“Don’t Do Anything Drastic.”

I watched the Oscars last night just to see how the whole #OscarsSoWhite would pan out, hosted by Chris Rock.  He did a brilliant job, to a point.  A joke is funny a couple of times, but after I reached saturation, which happened too quick, (about 5 jokes was all I could take)  I was done.  So I already had a chip on my shoulder when the comedians did their little stupid bits inserting themselves into nominated movies.  It went on, and on, and on.  I’m sure the Academy got the message.

I’ve been told not to do anything drastic, unless I’ve thought it through.  So I haven’t deleted this blog or all my emails all at once or other drastic things with potential negative consequences.  But I’ve thought this one through and I did something drastic because I felt I was right.


When I finally started a Twitter account, I was following someone for a while, having been a fan of her work for lo these 30 years.  And then the Oscars happened and then her heart was revealed.  Maybe it was the chip already residing on my shoulder when I was done with hearing, ad infinitum, ad absurdum, that the Academy didn’t care about any actors unless they were white.  I think even the presenters were done with the angry jabs and the laughter and the tension, by the time the nomination for Best Original Song came up.  And then there was this:

Even in sexual assault performance art – damn

This tweet of course followed the piece the lovely Lady Gaga did in support of victims of rape, “Til it Happens to You.”  It upset me a lot, so today, after I considered it, I stopped following Jody.  Jody is showing me a lack of positive focus despite her morning tweet today,
2h2 hours ago

Wishing everyone a positive and great start to the week✨

For those without the interest to stay awake until after midnight to find out if Leo finally won, you can check them out for yourselves here:

I’m upset and I stopped following Jody on twitter, although I still like her music.

I’m upset.  Because all we as a society are doing is perpetuating the hatred.  And we just had another cop shooting another unarmed couple.  Fucking stop the hatred already.  Fucking stop the violence.  Fucking stop killing innocent people.  While we’re at it, can we stop the outright war, too?  Fucking IDIOTS.  These idiots, by and large, presume they have the right to do whatever the fuck they feel like doing, and they need to be stopped.  By any means necessary.

It’s true, you can quote me, I’ve said it before, “I hate everybody,” but it’s a literary device.  It’s called a fucking “joke” (usually).  So if you hate me for that, fuck you and fuck the people who taught you to hate people.  Racism, elitism, sexism, all the -isms have to be taught.  Most of the time, I hate everybody because I want to be left alone.  But hating people just for the sake of hating them, treating people like shit just because you want to and you can, or maybe even because you like to treat people like shit, is not civilized.  It’s barbaric, and that kind of person (sorry, maybe it’s a logical stretch for you but not for me) needs to be slaughtered like an animal, because they’re no better if they claim to not know better.  And it’s probably too late for their younglings, too.

We’ve known since  at least 1947, but probably a thousand or 5 earlier than that, that hatred has to be taught.  Well, 1949 if you count the opening on Broadway and 1958 (which is still almost sixty fucking years ago) if you count the movie based on the book and the musical:

Tales of the South Pacific by James Michener was sanitized for Broadway and for the movie “South Pacific,” by Rogers and Hammerstein.  James, Rogers and Hammerstein tried very hard to teach what should be an easy lesson.  When you plop kids into a daycare and they play, they understand the rules and they basically get along until someone wants to be selfish, and then all hell breaks loose.  There’s biting, hitting, kicking, crying, and yelling until an adult intervenes and reminds the two they have to behave like friends.  But until and unless the selfish child acts the ass, everybody gets along nicely.  I’ve seen it.  They learn hatred unless they are taught how to love first.

Sorry if you’re offended that my choice of music features white vocalists, not sorry, I love Mandy Patinkin so fuck you if you don’t like him because he’s white.  While you’re hating me, since I so love music, why don’t you suggest a song with a similar message by a singer of another color.  I bet I like the alternative.

It’s really a tragedy that in the modern era we have to live in fear of people who hate us for who we are, who want all our stuff, or want us dead or poor, or who just like to ruin our stuff, if we have any, or who hoard all the stuff and make life impossible for us unless we enslave ourselves to them.  It’s a real tragedy that while love covers a multitude of sins, very few people know how to do that.  It’s easier to just hate, isn’t it?  I don’t mind reading what you have to say if you’re logical and you’ve turned the other cheek and only gotten stung twice, or more, but without logic or reason, I can’t hack it.

It’s not too late Jody.  I still love your music.  I still care that your soul can be lost or saved.  It’s up to you to decide whether to perpetuate the hate, or to decide to love, and then to teach those who will follow you.  I won’t be taught to hate because I’m fucking stubborn, and I’m on a mission.

To the Academy, I sure hope you got the message.  We want inclusivity, we want you to show the love we have for brilliant actors like Kevin Hart, Halle Berry, Morgan Freeman, brilliant movies like Straight Outta Compton, and the unknown brilliant actors and movies we should have seen and might have missed because movies cost so much to attend, and the popcorn costs the same as gold, per ounce.  We shouldn’t need a “blacktors” category just to tell them.  Share the wealth.  Don’t hate.  Hate is bad.  We normal people like actors of any and all races if they’re talented, and there are a number of talented actors and actresses out there who should have at least been given a nomination and a shot at an award, and didn’t get that shot.

