada does suffer some of the isolation America does simply from its size and ocean borders, but we’re more multicultural and we have the large French population. We are a multinational nation. And of course we have the Queen. Many are still loyal here. Involvement in World Wars is much, much higher here, absolute and percentage, and ties to Britain and Europe are much higher. Gaelic is still spoken in parts of Nova Scotia. Partridge Island at my home Saint John was Canada’s Ellis Island for almost as many Irish. We think my ancestor Peter Boylan might have come through here in 1848 before making his way to Wisconsin. The truth is, of Jay Leno’s testing of the common citizen are true, I know much more about language, religion, multiculturalism, social-capitalistic balancing, elevating community values above individual (an no, this is not a euphemism for communism), the trade-offs that rule the free world outside the U.S. But we all come from the same stock, and this does not explain America’s myopia. Why America forgets and the rest of the word remembers needs deeper study.

The U.S. is polarized along every imaginable topic: politics, religion, social safety nets, income, race, gender, and even art. Pick a topic and America is divided on it. The government is corrupt, the media is corrupt, organized religion is corrupt, law enforcement is corrupt, the military is corrupt. Pick a topic. I guarantee the country is divided on it and each side thinks the other side is corrupt. My problem is I don’t see mere disagreement. I see more than disgust; I see unadultered hate. I see a nation divided with many sharp, deep wedges. If the dialog gets any drier, what kind of spark will set it off? Militant ranchers attacking a larger government facility? The Texas State Guard taking pot shots at U.S. Marines engaged in harmless exercises? A future president taking real action to limit individual freedoms, as in free speech? A third civil war sounds far-fetched to many, but if history is a measure, America is in trouble.

Is it any wonder America is filled with radicals? America was founded by religious nut bars escaping persecution of their fanaticism, capitalists searching for power and riches, the utterly destitute, refugee after refugee, hosts of military forces, and shipload after shipload of slaves. People with limited agendas, one-dimensional communities, either by free will or by others’ choices. It became hostile to its homelands, and took to arms. It fought off its oppressor and drove out tens of thousands of its own people in what many academics call America’s first civil war. Since 1765 it has isolated itself and thrust forward towards its Manifest Destiny delusions of grandeur. The open, mineral-rich land unencumbered by modern government succumbed and fueled its exasperated growth, and the South thrived on the backs of the blacks. Its pockets swelled. Its heads swelled. Its radicalism and racism entrenched in success.

This nation emits disturbing signals. It’s the “greatest nation on earth,” number one, the leader of the free world and keeper of the peace (right). It’s the land of freedom and democracy. It’s the land of religious freedom and tolerance. The reality is strikingly different. It’s the land that 65 years ago adopted (the Christian) God as its trusted leader. It’s a land that cannot support the United Nations and most other international movements because these are New World Order. It cannot adopt the metric system. It cannot consider changes in government because their constitution is an entrenched gospel. It is a people that arguably have never been able to think critically but for handfuls of academics and social blowhards. America was founded on unfettered growth, but even as they deny the world’s resources are fixed, it continues its mission, “Grow, grow, grow!” I don’t fully agree with Premier Trudeau (yes I have the right to say this), but I do agree with his criticism of Americans: “Americans should pay more attention to the world.” My own words are a little harsher, “Stop being so bloody myopic!”

The conservative in me says the nation suffers from the same inefficiencies its own conservatives claim to disdain: it lacks competition. The U.S. has no close, competitive neighbor. Europe is too busy fighting among themselves and is separated by an ocean. China and Southeast Asia are progressing rapidly and are arguably the modern America, but an even larger ocean separates them. Japan has been contained. Korea ignored. The only true pest since Hitler has been Russia. The U.S. has a monopoly on power, and it is easy to argue America has abused its own dominance to gain further advantage. They still thrive on economic slavery: the pennies an hour labor geared to produce the dollars per hour profits. It treats its own citizens as economic slaves, sucking billions a year through them from foreign economies. American corporations are moving abroad. G.E. and Johnson controls don’t hate America, but doing business abroad is without the American ball and chain. If state-run administration is a recipe for disaster through inefficiency, according to libertarian sentiment, then the U.S. is dying in its own made bed.

