Six

I was only six, but confident I could mix
The perfect chocolate cake,
Ingredients for fudge, we beat like a grudge,
Cooked and poured onto what we baked.
There was chicken, and the kitchen
Smelled like pure happiness.
I was heroic, stalwart, stoic,
Helping to clean the mess,
Biked to the lake, after the cake,
Swimming like a fish under the waves,
Home to read a book; libraries: I’m hooked,
Is that how a six year old behaves?

Response to prompt provided by:
https://ladyleemanila.wordpress.com/2015/09/30/lifes-a-candy-store-daily-prompt/

Mixed Nut

Mixed Nut, 9/30/2015, Deon Mumple

I am a mixed nut, in an emotional stir, tears, rage, and laughter,
Am I being toasted, fried, or am I being burned?  Unsure,
Heated stress expresses aromatic oils, peppery, searing anger
Most frequently, simply to be left alone is the easiest dream,
Because, forced to interact, all I want to do is scream,
But quietly I’ll lie when asked, masked, “Yes, I’m just fine!”
I dream the deep green softness of her eyes, chilled welcoming wine,
Still in utter disbelief that I am hers and she is mine.
Liars and would-be friends with agendas try to crack my shell,
And quietly I’ll lie, pretending,  sending the message “all is well,”
I am a mixed nut, tossed in with the other nuts and fruits.
We are a beautiful bunch, indulging in flavorful pursuits.

Wishing Well

Wishing Well, 09/28/2015, Deon Mumple

I’ve tried not to be too covetous,
Admiring who you’ve become,
The ease of your attractiveness,
Hypnotic like a pendulum.
But I dared a prayer and wished for more

My dashed daydreams, my wasted smiles,
Hoping a “we” could become,
Waiting and working through worthless trials,
Wishing now to feel nothing, numb.
If only there were a way to ignore…

Instead I can feel every emptiness,
Slow, worms devour my soul.
I aimed too high, you: a goddess,
Why was your heart my goal?
Why did I choose you, to adore?

Through all, I’ve tried to be supportive
Of all you are and do,
Loving and hating, poorly reflective,
I want to be beautiful, too.
I wish I had never wished before.

Not Elijah

Not Elijah, 09/25/2015, Deon Mumple

I’ve lost my place. Can I be found?
Discovered, fetched, retrieved?
I once was found, a heeling hound,
I saw, but now I can’t see.

And when I pray I try to say things the right way,
As if saying it right might get an answer
I’m not Elijah but I’ll try to pray again today,
And just maybe the answer will fall like fire.

Where is the grace I used to know,
I trusted, innocent,
I used to know, but maybe I don’t,
It’s not what I thought it meant.

And when I pray I try to say things the right way,
As if saying it right might get an answer
I’m not Elijah but I’ll try to pray again today.
Blind as the people I’m supposed to inspire.

It used to be simplicity,
The childlike faith I held,
But that was not reality,
And evil’s not dispelled.

All that’s left is pained patience and blind hope,
While the flames of hell laugh, licking at my soul,
I rise so slow to fall so fast, to rise so slow.

And when I pray I try to say things the right way,
As if saying it right might get an answer
I’m not Elijah but I’ll try to pray again today.
I’m still waiting in hope, but getting tired.

“Variety Is the Spice of Life”

Not everybody likes spice.  Some people like it bland.

I opened my sweet and salty mix, and I usually can handle the mixture of textures, but today i methodically sorted out the nuts and sunflower seeds, ate the sunflower seeds first, then the peanuts, then the raisins, and then the chocolate candy (like M&Ms but not branded).

I’ve been told this is unusual behavior.  Like sorting the package of Starburst candy or Skittles. Like getting a plate of food, starting at the 8:00 position and eating in a counter-clockwise direction. Like NEVER EVER dunking a cookie in milk.  Ever.  And I do all of this.  I have no idea what it’s called, but I’m sure someone thinks I’m a fucking psycho bent on some nefarious scheme (hehe, I used the word “nefarious” again).  But no, not so.  I just like to eat things that way.  Like at Thanksgiving I don’t like the foods interacting with other foods.