To the still-beautiful Ms. Watley, not that she gives half a shit whether one out of 91,600 followers doesn’t follow her tweets any more, I understand the anger– not saying I understand your experience, but I get the anger.  It’s justified, to a point.  But I hope you can find the grace to say something appropriate and perhaps even apologize to Stefani (Lady Gaga).  Your comment was rude to her and dismissive and disrespectful of her message.  You took out your anger on an innocent victim, who was only trying to share a message of hope and strength and love after trauma.  I’m sorry I reacted to your remarks with a chip on my shoulder, set up after multiple jabs and inappropriate remarks already made by other people, stacked up on each other to only further the message of hatred.  If there’s something to be hated, it’s hatred.  Not each other.  Everything else is a lie from the Devil.

Please make it right.  And when you do, I’ll delight to follow and admire you again.  But I can’t follow you if your heart is full of misdirected hate that splashes out like acid and hurts people who don’t deserve that treatment.  Like Lady Gaga. I wonder how she felt if she read the little snip, especially if she’s a fan.


Gordon Ramsay, The Church and Girl Scout Cookies

Note to Gordon Ramsay:  Dude!  Do you even bake?

First a correction to Mr Kimmel, the Girl Scouts ARE the same as the Girl Guides in England and other parts of Europe. I think Mr. Ramsay’s reaction to Girl Scout cookies was only slightly more charitable than Mr. Robert Carlson’s.  You’ll recall yesterday I linked to an article in my blog about Carlson’s official Catholic Church Position regarding the Girl Scouts.  Here’s another: http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/st-louis-archbishop-warns-catholics-girl-scouts-article-1.2544652

Carlson complained the Girl Scouts are promoting a social agenda of feminists like Gloria Steinem, so last night I asked my wife, a troop leader, if she knew who Gloria Steinem is.  She said, “Gloria Who?  I think I’ve heard the name before.  Who is she?”  So there you go.  I’d be willing to bet her reaction is typical of adult girl scout leaders.  Somebody do a survey, please!

Ramsay is your typical pharisee of the culinary church, “tithing mint and cumin,” but “not lifting a finger to [help].”  I must have been unconsciously thinking about, and citing Matthew 23 yesterday without realizing it, but today, it’s on.

Matthew 23
Then Jesus said to the crowds and to his disciples:
“The teachers of the law and the Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat. So you must be careful to do everything they tell you. But do not do what they do, for they do not practice what they preach. They tie up heavy, cumbersome loads and put them on other people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them.

“Everything they do is done for people to see: They make their phylacteries wide and the tassels on their garments long; they love the place of honor at banquets and the most important seats in the synagogues; they love to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces and to be called ‘Rabbi’ by others.

“But you are not to be called ‘Rabbi,’ for you have one Teacher, and you are all brothers. And do not call anyone on earth ‘father,’ for you have one Father, and he is in heaven. 10 Nor are you to be called instructors, for you have one Instructor, the Messiah. 11 The greatest among you will be your servant. 12 For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.

13 “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You shut the door of the kingdom of heaven in people’s faces. You yourselves do not enter, nor will you let those enter who are trying to.

“YES CHEF!”  When I bothered to watch the show “Hell’s Kitchen,” the sycophantic chefs endured berating, belittling, insulting, and responded, “YES CHEF!” like marine cadets responding to their drill sergeant.  And they still never showed me how to make a proper Beef Wellington.  I want to go back to an earlier time.  I want to go way back, past the pretend perfection of Martha Stewart.   I want to go back to the charity and true social grace of Julia Child.  She may not have always been as nice as she seemed on her cooking shows, I wasn’t there so I don’t know.  But on her shows, she instructed people, and gave them helpful hints.  And in later years, I only loved her more, when she appeared with other chefs:  she was always giving the other chef the spotlight to let them shine.  I want that in my cooking shows.

Carlson, in directing that local parishes should decide upon whether they should host local girl scout chapters in the church buildings, seems to be saying it might be a good idea to slam those doors (see v 13).  So, watch your toes, little girls!  He suggests that girls be encouraged to join other structured Catholic social clubs, but I know, and you know, the recognition and respect the real world has for a Gold Award earning Girl Scout Ambassador, or an Eagle (Award Earning) Ranked Boy Scout, because of their level of service, discipline, and citizenship.  I have no idea how to dig the catholic church out of the hatred hole Mr Carlson has dug it into.

Gordon Ramsay can actually be quite nice, and amusing, unless someone makes him cross, which doesn’t seem to take much.  But I have an idea how Mr. Ramsay can redeem himself.