What Americans do not realize is the world is not only catching up but in many ways has passed them. We are generally more educated, better trained, more global, more accepting, and more adaptable. The religiously destitute nations excepted. Few countries need America’s help anymore; nobody wants America’s help anymore. We can build our own infrastructure; our computerization and technological advances are on par or better; our education systems are better; our basic research is broader; and our arts have always been more daring and artistic. The world no longer throws spears at the American white man and no longer fears her guns; we wave her away with the back of one hand while typing code with the other.

Whether Americans believe it or not, global warming is real and serious; whether Americans believe it or not, fossil fuel supplies are limited and will run out within hundreds of years; whether Americans believe it or not, metals and minerals are limited and when the crunch comes, all technology will feel the hurt; whether Americans believe it or not, we need a healthy natural world; whether Americans believe it or not, capitalism is not a panacea (I am a fan of competition, but it makes zero sense to make health and incarceration compete); whether Americans believe it or not, drugs are not the danger, guns are; whether Americans believe it or not, human health, education, and social wellbeing are community concerns, not individual; whether Americans believe it or not, kilometers, liters, and degrees Celsius are the better measures; whether Americans believe it or not, our lives are not pre-ordained by a 2000 year old book that is in actuality nowhere near that old; whether Americans believe it or not, evolution is scientifically valid and creationism a fairytale; and whether America believes it or not, it needs the rest of the world to survive.  America needs to dump its growth fetish and adopt the mantra, “Change, change, change!” America needs to join the world community of nations as an active participant.

But a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries.

Straightening Out My Crooked Manuscript

Tags

manuscript, motif, plot, subplot, symbol, theme

If you try to write novels, you know what my title means. You have finished a couple of drafts, the first a whirlwind of creativity and the second an attempt to fix holes with plaster. But now the story has problems. It begins well enough and ends superbly. If you could publish the first four chapters and the last three, you’d be on the NYT bestsellers list. But of course you can’t. That middle section is a cloudy, muddy cesspool.

We try to fix it. We think we have a plan. We sit down with the first scene and begin reading it with the intention of making changes. The scene feels okay on its own, but when you sit back and think how it fits in the story, you don’t have many concrete thoughts, good or bad. Your mind goes nowhere, so you go there as well. You pack it in and go do something else like work on a short story, a blog post, a rebuttal to the latest vegan science, replies to anti-climate changers, anti-vaxxers, anti-whateverers, a rebuttal to any extremist’s post on whatever topic, or maybe play a 32 hour game of Civ V.

Our stories got in this state by our own excessive creativity: it would be cool if Mr. Protagonist did this or that or maybe joined the Brazilian football team. Apparently they let anybody play for them. And this Germany-Brazil game is a good analogy of the state of my novel — a disaster of national proportions. How do we fix it? How do we make sure it all makes sense, flows progressively and logically, all of the unnecessary verbiage is removed, and all of the black hole gaps are filed in. No traces of angst are left. Nobody can see the panty lines or skid marks of your novel. How do we sort it all out?

I decided to perform some technical analysis. TA is structured, objective analysis of a situation and often involves numerical indicators. I did not use any statistics. I examined my interfaces. I will describe what I did in point form so you can easily use this as a checklist if you wish.

1. I wrote a one sentence description of my story in this form — Protagonist learns to do this instead of that.
2. I reviewed all my scene headings and wrote a list of my subplots. I ended up with nine.
3. For each subplot I wrote
a. A description
b. Its pros
c. Its cons
d. Its character building contribution
4. Constructed a matrix to cross reference all subplots with
a. Relationship (echo, foil, etc.) *my knowledge of such descriptors is thin
b. Whether the current line contributes tot he cross-referenced line.
c. Conflict arising from plots meeting either against each other or in support of each other.
5. On the back of the page I wrote a paragraph for each line-line relationship. I labeled them 1.2, 1.3, 1.4, etc. I tried to write how this relationship should work.
6. I recorded any gaps in a list

I spent time on this. I did one sheet a day and I thought deeply about these lines and relationships. They say you should have no more than three subplots, so nine is way too high. But, bear with me. I think I extended the definition of a plot. At least three of these are more rightly called themes. Others, while they do have events, do not flow like plots. They are more like objects or symbols. When I filtered it all down to their exact definitions, I really only have two full subplots, maybe three if I stretch it. Regardless of definition, I examined my manuscript from nine different angles or dimensions. It feels like I examined a house I want to buy from all possible angles — roof, basement, walls, rooms, electrical, plumbing, heating, windows, doors, landscape, etc. Do these rooms fit this house? Do these trees match the shape of the house? Are there enough electrical outlets? Too many? Are there enough baths? Too many? What happens if my kids come home to live with us and five of us need to take showers every morning? Will that work? Is it realistic? One gets to know one’s house by asking such questions. One gets to know one’s manuscript by asking such questions.