People can do that kind of interacting all they want.  Stir it up, that’s fine.  Since I hate all different kinds of people myself, unless and until you win my heart, and you have to earn it by not being an ass, I don’t care what you do.  Unless you are an ass, by which I mean, including but not limited to, a criminal (whether convicted or merely guilty, doesn’t matter which), a bully, or selfish jerk, then, I want you to be separated from the rest of us unless you can get along in a reasonably civilized fashion and demonstrate some basic manners.  But otherwise, I think you should be free to say and do whatever you want within basic frames of common decency.  As in, keep it at home and don’t parade it in the street.  I’ll do the same for you, and only gross out my kids.

We seem to have moved into a culture of being easily offended.  I can’t open my mouth for fear of pissing some random person off, imagine if I were a celebrity or some other randomly famous person!  Not me.  You have to do something big to offend me.  Like breaking one of the rules we learned in grade school  Be nice to each other.  Take turns, not cuts.  Don’t push.  If you can’t say anything nice don’t…  oh fuck that rule.  If you don’t respect me, then you’re not worthy of my respect, and I have no reason to listen to anyshit you say.  Those basic grade-school rules are big things to me, even though they’re simple.  But being human isn’t anything big.  If you don’t have any impact on me, or my family, do whatever you want within the law, as long as you don’t try to drag the rest of us into hell to keep you company.  There’s a lot of things people do that I don’t care about.  I saw an old film clip that showed Jimmy Stewart saying, “are they on our land?”  The answer was “no,” so he said “Then it doesn’t concern us.” (Shenandoah)  Look that movie up, there’s some wisdom in that old father character.  And maybe some less than wisdom, but by and large he’s right about a lot of things.

There are people who are, proverbially speaking, shitting all over my land.  There are law-breakers, and law writers, who I’d say are doing it.  My country is tolerant, so I’ll tolerate it, until they mess with my family, and then I’ll be “concerned.”  I like variety, but I prefer people who stay basically within a reasonable grasp of fairness, respect, reverence, and legality.  Those are basic things I value, that I believe everyone should be granted.  People who don’t grant these basics to each other should be separated from the rest of us.

Speaking of shitting all over my land, there are dog owners whose dog I’d leave alone, and whose owners should be shot at (not killed or injured, I just want to scare ’em, and tell ’em to get the hell off my yard when their dog does its’ thing).  I don’t want the dogs or their owners injured, or I’d have done something already about that.  Even if I owned a gun, I couldn’t shoot at them or threaten them or I’d be breaking the law.  So I do nothing and I end up with the plastic bag full of shit and nobody’s doorstep to leave it on because I don’t know which dog it is, when it happens when I’m away at work or the store or the church (yeah, believe it or not, I do still go to church).

I like a certain kind of variety.  I like a predictable variety.  Occasionally, even surprises are all right.  I even like spice.  My favorite is “Scary.”  My wife likes the show America’s Got Talent, so I am subjected to episodes.  It’s a variety show, so that’s sometimes good.  On the show, Mel B. works alongside a genuine supermodel, Heidi Klum, who is genuinely beautiful in her own way.  But to me, Mel B. wins the beauty pageant among the America’s Got Talent judge pool, by far.  There, Mel B.  I said something nice.  And now I’ll shut up because I don’t have anything else nice to say.

Is My Cup Half Full?

September 3:  I have to laugh, however bitterly, just a little:  (make font small smaller tinytiny) :  ha.

I confess I’m feeling a little bit better, but then it’s September, isn’t it?  This may mean I’m right about the period of my wave.  I should have known this at my age already, but being your basic brilliantfucking idiot, I never tracked it.  I only knew approximately.  After four months of feeling fucking useless, I’m getting those glimmers.  I’m not out to y>zero just yet, but not as bad.