Mr. Gordon Ramsay, I challenge you, I dare you, to try this:

Instead of just saying how you dislike most of the girl scout cookies, step into a bakery kitchen and fix the recipes so you like them, and after you fix them I bet the Girl Scouts of America will taste your cookies to give you a shot at being an official ambassador, whose recipes can be used nation wide.  Keep the prices under $4 a box, put more cookies in each box, and as an added challenge, increase the profit margin so the girl scouts get more per box than $0.50 or $0.25.  We already think the product is good, but 1) if you can make it better, do it, and 2) it’s really hard to raise funds when your margin only gives you pennies per sale, and even harder when 30 people walk by or walk somewhere else to avoid the poor girl, who is wondering if she’s hideous because no one will buy her cookies that she knows are delicious and addicting.  And then, donate the development costs, the recipes and the proceeds to the Girl Scouts.  And then, after you’ve publicly and gently developed the recipes, quietly and with humility of spirit, step away and refuse to let them put your image or name on the cookies because it’s not about you, it’s about helping the girls in their journey to adulthood.  And trust me, the girl scouts will love you, and so will America.  It’ll be enough that we consumers know you created the marvelous recipes and kept them at a reasonable price.

And you, Mr. Carlson, I might have visited a catholic church on my quest for knowledge, truth and love, but I won’t ever come now, at least until you either repent, or explain to me how your actions fulfill the following:

I Peter 4:
7 The end of all things is near. Therefore be alert and of sober mind so that you may pray. 8 Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. 9 Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. 10 Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms. 11 If anyone speaks, they should do so as one who speaks the very words of God. If anyone serves, they should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever. Amen.

Does God want you driving a wedge of hatred between His church and the people?  Or is it just a show you perform in front of your adoring fans, “YES, TEACHER!”?  Have you committed no sin and therefore remain worthy of throwing stones?  Or is it your church, for you to close the doors?  Ephesians 4:15 admonishes to speak  “the truth,” yes, but “the truth, in love.”  There is no love in a hostile and inhospitable spirit.  I suppose we could quibble over what it means by “each other,” or “one another,” but I’d say Jesus’ definition of a “neighbor” and you, suffices as “one another.”

Let’s just see if either of them are able to take on my challenges.

And then, …

And then, after he finished (verbally) abusing the little girls, he turned his attentions back to little boys. (for legal reasons the above statement is not aimed at a specific individual or group of individuals, but if the shoe fits you should check into your local jail and confess, because it’s good for the soul.)



Somebody find me a girl scout, I’m hungry and I want a box of THIN MINTS!!!!!

I may not agree with everything the global girl scout organization, or boy scout organization, stands for, but I have a girl scout in the program.  She stands for her own values which disagree sometimes with mine.  In spite of this, I believe she stands to be an innocent victim of this discrimination if the church nationally starts taking this kind of hardline stance.  I believe she, and her troop, deserves the support of the community, as part of this service organization.  Her troop, and her service, have nothing to do with gender issues, and everything to do with doing good for the community.

I understand the posturing, but the way to teach someone about Jesus is to be hospitable, not slam the doors of the church and leave lost people out in the cold.  In my humble opinion, the Girl Scouts are doing a better job of demonstrating the love of Christ (although not specifically religiously affiliated), than this branch of the catholic church.

Too Busy

I realized, last night, that I have some extra activity throwing me out into the world EVERY night this week, after enduring going to work. The stress builds onto me and I start to think, I need a day off. From everything. I don’t get a day off until maybe Saturday, whereupon I will sleep in a tiny bit, make waffles, and clean house, and I may binge watch something on Netflix. Boring boring boringboringboring, but oh so satisfying. If I get ambitious maybe I can work on some pet projects. I hope that happens, but if not, I hope it’s ok and doesn’t come back to bite me. I’ve got things that need to be done, but they’re not urgenturgent, they just have to be done and they are on a deadline it’s just not a pressing deadline.  But I do need some down time.

I’m craving waffles and real maple syrup, and sausage, and maybe even scrambles, with onions, green bell peppers, and cheese, and hot salsa…  And a screwdriver, which is truly the best part of my plans for waking up on Saturday.  Just to celebrate the fact that I don’t have to go out anywhere.  The best part of my hopes for Saturday are to spend a little time with Mrs. M., unfettered by too much shit to do.  I will do my best to make that hope a reality.  That is, until she makes me get out of bed and starts in with the list of shit she wants me to see if I can accomplish at home, added to what I routinely will clean and maintain.  Yeah, that’s why I’m making the waffles, because I don’t want her to “have to do that” and have that guilt trip hanging over my head in addition to the list.

That said, thank GOD Saturday is almost here.  I get to go at my pace, mostly, not rush here and there, all jeebyheebynillywilly.  I LIKE my pace, which is, in words, if it gets done, fine, if it doesn’t get done, fuckit, it wasn’t important.  I hate it when it has to be done, right NOW OR ELSE!, which is why I hate the list.  I mean, I’ll do it, but I want to work it at my pace or skip it if it doesn’t get done.  I might take a nap on Saturday too, if I can fit it into the day and find some quiet.