You have a tough, mangled manuscript? Ask hard questions. Identify its important aspects (subplot, theme, symbol, motif, etc.) then ask how each aspect interfaces with each other aspect. Document gaps as well as pointless prose, though that will likely come out as you edit. Learn your story from the inside out by looking at it from all possible angles.

Tomorrow I edit!

PAD 2014 – End Of Week One – Highlights

Tags

discovery, humanity, night, since

I am not going to post the other eight of the nine poems I have written in this first week of National Poetry Month where I write at least one poem a day at Writer’s Digest Poetry Asides blog. I know I have said this before, but I know very little about poetry; I know very little about writing. The one thing I am sure I know is to trust your Muse. When your Muse speaks to you, you are compelled to drop everything and follow her. Failure to do so is failure as a writer. I run a weekly prompt writing group and it is all about chasing our muses. Everybody who shows up writes something that sparkles in the darkness. That is all I am attempting to do this month and whenever I write poetry: find some hidden truth and shine a light on it.

Day 4 exposed some anger in me, and honestly, I am not sure where it comes from. Extreme Republicans are suspects; though Canadian socialists (NDP) rub me the wrong way too. Or perhaps it is a certain case of academic dishonesty that rankles me. It is definitely not about my wife. I don’t know; it just wrote itself on the page:

Day 4 Prompt: Since ___?___

Irreconcilable Differences

Since when does it matter what I think?
You always do it your way.
Since when does it matter if the boat sinks?
You will ride your omnipotent wave.

Since when do you value another?
You live your life as you please.
Since when have you tried to get closer?
You’re nothing but a big tease.

Since when have you noticed me glisten?
You think you are so cool.
Since when have you stopped to listen?
I am nobody’ fool.

Day five was a weird one. I barely remember writing it, so I cannot begin to tell you what my muse said to me. I found myself writing these words. The bookstore bits somehow seems to cling to a vision of “You’ve Got Mail” with Tom Hanks in what’s her name’s bookstore. Was he even in there? Was there sexual tension? My muse thought so:

Day 5 Prompt: Discovery

Serendipity

Life’s little mysteries happen by mistake.
An extra scoop of beans.
Oh, I guess I do like strong coffee,
I posted in my tweet.

I got in a wrong lane yesterday
Did you know there is a cool used book store hiding on that street?
I touched you on the back with my shoulder
And you shivered in the heat.

I feel rather excited about my Day 6 poem. I am not going to pretend it is good, but it feels good to me. Every line makes me think about my life and who I am, what I believe in, what I want. I am even considering somehow using it as a personal mantra. The thing is, the rhyming pattern AAAAAAAAAAAAA is such a poem is difficult to write. I won’t lie; I wrote this in under five minutes. I would have finished faster, but I needed to go to rhymezone.com and harvest a few more words rhyming with the prompt: night.

Day 6 prompt: Night

When people can stay out of a fight
but not run away in fright
When we can make love in the light
and not be afraid of the night
When I am wrong and you are right
and we do not get upset at a sight
When we all know we are bright
and nobody is trite
When we all take a bite
of humanity’s plight
When we trade in our might
for the desire to write
Then everything will be alright.

Write On!

