#104 Out of this World

"Do you believe there is life beyond Earth? If so, what might it be like, and if not, why not? "

This is todays prompt. I didn't make it up and infact I was chagrined that this question was asked. Why? Well because! Because, first of all, I didn't want to be the one to tell people about life off planet. Secondly, I thought most people already know that there is a myriad of life forms in the universe.

At first I tried to avoid this approach to the topic and so I searched my mind high and low, awake and asleep to come up with some event; some excellent meal, some sublime sexual encounter, some titillating, tantalizing,earth shattering vacation, but alas I could not. Not because I've not had any of those happenings in my life, but rather that I've never used the term "Out of this world" to describe them. You see (notice the word see; I'm a visual being), it's like hypnotizing a client and failing to do an adequate interview before starting the session. I.E., trying to get someone to envision themselves basking in the sun on a warm sandy beach when they have never been to a beach is a prescription for failure. You may find this particular example odd, but just as recently as last week I had a client tell me just that. Ask someone who's never eaten or even peeled an orange to recall the pungent smell while peeling an orange is futile. All this to say, "Out of this World" is not a term I utilize to describe wonderful experiences, so my treasure chest of imaginings could not conger up an essay along those lines.

Therefore you see, my options this week were to either opt out of participating this week and thereby avoid the ridicule and seething attacks of non-believers, or to stand tall and tell the facts and take the diatribes upon my broad shoulders.

Rather than a long, (by long, I mean a book length dissertation) drawn out presentation, I'll just offer some bullet comments and a poem to peak your curiosity and perhaps lead you to seek greater knowledge. (I'm available for private commiseration on this topic.)

1. Is there life beyond earth? YES!
2. Would it be vainglorious to believe otherwise? YES! (You're welcome D. ;))
   
3. Are there aliens from other worlds living here on earth? Yes; Venusians would be one example.
4. How could one recognize them? They operate all the funeral parlors in our world.
5. Are there planets in our solar system with whom which we have dealings? Yes: Skeletos.
6. What are black holes, really? They are gigantic tubes (think subway here) through which intergalactic travel takes place.
7. How do I know this? Interviews with the 10s of thousands of persons who have had near death experiences.
8. Why should we believe you? You shouldn't, not until you have completed the required level (the 11 levels or planes of consciousness). Einstein tried to tell the world, as did Asimov, and Herbert. Others who knew and tried to impart the knowledge to the masses were Mohammad, Buddha, Jesus, and Aesop. Ghandi knew,
9. well the list is quite lengthy, but the point is only a few listened, heard and were enlightened.

I'll leave you with this feeble attempt at poetry to perhaps make you think out side your box:

Out of this World

When you travel out of this world
What can you expect to see?
Is the firmament all a whorl
With twinkling in the midnight sea?

Every planet, star and huge galaxie
Is but a reprint of this orb-
Where life abounds in grand array
With complexities we can't absorb.

Of course there is no place
Exactly like our own.
In this outer space
There is no perfect clone.

Each universe is but a stepping stone
On the path to sweet nirvana.
Each lifetime is a chance to hone
Our personal hosanna.

When we've learned to live
In perfect quietude
And find it's love we have to give,
Plus fervent gratitude.

We'll be vacumned through
One last black hole
To a place you always knew;
The repository for the soul.











OH, BTW, these other life forms, They don't resemble us in any way, with the exceptions of the Venusians who live here. They had to give up their natural form to come here. But, just so you know, it was a conscious choice on their part.

Choice. Isn't that a nice word?

Friday 5: fling, cranberry, winsome, prey, and quacky

She was a winsome young lass named spring
Who wore nothing but cranberry bling.
Her prey were old codgers by cracky,
With voices all withered and quacky;
And spent all their cash on a fling.

Stone Sour - Through Glass

You knew me not

She came to this place
Not entirely unbidden.
The invite, a lark almost;
Thought 'twould be unheeded.
Until the day and he
Walked past.
Walked past the glass
And saw her looking out.
Their eyes locked for
But a moment--
Instant recognition by
Strangers.....two!
He hurried on, afraid
To ask the question-
Stopping then, two blocks away,
Knowing he had to know.
Hurriedly returning, rushing
Through the door......
All he saw, an empty chair and this.....
Just a token poem for him
Only, to read and know.
Doubt erased, she had come.
Illusory? No, they knew.

You knew me not, when you did pass
And now my face you've seen
through this dirty window glass,
you knew me not, when you did pass.