The fucking neighbor blared his idiot music last time I wanted a nap and had a time to do it, thump, fuckingthump, FUCKYOUNEDFLANDERSTHUMP! and I couldn’t get to sleep.  If that happens this weekend, I will go out, in my flannel, nondescript, comfortable pajamas, find the fucker, whomever he is, ask him to turn it down nicely, and if he declines, put my chef’s knife through his damned speaker cords.

If I did much social networking beyond this blog (which I largely do at my pace, which is why you don’t see a lot of weekend postings) and twitter (which I largely ignore), I would be (more than already) completely bonkers mad.  I think people need margin in their lives, which is to say this:

People need enough control of their lives to be able, at least some of the time, to say, fuck this thing you want me to do, fuck this place you want me to go, fuck this timespan you want me to accomplish whatevershit within, fuck the methods and parameters you prescribe and want it done by, and while we’re at it, fuck off yourself, I’m taking a fucking break.  I will always go to the store to buy milk, I will always venture out to provide rescue transportation to my family, but if I don’t have to go out, I wish I had the liberty to not go.  Sometimes you need a break.  Sometimes you just need to take a nap.  Well, I do.

Home made waffles…and a screwdriver to go with my morning coffee.  As a general rule I shy away from alcohol on weekdays, and don’t binge on the weekends.  It would be too easy (but too expensive in both long and short run) to make that a habit.  One or two are enough for me.  But fuck yeah, I’m having a screwdriver Saturday morning.  It’s been a busy week.  Too fucking busy.  I hope next week settles down and doesn’t demand too much.

If not, I may take an executive action and figure out what I can push aside.  It won’t be Mrs. M; I want her close.  I want her VERY close.  So close, she can’t reach for a pen and a pad to make a damn list.

Versatile Blogger?!

Just when I thought I had settled into my well-maintained routine of sending out notes about how life sucked and I liked to bitch and moan, someone nominated me for my second ever blogging award.  WTF??

I mean, That’s right Rosie Kelly, this is YOUR fault.

I mean…  Thank you! 🙂


She says it’s OK if I “don’t do awards…”  Well, I pestered another blogger a while ago and she nominated me, I wasn’t looking for awards but she did it to shut me up (fail!), and I “did” that one, so I guess I have to “do” this one.  For some reason my writing resonates with a few people, but that doesn’t make it a shining example of “quality, uniqueness,” or having any “level of love.” (fail!)  Ah, who am I to question it?  Ms. Kelly is the very standard of The Versatile Blogger.  She’s a brilliant, gorgeous, and frequently funny writer,  Sorry Rosie, I noticed in that order and it’s on the record now.  And I only said gorgeous because “hot” sounded like Mr. Stalker and I only do that from a distance.  That said, were we both single I might look for a “hookup.”  (Ha! I’m playing on her blog name.)  Except I suspect she’s too young and smart to put up with me, not saying that Mrs. M isn’t smart, just saying I can’t figure out what the appeal is here.  Except I’m steady and I love my Mrs. M for everything she is, which I guess includes all the things that piss me off and leave me an angry, bitter, crap hole of a writer.

If I were really versatile the blogs you shouldn’t have gone back to read would have been fine examples of literature, featuring the work of an actually talented writer who writes on a variety of subjects and emotional levels, and not a perpetually angry hack who’s stuck in a rut and swears a lot.  “Jeremiah’s Lamentations!” keeps coming into my head and I haven’t written it but twice now.  Instead of versatility, I say the more common profane expressions, how …common.

I’m drinking a cup of hot water because I poured a cup for tea, forgot to get some of Sir Thomas Lipton’s wonderful blend out of the box, meandered to my desk, sat, ate lunch, and I couldn’t be arsed to get up and get a bag of tea.  I love tea, but this water…  It’s … wonderful.  I like tea or coffee, switch it up all day long, but mainly coffee in the morning and tea in the evening.  With caffeine, please.  It helps with the ADD, otherwise I’d be off on another tangent.

Speaking of tangents, I’ve gone off on another one.  That’s a math thing, a line that intersects a circle at only one point.  And… number two, which reminds me of my blog again.  I’m supposed to focus on the award.  If I knew anything about blogging I’d know how to display these bestowed honors somewhere, so obviously…


Thank the person that nominated you and include a link to their blog. (Check)
Nominate at least 15 bloggers of your choice. When considering a fellow blogger for the Versatile Blogger Award, keep in mind the quality of their writing, the uniqueness of their subject matter and the level of love displayed on the virtual page.  (Challenge accepted)
Link your nominees and let them know about their nomination. (Check)
Share seven facts about yourself. (Check)

7 Facts about myself:

7) I’m always hungry and I like eating everything except fungi, shellfish, and brussel sprouts.  Personal favorites are beef (especially ribeye, with broccoli and baked potato and wine,  pork (Cuban, with garlic, black beans and rice, and beer), chicken (fried, with beer battered onion rings) and fish if I caught it myself.  Contrary to common sense, it’s a wonder I don’t  weigh 36 stone. It’s catching me so I’m cutting back lately.  Nah!  Pass the pizza, please!