Cain, Abel, and Vegans

Tags

Able, bible, Cain, cognitive dissonance, humor, vegan, veganism

I post this entry with trepidation. Too often I see the Bible referred to as prescriptive — live like that and go to hell forever; live like this and live forever. For the literary soul in me, this is mythology at its finest. Samples of this extreme faith have abounded throughout history and continue today. I do not want to delve into that mess. I do not want to write about silly creationism, the biblical basis of America’s Manifest Destiny, modern Christian privilege, biblical arguments on homophobia, or anything else biblical, not seriously, not with the intent of stirring up hatred; for that’s all it will do. In my opinion most of these arguments and practices are simple defense mechanisms against cognitive dissonance — self justification because you have no rational means of figuring out how to resolve issues. This is a light hearted post. I believe it as much as I believe in Tarot cards or rabbits feet. Because this is a cognitive dissonance related topic, I expect many people will take this post in a way I won’t appreciate. Do not preach religion to me. If you have no problem preaching, I have no problem deleting.

I’ve seen many websites extoll the virtues of vegetarianism or veganism and try to use biblical passages to support their stance. I accuse this because I feel it is true. I do not think people wonder how to eat, decide to research the bible for guidance, and then choose. I believe people choose how they eat then use the bible to back up their claims. The easy defenses are to claim the bible is an irrelevant, outdated storybook and that the wheat today is not the wheat Jesus ate. Either way it then becomes a faith battle and neither side will win the other.

I won’t refer all of the hackneyed sites out there quoting passage after passage supporting vegetarian lifestyles — they are all hackneyed in my view — but I will link to Wikipedia. Most sites I’ve seen probably use this page as a reference. It contains a remarkable collection of biblical passages supporting vegetarianism. I argue the list is not complete. It omits the first and possibly most important biblical food story of all — Cain and Abel.

So let’s get to the beginning of it all — GENESIS. The Cain and Abel story. Most of us don’t remember its details. We know they were Adam’s sons and they fought. Why and who won, probably most Christians have to look up. The story runs like this,

Cain was a vegan and Abel an animal eater. God told Cain he was an idiot, so Cain got upset. He posted a website calling Abel an evil bastard, then he killed him. He and his kin have been pumping their misguided hatred ever since.

It’s the simplest and earliest explanation for today’s online vegan who regurgitates baseless fact, pseudo-science, and vitriolic accusations of animal murder at those not of their ilk. It completely explains their modern, misguided behavior. Vegans must have genetic, direct lineage to the dark Cain himself.

Later, as God was checking Facebook, he discovered Abel’s account was hacked.

Cain, you’re a little turd. I banish you to outback of Australia where you shall live with half naked beautiful women who never get fully naked, ever, where you will eat nothing but bananas and durian fruit, where you will be plagued for eternity by large, constant, fluffy, and stinky poop, and your accounts will be constantly hacked and bombarded by intellectual superiors. Good God, what was I thinking when I created you?

And there you have it, the modern descendant of God’s black sheep Cain, the modern vegan. It’s the only explanation that makes sense to me; therefore it must be true.

From Wikipedia, mostly:

Genesis narrative

Cain leadeth Abel to death, by James Tissot paired with an image depicting modern Vegan misinterpretation.

Hebrew Bible version:

¹Adam knew his wife Eve intimately, and she conceived and bore Cain. She said, “I have had a male child with the LORD‘s help.”^a[›]2Then she also gave birth to his brother Abel. Now Abel became a shepherd of a flock, but Cain cultivated the land. ³In the course of time Cain presented some of the land’s produce as an offering to the LORD. ⁴And Abel also presented [an offering]^b[›] — some of the firstborn of his flock and their fat portions.^c[›] The Lord had regard for Abel and his offering, ⁵but He did not have regard for Cain and his offering. Cain was furious, and he was downcast.^[6]6Then the LORD said to Cain, “Why are you furious? And why are you downcast?^{[7] 7}If you do right, won’t you be accepted? But if thou do not do right, sin is crouching at the door. Its desire is for you, but you must master it.”⁸Cain said to his brother Abel, “Let’s go out to the field.”^[8]And while they were in the field, Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him.

—Genesis 4:1-8 (HCSB)

After this, God said to Cain, “What hast you done? The voice of thy brother’s blood crieth out to Me from the ground! So now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother’s blood from thy hand. When thou farm the ground, it shall not yield good crops to you! Thou shall be a fugitive and a vagabond on the earth! (Genesis 4:10-4:12)

Church Worship Band Poetry

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music, worship

I love going to church. Not because I’m particularly faithful. The truth is I’m highly skeptical about religion. I love going because it puts me into a creativity zone I rarely find elsewhere. I have come up with many scenes and story ideas while listening to sermons and church music. It’s not the only reason I go, but it’s the only reason relevant to this blog.