Here beside my demitasse
words to show I'm keen.
You knew me not, when you did pass
and now my face you've seen.

Glass
Question
Token

Deja Vu - Fogerty

# 103

I just don’t get it.

This is a little story about the meaning of life. It’s fairly long for a Sunday scribble, but not as long as it could be. If you already know the meaning of life, stop reading here, and e-mail me privately so that we can compare notes. On the other hand, if you don’t know or are unsure, and you don’t want to read all the hyperbole, scroll down to the end and read the last 6 lines and be enlightened.

As I stand in the garden alone, I ponder the persistent question; why am I here?

This is not the first time I’ve been here, nor the first time this thought has materialized in my mind. Déjà vu? Maybe, but this was no illusion. I didn’t have the feeling that I’ve been here before. It’s more a matter of: here I am again, same place same question and I just don’t get it.

Blinding bright sun light reflecting off the crystalline and ebbing snow in which I stand mid-calf deep has sparked this reflective thought. No secret in that; I’d read the prompt for Sunday Scribblings yesterday and that seed had marinated in my right brain over night while I slept and presents itself in bud now.

Notes♫ from the William Tell 1812 Overture disturb my reverie; what the fuk? (If you misspell a vulgar profanity on purpose, is it still a swear word?) Oops, cell phone!

“rel?”

“Aye, it is he, rel the healer of multitudes, how may I serve you?”

“Cut the crap rel, it’s me, Lem.”

“Lem? Oh yes, my old friend Limerace Orgilis LeBeau. The last time I heard from you was seven months ago. To what do I owe this, sure to be, august phone call?”

“rel, sorry old friend, you could’ve called me.”

“You’re always unavailable to take my calls!”

“You know how absent minded I get. I’m just a self absorbed miserable excuse for a friend. However, it’s always your name that pops into my head when I need some sage advice.”

“Yadda, yadda, yadda Lem. What’s on your mind this time?”

“The meaning of life rel, the meaning of life. I just don’t get it.”

“Hmmm, funny you should say that Lem, I was just thinking the same thing myself.”

I knew right then and there that a new adventure was in the making. Lem and I are not so much chums as we are kindred spirits, and when we get the same inspirations, one or the other of us contacts the other, usually he, me. More often than not it leads to some sort of adventure.

Lem had his mind set on a pilgrimage to a far off place where we might find the answer to our query. He reminded me about the “guru” we’d met that time we did the fourteen day Everest base camp hike a couple of Novembers ago. I recall that we had nick-named him Mike, (just another example of the ugly American sense of world superiority manifesting itself), using the initials of his given name: Maharajah Isaiah Krishna Ezekiel.

Long story short, Lem had already purchased our plane tickets (presumptuous SOB), sent his private Lear to fetch me and take me to JFK in NYC, and voila, early Easter morning we are at the mountain home of our acquaintance “Mike”.

After the customary greetings and amenities, Mike led us to his sitting room where we, duh, sat; Lem and I side by side across from and facing Mike.

Mike spoke first; “How may I serve you, friends?”

“We are searching for the meaning of life” said Lem.

“All life or just human life?” asks Mike.

“Well, all life, I guess, but, no, human life… my life mostly.”

Taking a deep breath, Mike raises his arms over is head, brings his palms together, and exhaling he lowers them to a point directly in front of his sternum. Then he says:

“The meaning of life is death.”

Lem gives me a puzzled look, I shrug. Turning back to face Mike, Lem says:

“We fly 17 hours, climb 10,000 feet up this F’n mountain to be told that the meaning of life is death?”

“You think there should be more?” asks Mike

“Yes!”

Mike continues:

“Love all things equally, without exception.

Expect nothing in return.

If you do this, you will have the meaning of life.

If you just don’t get it,

The meaning of life is death.”

Friday 5:
kiss
train
fence
vale
simper

****************************************************

While
I
Simper,
Fences close
'Round my vale of years.
Blow a kiss to life's passing train.

The six-word memoir meme

Here are the rules:

1. Write your own six-word memoir.
2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like.
3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post.
4. Tag five more blogs with links.
5. And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play.

Ages ago, or maybe just a week or two ago, Ren.kat tagged me to do the 6 word memoir. Then booda baby did it and included me again to do it, and then Churlita put out the call in general.

Like the churlish girl, I'm not going to tag anyone, but jump on if the spirit moves you.