6) I’ve typed the number 666 more than three times today in the normal course of my workday.  Any guesses as to where I work? (you can guess, but I can’t tell you if you’re right.  It’s OK, call me a tease.)

5) I’m proud to have raised stubborn, mostly independent children who are opinionated and sometimes disagree with me.  It’s allowed and I think, a testament to my wife, who, other than at least twice, almost ALWAYS disagrees with me.  I have one perfect young lady, and one perfect young man.  Except when they don’t do their homework or chores, or when they’re overly whiny or demanding.  Then they’re their mother’s kids.

4) I’m old enough to know what I want and frustrated I don’t get it often enough.  I’m almost always frustrated.

3) I’m married to a perfect, beautiful woman who is as strong and independent and opinionated as her mother and grandmother, and her lovely daughter.  She frequently disagrees with me, and that’s OK.  And, for the record she could hardly give a shit about my writing because it’s not paying the bills, but she’s not standing over my shoulder reading this, so I am writing the compliments of my own free will.  Is that how I needed to say it, honey? (just kidding, she’s not here reading it because I’m at work and she’s not going to read it because she doesn’t give a shit about my writing.)

2) I love my blog 🙂  But I love having time to read other people’s blogs too, more on this shortly.

1) Among many other things, I can’t stand politics and the news media.  How is it possible Trump is getting into the White House when he’s offended at least 71.2 percent of the voters and only 25% of Americans admit they are Republican?  How is it possible Clinton may get a shot, since her whole political career is full of nothing but scandals and lies?  She says she knows how to get things done and she’s for more American jobs, but I don’t think she knows how to get them done right, if her track record is to speak.  Are we ignoring the scandals, because we’re only going to get more scandals if she’s elected.  People don’t change.  I think it’s a conspiracy of the press to shove the shittiest candidates down the voters throats, tell us they’ve already won and we may as well either vote for them or stay home, and the American Sheeple are buying that shit.  I stole “sheeple,” but I forget where I stole it from, if it’s your trademark, let me know and I’ll let the comment stand as credit.  All of the 2016 people who are actually campaigning for president of the United States, make me scared as fuck for the future of our country.  And I’m a patriot.

I follow a lot of good blogs.  If you follow mine, it’s fine with me but don’t expect it to get any better because I don’t think I’ll get hit on the head and become that.  I’m nominating the following people because I was told to only pick 15.  Please check out their blogs, they’re awesome people and great writers all:

1)storyshucker.wordpress.com always tells stories that make you think.  He’s an accomplished writer, the quality shines through.  You need to read this blog.
2) gallifreytrenzalore.wordpress.com she’s lovely, she’s a lady, and she’s a Doctor Who fan.  Need I say more?  How awesome is that?  She hasn’t written in a while but I hope she comes back.  I think she’s either on a break or the Doctor has her on one of his wild adventures or something.  She’ll probably be back day before yesterday.
3) sassafrass20blog.wordpress.com  yeah, she’s sassy, she’s feisty, she writes straight from the heart with an emotional depth (and height) I envy.  She lives somewhere not far from my secret bunker but I’ll probably never have the courage to go meet her, ntm, if we were any closer, my issues plus her issues would probably destroy a central midwestern city inside something known as 465, aka, hell for commuters.  She has excellent taste in music, and at least one awesome tattoo (one I’ve seen anyway) If I were allowed 8 things about myself it would either be about music or about my love of tattoos on other people- i have zero on myself.
4) hortusclosus.wordpress.com Esther has one of the most beautiful, artistic, and balanced blogs I’ve ever seen.  Her writings are amazing, and the artistic selections she pairs like wine to go with a course of a meal, make this one you won’t regret checking out.
5) www.gottafindahome.com  The author writes about North American (oh, but Canadian) people without homes, their situations, their relationships.  He’s really wonderful, and so are all of his friends that he writes about.  We compartmentalize everything to distance ourselves, and he shatters our self-imposed, “protective” walls we built without needing them, and lets us in on these real, marginalized people who deserve our compassion as much as any other neighbor.
6) http://thatbasicbitch.com You had me at “bitch.”  Not to start swearing, but that is fucking awesome.  I was immediately attracted to the website just for the name.  Look past that.  She’s got a little bit of everything good in here.  Look around, it’s good.
7) theblahpolar.wordpress.com as the saying goes, tit for tat, she knows what I mean because I mean it exactly like she’s taking it.  She’s brilliant, expressive, beautiful, and I’ve never seen her.  She makes me want to travel to South Africa, find her, tell her thank you a million times, give a great big long bear hug if she’ll let me, take a nice long walk under some very different stars, and sip a little whiskey on the beach from an extra special whiskey vessel I’ve been dying to see and drink from.  Cake Vodka, Sass, I can’t have from here or anywhere else, but if anyone knows, she knows, what that must be, I’ll bet.  Is that code?  For marital reasons, no.  For blogging humour, sure.  She publishes fantastic pictures, lists of informative links, music links, and all kinds of cool things.
8) morgueticiasmentalhealthmausoleum.wordpress.com MorgueticiaAtoms is a lovely woman blogging about her life, her family, her conflicts, her successes, her failures if you could call it that, her feelings, she writes with  furious passion and honesty.
9) thesarahdoughty.wordpress.com writes a lot of pretty and powerful poetry and even when she’s not writing poetry I think it could be a poem.  Give it a read!
10) stephellaneous.wordpress.com is another eclectic mix, fact, fiction, life, stories, music, I enjoy everything.   Everything.
11) marcellomeo.wordpress.com oh. my. everything on here is beautiful, photography, art, poetry, music…  fantastic.  Use the translator if you have to, it’s worth it.
12)myspanglishfamilia.wordpress.com writes about her family (duh, Deon!) her life, food, success, disaster, and everything in between.  I LOVE reading this blog.  LOVE IT.
13) iaccidentlyatethewholething.wordpress.com recipes, food, art, food, family, food, poetry, food, beautiful prose, food, she makes me hungry and I just ate.  I am running out of superlatives, but YES.
14) inoirvelvet.com  is addicting.  You’ll see.
15) gracemusing.com, for a little dose of eternal truth, this blog is a mix of excellent authors.  I’ve got my favorites and I’m hoping you’ll enjoy them too.