I prayed for a few friends today.  That made me feel better.  And that’s a good sign, because when I am getting low I give up on praying for myself because that’s useless, and when I am completely low, I stop praying for anyone because fuck them, if God isn’t answering for me, why should I ask for anyone else?

I’m treading very unsteadily, because I don’t know if this is an actual trend, or just another good day that’ll shatter all around me and leave me treading the glass barefoot.  During what I think was very low but about to break out, I had a good day here and there.  My birthday was all right.  My anniversary was ok, and then she says some shit that breaks me.  I chose to let her be this close to me.  I chose to let her feelings affect my feelings.  And I suppose the reverse must be true.

September 18:  I decided to post this anyway because it was part of my trend line.  But my computer, or its’ operator, did something stupid and lost half the post.  I don’t even remember what she said.  FSM, I wonder what the fuck I said or did or didn’t do to deserve her saying whatever it was.  Why the fuck am I so fragile, when I can talk so tough?

I remember that it sucks not having cash sufficient to do what I want, like go all out for our anniversary or her birthday.  I remember that when I’m depressed, not only does my mood stink, my words stink, I stink.  I love her, that’s settled.  Still up for debate are a few things.
1) will I love her like I know she needs to be loved, speaking it in ways she hears clearly, whether words are used or not, and
2) will she love me like I need to be loved?

I’ve scheduled a few stressful days ahead, and after they’re over and done with I can schedule some rest days and just figure out time to just be being, instead of all the doing.  I’ll be away from her, which weirdly adds to my stress cocktail.  Speaking of which, I’d love a drink, just to break from the stress even if just for a short time.  But alas, I’ll be deferring that until Monday evening at least.  I could handle it better if the waves had a shorter amplitude and a diminished frequency.

Q:  Does everyfuckingthing in my life come in waves?  WTH?
All I want to do is hold her gently,  look into those eyes, and see what happens.

A: No. Interruptions and distractions don’t come in waves, they are continual but appear to occasionally decrease at random or when one or two of us are exhausted.  The odds of actually getting to do what I want, see above under (Q), with willing mutual participation, are inversely proportional to stress level x the number of interruptions.  Which means, the answer is no.
See you on the other side of the stress-storm.

Oppression and Domination In The Home

I read an article about our pro-male society, bashing the misogynist bastards for all the ways in which women are oppressed.  And I know that happens.  My mum taught me to lead by example, so what I do at home sets that standard for my family.  And when I’m out and about, anyone can see me doing what I do.

What some guys do is set a deplorable example.  What others do never makes the news, because it has to be bad before anyone is going to hear about it.  The media feeds on fuck-ups.  So do comedians, if it’s funny or if some idiot gets his come-uppance.  If a guy so much as tweets something perceived by our modern society as “wrong,” he gets a thrashing in the media.

And yes, I’m doing my part in our misogynist society.  I’m a staunch defender of traditional values.

I’d write more about it, but I’m too busy promoting my old-fashioned ideology in my home:  oppressively washing the dishes, sadistically vacuuming the carpet, tyrannically taking out the trash, maltreating by mowing the grass, ruthlessly laundering the clothes, and forcefully remaining faithful to my wife.  Because I’m that kind of evil.

“Lies, Damned Lies, [Conspiracies, Rumors] and Statistics”

I love a good conspiracy theory.  UFOs at Roswell, the aliens are coming, the aliens are here.  US President [Insert Name Here] visited by aliens, Illuminati, Jesus returned and we all missed him, Miracle cure for cancer suppressed by the medical “industry,” Elvis is Alive (And so is his son-in-law Michael Jackson), Legendary man actually found his wife’s G-spot more than once after marriage (we all know that one’s got to be a lie), Government experimenting on children using school lunches, Wars and disease and famine caused by government and their lies to cover it up, etc.

I bet I mentioned at least one you’re curious about.  You might even believe in one or more of them. But I’m not writing about any of them.