Here's mine:

Sports, Music, Girls; repeat as necessary.

money
tangled
understood

They told her he liked it rough. She did too, that's why they'd chosen her. Oh yes, she'd be ready to tangle as soon as he came through the door!

Petting, and intimately sensing, legs entwined.... yielding:

Just answer me one question, he said.
Opprobrious this sordid business, why?
Darting eyes found the money on the night stand.
I see! He understood.

Surgical staff meeting 0730 today.

We are nursing head colds!

Happy St. Patrick's Day to one and all!

While I spend a fair amount of time celebrating my French heritage, the truth of the matter is that I'm more Irish than I am French, despite my name. No, I don't mean just on St. Paddy's Day. ;)

My father was half French (his father) and half Irish (his mother).

My mother was a British Isles mongrel...part English, Scottish, and Irish.

So there ya have it...more Irish than French, but if ya didn't read it here you'd a never known.
May you have the luck of the Irish and find your own personal pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

The Mouse on the Barroom Floor

Some Guinness was spilled on the barroom floor
when the pub was shut for the night.
Out of his hole crept a wee brown mouse
and stood in the pale moonlight.
He lapped up the frothy brew from the floor,
then back on his haunches he sat.
And all night long you could hear him roar,
'Bring on the goddamn cat!'

An Irishman's Philosophy In life, there are only two things to worry about—
Either you are well or you are sick.
If you are well, there is nothing to worry about,

But if you are sick, there are only two things to worry about—
Either you will get well or you will die.
If you get well, there is nothing to worry about,

But if you die, there are only two things to worry about—
Either you will go to heaven or hell.
If you go to heaven, there is nothing to worry about.

And if you go to hell, you’ll be so busy shaking hands with all your friends
You won’t have time to worry!

Smörgåsbord....# 102

David MeLange was looking forward to attending the event of the season; the literary smörgåsbord hosted by his group of writing aficionados. It's not as if they were a group of published authors or anything. No, most of their publishing was done on Blogger or Wordpress or some such online blog/journal site, although a few had had some poems published in some obscure poetry magazines.

Basically, they were a group of literary connoisseurs who savored words as if they were the spices and ingredients in a hodgepodge of bellatristic scribblings. No matter the genre or form, be it short story, flash fiction, novel, villanelle, or ode, it was reading the words, admiring their placement, absorbing the aroma of ideas saturating their mind's eye that brought them satisfaction. They literally tasted the succulent words of their fellow writers. Picking and choosing those most appetizing to themselves. As they rolled the words around on their tongues, they were as prompts, hundreds of prompts, that invited them to choose which oven to bake them in and produce their own literary masterpieces.

Truly, a feast for all the senses awaited. "I can hardly wait" thought David.

And thusly, he took pen

in

hand:

Smörgåsbord

Taste the author's succulent board,
Each word choice nuance does convey
An appetizing sampler, a smörgåsbord.

Each page, each stanza, does afford
The reader a literary buffet.
Taste the author's succulent board.

Choosing a piece for your reward,
Will you pick a profound essay?
An appetizing sampler, a smörgåsbord?

This lover's sonnet, doth here record
Two hearts entwined; amours foray.
Taste the author's succulent board.

A novella offers new words to hoard,
To bend and mold like paper maché.
An appetizing sampler, a smörgåsbord.

Here a blogger offers up his concord;
Musings linked in grand array.
Taste the author's succulent board,
An appetizing sampler, a smörgåsbord.

rel ©16 Mar. 2008

SPELLBOUND....#26

He captivated the State if not the country. Eliot Spitzer held the electorate of NYS..... SPELLBOUND. Too many saw him as a savior, a political savior to be sure, but a savior never the less. He was the knight in shinning armor who would lift NY from the stagnant depths of depravity and into the status once held by the EMPIRE State. As a man of multi-millions he would be immune to bribery from the prostitute lobbyists populating the capital. He had charisma and chutzpah. His take no prisoners, holier than thou approach to reform of both wall Street and Brothel lane Showed him to be the high stepper we needed.

Although I voted for his opponent, John Fasso, I secretly wanted, no, I knew in my heart of hearts that Eliot Spitzer was going to be elected. No one, well 70% of the voters, listened when Fasso pegged Spitzer as a low life sleaze. They shucked it off as political rhetoric of a namby-pamby hotshot wanna be. “Eliot Spitzer, he’s our man, if he can’t do it no one can!” Ta-rah-rah-rah-boom-de-aye!