I just found this:

Dead Fairy Tale

“Dead Fairy Tale,” 2/22/2016, Deon Mumple
(or, “Happy, Ending”)

There was a time our love seemed bullet proof
Back in misguided years of foolish youth
You looked at me, promises in your eyes
I didn’t know some of them would be lies

I told lies of my own; I didn’t know.
I was an idiot; I had such hope:
Believed your promises would be fulfilled.
My happ’ly ever after has been killed.

When I do try, my disappointment wins,
As if my moods didn’t already spin.
I still and always love you, that’s the truth,
If you wanted me, and I could have you.

I wasn’t what you wanted after all-
Not quite enough charm, handsome, dark, or tall.

Paraclete’s Prayer

Out in the darkness, the rage is seething,
Ready to inflict more painful feelings,
Out of the darkness the rage calls me a friend,
How could I fall farther from perfection?
Why would I listen to the seduction?
This is a cycle I can’t break.  When does it end?

Strive for the light,
When I can fight,
I try to win my battle
I can’t break free,
Someone help me.
I hear my own death rattle.

“Your soul is mine, you should just surrender,
I taste the victory, sweet and tender
Why don’t you join me, come out to the darkness ?”
I hear the voices, screaming in terror,
Think to myself, does anyone care, or,
Are we alone with the voices in our heads?

“I am your friend,
You can depend
On darkness, all you really need.
Just trust in me,
Why can’t you see,
Past how I cut and make you bleed?”

Look to the light, I am chained in darkness,
I need a Saviour!  Come! Won’t You please bless
Me with the keys to freedom to follow You?
So much evil, I’m completely mired,
I trapped myself, why am I inspired,
To pray in hope I can care for others too?

Look to the light
My soul in flight
But I’m still helpless in these chains,
Kneeling to pray,
I’d cry today,
If my eyes could still make tears…

Listening.  I hear lies.
See you hurt, my soul cries.
Watching you suffering.
What comfort can I bring?

“Paraclete” is simply the Greek word transferred into English. The translation of the word in English Versions of the Bible is “Comforter” in the Gospel, and “Advocate” in the Epistle. The Greek word is parakletos, froth the verb parakaleo. The word for “Paraclete” is passive in form, and etymologically signifies “called to one’s side.”

I think we’re all called to each others’ sides to help one another.  In the poem I’m having a conversation with the darkness, then with the light, and finally, with the reader.  This poem would fit well with death-metal guitars and drums backing a harsh vocal alternating with a lyric vocal.  I can almost hear it.

Prayer for My Friend

Psalm 10:

12 Arise, Lord! Lift up your hand, O God.
    Do not forget the helpless.
13 Why does the wicked man revile God?
    Why does he say to himself,
    “He won’t call me to account”?
14 But you, God, see the trouble of the afflicted;
    you consider their grief and take it in hand.
The victims commit themselves to you;
    you are the helper of the fatherless.
15 Break the arm of the wicked man;
    call the evildoer to account for his wickedness
    that would not otherwise be found out.

16 The Lord is King for ever and ever;
    the nations will perish from his land.
17 You, Lord, hear the desire of the afflicted;
    you encourage them, and you listen to their cry,
18 defending the fatherless and the oppressed,
    so that mere earthly mortals
    will never again strike terror.

Today a friend and fellow blogger goes to court to seek child support, among other things. I’m not sure of the other details of what the court proceedings will involve.  By itself, that’s stressful enough.  Add that her lawyer has no vision for her defense or reimbursement for what the guy had agreed upon at one time.  She respectfully calls the guy “the donor,” which is nicer than I would have to offer.  Add that she suffers bipolar.  Add panic attacks.  Add that because the donor is in arrears some $20,000, for about 5 years she has had to invest that much more into her child’s welfare and not in her car and home repairs.  Imagine where that has left her, yes, you probably have an accurate mental picture.  Add that she has other difficulties that trigger her when she has to spend lengthy amounts of time in traffic or in public places.