In today’s “popular now” news feed for a minute this morning when I first logged on, and then quickly removed but still available to read, there were some amusing statistics regarding our US President, Barak Hussein Obama.  They’re just statistics about American’s opinions about him.  Frankly, it’s hilarious.  But I confess, I didn’t laugh out loud.  There’s a wikipedia article including the President’s own responses to the conspiracy theorists.

I’ve read and suspect, like a good conspiracy theorist, that in every tall tale there’s a kernel of truth.  And I’ve been taught, in a lot of old wive’s tales, there’s the possibility of a lot of truth.  But it depends on which old wife you ask.

Obama’s response to the suggestions about his citizenship is still something, shady document notwithstanding, that I question.  Obama’s response about his religious affiliation though, is pretty close to what I’d expect to hear from an evangelical Christ-follower.

Still, speculation abounds.  I’d ask his old wife if I didn’t suspect her motives couched in the answers she’d provide.  But what’s to happen in a few years, when no one cares any more?  What if?

Obama proclaims he’s a Christ-follower, but in his actions he seems to do things, in the interest of advancing popular trends, that aren’t in line with the main traditions of that faith.

From Wikipedia:

In Islam, it is essential that there exist harmony and concord between faith and deeds. Farāhī has explained this aspect in his tafsīr in the following manner:

Righteous deeds are mentioned in the Qur’ān right after faith in the capacity of an explanation … In the case of faith, the need for its explanation is obvious: the place of faith is the heart and the intellect. In matters of intellect and heart, not only can a person deceive others but also at times he himself can remain in deception. He considers himself to be a mu’min (believer) whereas actually he is not. For this reason, two testimonies needed to be required for it: a person’s words and a person’s deeds. Since words can be untrue, hence a person who only professes faith through words is not regarded as a mu’min and it was deemed essential that a person’s deeds also testify to his faith. Thus the Qur’ān said:O you who believe with the tongue! Believe through your deeds

Except I can’t find an actual citation anywhere in the actual Qur’an for that last quote.  I found it in Christianity, though, see James 2.  This Farāhī  is onto something regarding lies:  “Since words can be untrue,” though, you can call yourself a Christ-follower without even following very well, just like I do.  Or without following at all, like some others do.  I’ve known people who claimed to be one thing or another, just to increase their sales.  Or to be allowed to join a club.  Or to have sex.

Achmed the Dead Terrorist, of Jeff Dunham fame, “would kill you for a Klondike Bar.”  That one’s understandable, those Klondike bars are damn good.  And you?  I’ll let him be the judge.  Assuming another bomb doesn’t blow him further up.

I’ll leave the judgements and name calling up to you.  It’s OK.  I’ve been called worse than a nut before.  But in a nutshell, here’s a theory or a prophecy or whatever you want to call it:

::Puts on mystic headgear, Does NOT induce trance (because I don’t go for that sort of thing) ::

I foresee within a few years of Obama leaving the presidency, that he and his family will embrace the teachings of Islam and, while still advocating a certain limited tolerance with Christ-followers, will leave the Christian church entirely, after all, by his own confession he isn’t all that church-y.  The alternative to that scenario is that he will be gripped more firmly in the clutches of evangelicalism and go further toward…  naaah!!  (Although, anything is possible.)

I foresee a not-too-distant future in which Christianity is all but lost, and the world is dominated by other religions, the strongest of which is Islam.  Just as in other religions, some will be peace-loving, and some will be more radical in their adherence and practical application of their beliefs.  Or, militant.

I foresee, next, in a distant future perceived as utopian, that the above militancy will become the norm, and there will be a resurgence in the popularity of public executions for crimes or perceived crimes, especially for those who regard said future as dystopian, as it was during the French Revolution.  They won’t call it radical or militant.  They’ll make people believe whoever’s getting the chop did something really really terrible.  Like try to raise their children to think a certain unpopular way.  And it’ll be the kids turning them in for it.