Our church plays loud music. The program runs like this, forty minutes of loud music, ten minutes of coffee and chat, and forty minutes of preaching/teaching. For me it’s nearly two hours of sinking into storyland.

Yesterday I decided to open my notebook and actively write while the band played. I wrote a couple of pages worth, mostly crap, but I had fun. Maybe it is sacrilegious, disrespectful, and wrong. I don’t think so. If God isn’t in favor of human creativity, then he’s no God of mine.

Here are a couple of poems I wrote. Don’t laugh too hard.

The Drummer

The cymbal floats
hovering
waiting for the personal touch
that tap that will make it sing
and nod in agreement with the human spirit
and its need for belonging

The Violist

You hold your instrument like a plucked hen
and your bow like a butcher’s knife
and when you raise them and play
the room full of chickens flap their wings in praise
for they can easily see God
but they refuse to see death

Yes, it’s an eclectic band 😉

Short Story Action

Doesn’t it always happen this way? I’m editing full speed ahead. My current novel is at page 150 of 256. The quality and completeness steadily grows. Then wham, I’m hit in the head with other ideas.

I recently experienced three short, interesting snippets of life. One happened Sunday at church, the next happened somewhere un-remembered, but I wrote it down, and the third happened while writing to a prompt during Wednesday’s writing group. I do not want to explain them, but they all involved a person who didn’t fit, an awkward, imaginative oddball kid. I felt the relationships, and I recognized three as the magic number of events, so I quickly whipped up a short story using all three.

It sucked.

Actually it flowed really well and I liked the voice, but the main theme escaped me. I ended up with the person being an adult in an adult situation, but his situation did not tie into the events.

Yeah, so I sat on it for a couple of weeks.

Last Sunday I was at church again — it’s a great place to get ideas. I think it is a mood thing. It is a very introspective service, loud rock music and meaningful sermons. Ha. I’d met a member and her daughter a day or two earlier in a café. Cute little thing. So was the kid. Anyway, I saw the kid again Sunday and watched her while the band played. The story grabbed me by the throat, choked me, and threw me down on the cheap tiles. Good God, I thought, can I write that?

I did the next morning. 4500 words. I brought it to my writers group Wednesday and had two confidants edit it for me. I re-edited it Thursday, and took it in town Friday to edit it again. Let’s just say it is about a little girl who prophecizes — is that a word? I am not a religious person, and I listen to the gospels with a writer’s demeanor. Curious stuff. I sat at Starbucks with my wife, and I told her I  had this story I didn’t want her to read, at least not yet. I said I needed someone who is intimate with fundamental, right wing Christianity, someone who understands prophecy, but someone who can read it objectively and not take offense. Oh, there is excess reason to take offense, if it offends you that is. I’ll say no more. She suggested someone we had just met, an ex-minister who had apparently sinned so greviously that he is now selling cars. Must have been a doozy, eh? I thought he sounded okay, but then suddenly my revelation appeared. Across the hall of the mall I saw Dan. Not my coffee shop Dan, but a real Dan. He is Jewish, educated, introspective, philosophical, and a friend. He fills in leading the local Rabbi-less synagogue and is considering publishing a book of his essays he has used. His idea is to make it available to the multitude of Rabbi-less synagogues around the world for free. He sat down with us, my wife left, and I asked him about prophecy. Wow, he talked for twenty minutes straight and he left with a copy of my piece. He had to read the first paragraph first, though. I am happy to say he really wanted to finish it.

So this weekend I’ve edited them both, and I edited the first story again this morning. I sat out on the deck and read it to the cats. The few errors I had left jumped out, and now my dear wife has a copy. There are a number of contests with April 30 deadlines, and I am seriously considering submitting this story. This begs the question, though — what is the lifecycle of story marketing? I’m thinking contest or contests followed by major literary journals followed by minor literary journals followed by maybe a zine? Is it alright to submit to multiple contests? What do I do when Joe Blow contest gives me an honorable mention? Do I then tell Tom Howard I no longer wish to qualify? Oh to have such a problem!

Wish me luck.

Tom Howard/John H. Reid Short Story Contest

Lorian Hemingway Short Story Competition