She is a loving, caring mom who is amazingly successful at doing everything for her child, in spite of everything she has endured in the past, and she, and her child, deserve better treatment than they have received from the guy or his, or her, family.  (I won’t call him a man until he mans up and does what he already agreed to do to take care of his child)

If you pray, please pray with me that she will be able to navigate what she calls “the dish,” with a supernatural peace, and that her lawyer

a person who practices or studies law; an attorney or a counselor.
synonyms: attorney · counsel · counselor · legal practitioner ·
legal professional · legal adviser · member of the bar · litigator · advocate _______________________
will courageously and successfully defend her and be her advocate (see also, Lawyer)
a person who publicly supports or recommends a particular cause or policy:

synonyms: champion · upholder · supporter · backer · promoter · [more]
publicly recommend or support:

for her to receive what she needs, and for justice and a fair repayment schedule for the missed payments.

If you don’t pray, please send all the positive vibes you’ve got.  Thank you!

Here’s hoping, Morgueticia!

(Oh, and God, although David said to “break the arm of the wicked man,” please DON’T, as he’ll need that arm solid, to work hard and pay back his debt of child support, and to make the future payments.)

Melting and Freezing

“Depression’s hot tongue is licking away at my soul like it’s an ice cream cone, and I feel like I’m melting away inside.”  I made that comment and it sounded like a poem.

Melting and Freezing, 2/16/2016, Deon Mumple

I’m the monster in my own head,
Feared by any under my bed
And the closet monsters are too frightened to
Ever dare to venture my way,
I am too dangerous to play
Games with anyone, but I will play with you
Or are monsters just convenient,
Ways of explaining what God’s sent
Or allowed, answering prayers?  Sorry, if true.

I’m the cage and I’m the jailer,
Trapped between life and my failure,
That’s what everyone would like me to accept:
“All you need’s a little more faith,”
Comments burn, touching cold like wraiths,
And my faith’s not strong enough to intercept
With each day I die a little,
My life story, jots and tittles,
Practicing, so why do I still feel inept?

It’s supposed to be erotic,
and my skin, supposed to be thick,
When a tongue is dancing, licking at my soul,
I am melting while I’m freezing,
Could someone tell me the reason
Why I feel so hot when life leaves me so cold?
I don’t want to be someone else,
I just want Someone to fix this,
Sometime soon, before I’m trapped inside Sheol.

Post Valentine’s Day Chocolates

Proverbs 27:20  Hell and destruction are never full; so the eyes of man are never satisfied.

I hope everyone’s Valentine’s day was exactly what you wanted.  I’m experiencing an anticlimax, a kind of nothingness, in response to Sunday.  The message from our pastor was all things I already know and basically agree with, made some good points, then I left and felt the nothingness.  Valentine’s dinner was great, until I wanted more wine.  Which I did.  But the glass ended up full of nothingness.  We exchanged gifts and cards, then I washed dishes and went back to the normalness of nothingness.  She’s trying, she really is, and so am I.  I could do a spreadsheet with two columns with pluses and minuses if I were properly motivated, and nothingness would win because nothingness is huge:

I’ve just had a lovely lunch, entirely adequate, and had a cup of tea. And yet I’m thirsty, and given the opportunity I’d eat an enormous dish of ice cream.  I feel empty.  I’m aware of my nothingness.

Politicians are nothingness, speaking wind to people who understand nothing.  they should take a kind of Hippocratic oath to do no harm before they take office, because they take our taxes and use our money in ways that bring harm, after promising to help.

Insert political protest song with a kernel of wisdom and truth:

Drivers are nothingness, no courtesy and all selfishness.  Drivers should take the same oath because bad manners and selfishness cause crashes.  We make it all politically correct by calling them “accidents” but most are not accidental. Most are just selfishness exerted against another driver.

Snow is nothingness, crystallized water that turns to mud and reduces my shoes to soggy, muddy nothingness and chill my feet to the aching bones.  I should be allowed to take a snow day, or a mental health day. Not that I think it’ll help me cope with the day after.

Status is nothingness, striving for a new equilibrium at some higher level, not realizing that to advance you have to push someone else down, because that’s how it works.  It’s not how it HAS to work, it just seems like that’s the only way.  It’s a tenuous pursuit, a rope bridge over a river of life-lava, and it’s already on fire at both ends.  And enough people don’t believe we can ALL win, so they take everything and leave us nothing.  When our rope breaks, if we have the strength to climb we climb back to the starting point, a level zero, otherwise we fall further into the lava pit.  Occasionally people have pity, compassion, call it what you will, and they throw us a rope to help us climb. It lasts a while, until the next crisis and eventually people run out of extra rope. Or they just let go.