As the drama of March 10^th, 2008 unfolded and the pundits, the amateur psychologists weighed in with their analyses, I was compelled to do some research into the sexual peccadilloes of American Politicians. Lordy, God A’ mighty, the list of mayors, governors, legislators, and presidents who have had their careers marred or destroyed by their sexual indiscretions was/is phenomenal. From Thomas Jefferson, to Eliot Spitzer, the list would fill an average size roll of toilet paper.

Reading along, my memory stroked and stimulated into recalling many of these events, I asked myself if I could detect any commonality in these people. This is what I came up with: First, they were all men. Not one woman was listed in the whole sordid bunch (on the perpetrator’s side). Next, because they were all elected, most of them to more than one term, they more than likely possessed some sort of hypnotic attraction, the ability to mesmerize their public, to hold the populace SPELLBOUND.

Ponder these names for but a moment, and if my essay has not held you captive then certainly do a Google search and discover for yourself the sexual scandals in their lives and careers: Thomas Jefferson, Dwight Eisenhower, FDR, Gary Hart, Marion Barry, JFK, MLK, and of course, Bill Clinton.

These pedestalized men all had/have the appeal necessary to bamboozle and captivate the public. These qualities aren’t something that are kept in some election time file for “character traits to exhibit to get elected.” No, these are the same qualities that allowed them to attract and keep beautiful, intelligent women by their sides and call them wife.

It is these same attributes that promote hero worship and demagoguery. They are seen as modern day Sir Lancelot. Yes, it’s these characteristics which allow him to dally and dance in forbidden women’s underpants.

Usually some good comes from catastrophe. I believe that Gov. David Patterson can do what Eliot Spitzer could not; bring the NYS legislature together.

On another, but related note, this debacle has given me a focus on our nation’s presidential race. Let it be known before hand that I intend to vote for Sen. John McCain ® Ariz.. We are brothers of the Vietnam War. He took my share of torture and suffering and the share of many others in that V.C. prison camp. He refused to feed their propaganda machine by rejecting early release or any leniency. I feel that I owe him.

Barack Obama has given the youth of this great nation a reason to get involved in our country’s politics. That’s a wonderful thing. He has given the black populace (he is black isn’t he? Geraldine Ferraro said as much) a hope not enjoyed since MLK. He is a handsome, soft spoken, bright, very intelligent man with a beautiful, intelligent woman at his side called his wife.

He has charisma!

He has the populace SPELLBOUND!!!!!!

3WW LXXVII

apartment
began
numb

rm. Mayflower hotel

Apartment quickie
Governor's downfall began
Electorate numb.

NY Governor's Mansion

Eliot Spitzer was inaugurated as New York’s 54th Governor on January 1, 2007. In his inaugural address, Governor Spitzer said: "Every policy, every action and every decision we make in this administration will further two overarching objectives: We must transform our government so that it is as ethical and wise as all of New York, and we must rebuild our economy so that it is ready to compete on the global stage in the next century".

The Experiment # 101

" Some of this with that

Mixed together, you get...

An experiment"

At the beginning of every class, right after the bell. Miss Stevenson would recite her little ditty.

"Miss Stevenson, is Frankenstein the result of an experiment?" Asked Henry.

"Oh Henry, well yes, technically Frankenstein was the outcome of an experiment, but it was a story of fiction, not of scientiic experiments such as we do here."

Henry persists, "Miss Stevenson, when we read Shelly's book in Mrs. Victor's English class, it sure seemed realistic."

" Henry Jekyll, your imagination will be the end of you!" said the exasperated Miss Stevenson.

"We'll see about that," thought Henry to himself.

Can you say pomatini 5 times fast?

During.

rest
sidewalk
twice

Awakening to the sound of pelleted rain peppering my bedroom windows, I thought twice about rousing myself for a morning of invigorating exercise. Better to stay snuggled warmly here for une autre heure or so and catch up on my rest.

Alas, but non, I must be up and attending to my routine or suffer my own mental recriminations for the remainder of the day. My one concession however was to take my regimen into my garage gym rather than to trudge through the 4" accumulation of snow, sleet and freezing rain that had deposited overnight on our sidewalk.

Before!

Smoke-a-doke

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We are in East Amherst, NY visiting Jay and Kristi at their new digs.

Going shopping shortly...girls-antiquing...boys -Barnes and Noble (surprised?) No?

Shogun Japanese restaurant tonight.

BAC (Buffalo Atheletic Club) tomorrow. a 7 mile run on the treadmill. :(

Home tomorrow night.