::Removes pretentious mystic headgear::

If you’re around to see it, I expect you to say, “Holy FUCK, Deon was right,”  share this article with a friend, and then pray to give your soul to Jesus, find a Bible, and read it until they come for you.

I thought the statistics about what people think about Obama were pretty telling about our culture here in America.  I confess I buy into some rumors, and some make me laugh.  The statistics though, they either usually intrigue me or piss me off.  The most interesting to me, here, was the shift in some opinions of people who used to believe these claimed truths about him, but have now changed their minds and believe the conspiracy theorists are right.
He’s a fascinating man and I pray for him regularly.  Whether people love him or hate him is their business.  But me, I want him and his family to always be kept safe.  I once wondered about his allegiances just because of how he handled things as Commander-in-Chief, and how our ally Israel was kind of being ignored.  But I watched a recent tweet he sent out to celebrate and acknowledge the new year’s celebration for Jewish people, and I have to say, it’s convincing.  His message was one of peace, and very commendable.  So maybe my prophecy is wrong.  Anything is possible.

After he’s done being President, I’d love to sit and just talk with him, over a beer and some nachos.  I wonder if he’d have any words of wisdom for me, after all,
Q:  “You’ve just finished being the President of the Fucking United States of America, what are you going to do next?”
A:  “I’m going to Disney World!”

No, I wonder if he’d have suggestions for how I could steer myself in more successful directions than I’ve chosen thus far.  As a politician he’s had to deal with shitty, two-faced people who can’t be trusted, he must have an eye for that and maybe he could share how to figure out who to run away from.

I want to ask about some of my own personal goals and if he might have any suggestions for my goals to have maximum impact on myself and my family in financial terms.  And I also want to encourage him, because that’s the kind of guy I am.  I like to encourage people, because no matter how fucked up my life may be, I can pray for you and I’ve got a track record of those things being answered.  Not so much my prayer for myself.  But for other people, yes.

Plus, anyone who’s been the President has been on a hell of a ride and who knows, he may be discouraged.  It hasn’t been all bad, even though it’s been a rough go.  After all, look at the mess the President inherits and has to make some sense of.  It’s not ever pretty, and it’s easier to fuck it up than to fix it.  But there haven’t been any big disasters or whatever, at least not in my own life, during these 8 years.  Others may disagree, but I’m still the same.  My income hasn’t changed, my job hasn’t changed, my opportunities haven’t increased or decreased.  So, if that’s a measurement, good job, Obama.  It didn’t change under previous presidents, either, so they did at least as well.  But dear God, please don’t give us President H Clinton (even if her first name was Jesus I wouldn’t vote for her-say it so you understand the joke.  I don’t trust her because she was involved with Watergate and Bengazi and email scandals, and Bill.  Read some history books or something.  For the record, I prayed the same prayer for the Clintons back then.) or President Moneybags “No Ugly Chicks or Mexicans” McTrumpcards.  Not that there aren’t idiots on the other side, or people who(m?) I wouldn’t trust with my nail file, but these two fairly scream “don’t vote for me!!!  Please!!

As a further unspiritual aside, as if I were waxing spiritual, the only French Revolution I want to participate in involves champagne kisses, either with my wife or a certain special blogger who beckons to me from the edges of my weird adulterous fantasies (I’ve never even seen the woman’s face).  Yup, I’m a sinner just like I always said I was.  I’ll take the champagne kisses from my champagne wishes.  You can keep the caviar dreams, that shit is nasty.  And if I’m allowed a substitution, champagne isn’t my favorite beverage.  How about some whiskey?

A Brain Like a Horror Movie?

((Possible TW))

Q:  What do you do when your brain says “Get out!” in that creepy voice?

A:  I took myself out for lunch.