Time is nothingness.  While we waited and watched, just overnight, artificially overpriced Valentine’s chocolates, cards, and roses became out of season and went on sale. Everything in life should be made affordable, so no one goes hungry, no one lives wanting, and no one feels unappreciated.  The markup on movie concessions is a testament to this obscenity.  The 600% markup on snacks and drinks and popcorn only tells me I’m unwelcome, I’m unworthy, I’m undeserving, and I’m being robbed of what little insufficiency I have for the meager portion they begrudgingly offer me.  And it tells me, we have an abundance, but we’re unwilling to share, or lift a finger to help another human being to feel loved.  The only thing that shouldn’t be treated cheaply is life, and we depreciate that worse than used car dealers.  Even if I wanted to go, I would not be able to afford to go to a Super Bowl.  Those tickets, for a crappy seat in a crappy section of a crappy stadium, are exwhorebitantly priced for those rabid, or rich, enough to want to go.  Yeah I misspelled it on purpose, it’s a joke.  Everything in demand is exwhorebitantly priced and the way to get what you want when you want it is to be one.  Or pay one.  Or both.  And you’ll be just as dissatisfied when the moment, La petite mort, is over and your brief satisfied feelings go away, because it’s temporary.

And I am temporary, too.

And I am nothingness, and meaningless and futility, while I chase the pretty, white clouds of my insignificant and unsubstantial dreams and wish for things that will never be.  My work will never be appreciated (until I’m not doing it, or until I’m dead), youth cannot be captured, human nature will not change, and why should I think that what I want should matter?  I’m “the eye of man” above.  I’m never satisfied and I’m afraid I’ll never be satisfied.  We race headlong toward death and the grave and most never realize it because their minds are clouded or distracted with these dreams.

You’re busy chasing your own meaning, and I honestly hope you find it.

I’ve found my own nothingness and I’m not even a Buddhist.  The fact that I’m not a Buddhist has kept me alive physically.  If I were here as a Buddhist and I could find a non-violent way to go, I’d end it and feel perfect.  Then I’d come back as a cockroach or a dung beetle because that’s just how it goes.  Don’t judge.  It’s just, I’m emotionally empty.  I’m psychologically a very dirty, very dry martini that leaves the consumer feeling a little more tainted, a little more thirsty for a better, more quenching drink. And I feel, spiritually, like nothing.  I’m almost completely dissatisfied.  I want so much more, because clearly, I’m just as selfish as everyone else, but I don’t have the power to exact the toll I want.  I’m savage.  And a savage without teeth is nothing.  I hold the hope of eternity, I don’t want to do any harm to any others, which is why I can’t deliberately do anything harmful to myself.  The message of hope in eternity is true.  But I don’t hold any hope for myself in this present nothingness. It’s just the cycle again. Probably.

If I had any motivation I’d figure out how everyone else is so successful at the taking game, and I’d be this dangerous:

But I don’t. I almost wish I could. Almost.

I’ve realized my nothingness, and even my desire for nothingness amounts to nothing.

And yeah, I’ll be buying the Valentine’s chocolate now that it’s 75% off, and the stores will make a fair profit instead of an outrageous one.  Unless Mrs M. tells me not to.  I bet she does, because what I want is meaningless nothingness compared to what Mrs. M. wants, so what I want is what she tells me she wants, and if she wants nothing, that’s what I’ll buy.  Because she’s everything I want, and I do everything inadequately, imperfectly, or incorrectly, in my pursuit of her heart.

Mrs. M.  Bless her heart.  She gave me the biggest card I’ve ever seen for Valentine’s day, and I gave her a stupid Goodwill book.  I’m not going to tell her where it’s from. She tries so hard to tell me I’m a success, for her, and everything I hear around me, including often enough things she says, tells me the opposite.  If she reads the book and really understands it, it will tell her 1) to love herself because she’s perfection, and 2) to love herself because she’s perfection to me. Those two things are very different.

She pushes me so hard, I hate it.  I love her because she believes in me, but I hate the way she pushes because I can’t do what she wants well enough in spite of her faith.  She’s my “ezer kenegdo” in the Hebrew.  One study says it perfectly:  “In Genesis 2:18, God calls woman an ezer kenegdo, a helper against him.'”  Which means she’s first a helper and second she’s against me.  I’m completed by her.  We’re perfectly mismatched.  And I crave her.  I don’t want her to be “against me” in an adversarial sense, because it would kill me and make me feel even less.  I want her to be “against me,” because she’s perfect when she’s next to me. Insert stereotypical silly song here:

It’s not worship.  It’s close to it, but it’s not.  And because creation and my mind are all marred, like chipped and cracking plates, and rusting stainless steel, no matter what she says to me I’ll always hear something else.  You know when you drop a glass or a plate and you wait for that shattery sound that says it’s broken beyond repair?  I either hear the sound, or feel the grim waiting suspense, all the time. And it makes me just want to stay in bed.  The shit tide is high and lapping at the doorway, and couldn’t have chosen a worse time to knock at the door like some hellish, loud, trebuchet breaking my life down one boulder at a time.

Maybe there will be more wine and some chocolate when I get home.  Those two things will tell me, at least temporarily, like a great dinner meal, that I have enough.

That I am loved.

If I’ll listen.