I spent all of $5 and felt guilty about it.  I hardly ever do that, once in a blue moon.  Or a red one.  Or a super one.  So we’re having a red super moon, I hear.  OoooOOOoooh, how exciting.  Ugh.  I’m trying really hard here to NOT feel guilty about it.  But the bills are still in the slow process of getting paid down, and I still have stuff standing in the need of repair.  FML, I want to spend it, twice, and I’m very financially conservative.

Last night I watched two full episodes of Mister Roger’s Neighborhood on Netflix, without my family.  My kids looked on in concerned anguish at me, while I was attempting to rediscover why I loved it then.  I used to love that show.  Turns out, I still do.  You might think it’s creepy of me to watch it, or maybe you think Mister Rogers is creepy.  Watching as an adult is different.  I don’t have the innocent perspective like one would have had if one were watching in the 1970s.  Or maybe I do.  Because there’s something fun and innocent and beautiful about coloring with crayons and singing along with simple affirming songs that aren’t idiotic shitgibberish like they put on tv in the 21st Century.  I tried hard last night to escape into Fred’s Land-of-Make-Believe.  And failed, which made me sad.

I ruminated over the episodes, and it was just a simple kid’s show.  And I was sad, because even in the Land-of-Make-Believe, the handicapped boy doesn’t get well, and the prince’s mother and father fought and talked about getting divorced.  Fuck.  I’m crying.  Does this mean the manic promises September made to me were lies?  Or am I just feeling “emo” today as my daughter puts it.

I remembered when I was little my parents used to take me to the doctor for special shoes, and yet I didn’t remember Jeff Erlanger’s cameo, maybe it was after I was too old to watch.  Fred Rogers, by this time, had gray hair threading through, but was just as wonderful, warm and supportive and Jeff was a happy, intelligent little ten year old in spite of his handicap and recent surgery.  Well Jeff died at 36.

Fairy tales?  Make believe?  Reality comes in and smashes my toys and treasures and turns everything to shit.  I watched the news and there were shootings and riots and generally insane completely ape-shit people running loose in the world doing heinous evil things while I’m trying to teach my kids there’s such a thing as real love, that works through the crap and comes out OK on the other side.  And then there’s this:

“Imagine living like a king someda-a-ay.”  But not if the king is going to fight with the queen.

Yeah, call me “emo” and have a good laugh like I did the first time I heard it, but I so identify with the lyrics of this song it’s not funny.  It just seemed funny to see this little squirrel-y kid screaming lyrics.  But I listened to them later instead of just the sound and timbre of his voice, and he’s right.  Ugh, I hate it.  I could write this shit for a living if I had a stream of income coming off it.  But if I had a streaming income coming off of anything I might feel more hopeful and more like engaging in the battle everyone else calls “normal life.”  I’m not feeling suicidal, just sad.

I’m Not Feeling Suicidal, Just Sad
(Deon Mumple, 9/10/2015)

I’m not feeling suicidal, I’m just crying, sad,
I’m not fueling demonic rage, I’m just fucking mad
Those fairy tales they told me when I was a kid
Were never going to come true; they never did

What happened to the dreams I had when I was young,
They could have come true easily but I’m just dumb,

While I cry and try to sleep in my tears
The demons scream in my ears:
Pathetic fucking kid, you think life can be ideal
Well, wake up, kid, and face real life, this is real
The peace and healing you’re praying for won’t come,
Because your God just wants you to toughen up.

I really thought that it would get better,
But every other day’s a bleeding red letter,
The days and I don’t seem to really matter
And on the TV news the blood spatters

I’m not feeling suicidal, I’m just crying, sad,
I’m not fueling demonic rage, I’m just fucking mad
Those fairy tales they told me when I was a kid
Were never going to come true; they never did

Our Father, Who art in heaven,
Why did you make me believe when I was seven?
Thy Kingdom come, I am just dumb
When life is full of fucking stress,
And make-believing won’t bring any happiness,

I’m not feeling suicidal, I’m just crying, sad,
I’m not fueling demonic rage, I’m just fucking mad.
Those fairy tales they told me when I was a kid
Were never going to come true; they never did.