...Flatulence, reality...and the inner self

Thanks Auntie! There's nothing like a good fart joke to start the day....and the one you just forwarded is definitely top notch. I think part of the universal appeal of flatulence humor is that we all need to be reminded from time to time that our consciousness,... our understanding and appreciation of all outside reality..is also, at the same time, quite aware of what's happening independently from what's also rumbling about inside our bodies. These two states of consciousness...the awareness of the inner body....and the awareness of everything else beyond which affects the stimulation of the bodies's senses...do have at least one nexus which bridges the two ..."yep!"...an intense appreciation that the inner body has just expelled enough internal methane to thoroughly pollute the host's immediate environment, and reduce all sensory receptors in the the immediate vicinity to non-working-over load status. The intuitive understanding of what has just happened...that this is how we'll probably smell soon after we are dead...and that...because we can truly appreciate the momentary stench rising about us...is the ultimate affirmation of life...and that we are here...now...stinking up the place...and are very much glad to know that we are doing it...and still can. What Joy! Is there anything else to do but laugh? "I FART-THERE FORE-I "STILL" AM!"

...Of Dancing Girls & Dirty Old Men

Good afternoon,
Sorry to be so remiss in writing lately. I "was" assuming that Clay
and I
would be leaving on that road trip to Connecticut on
Saturday..."until"...he
called me at about 2:pm on Friday afternoon and said he might be a few
minutes late for our 3 pm planned meeting and debarkation..."WHOOPS!".
Major
league mis-communication. I guess that's why Carol and Dee always make
the
arrangements when we get together. Long story short...we drove down in
my
old Ford Ranger (which is running better than it ever has (knock on
wood)...) stayed over night at his sister in law's "Estate" about 40
minutes
south of Hartford...and returned the next day with a truck full of
used, but
serviceable furniture. The sister in law's house is a brand new-custom
built
modern 8000+ sq. ft. "castle"...that took over two years to build. it's
faced in stone with oak and stucco accents...many crenellations, cut
glass
windows...French doors, oak paneling, granite counters (even in the
janitor's closet)...it's set atop a high, gently rolling hill on 55+
perfectly groomed acres...with at least five large horse barns, a few
utility sheds about the size of my house, a small; one acre pond,...and
seemingly
"miles" of brand new 6ft high horse fencing which encircle the whole
estate and then separate the whole into individual sections ...so that
each
of the many horses in their stables has it's own personal pasture to
romp
about in. It was a classic example of Modern American wanna-be
Aristocracy
design... and if it's purpose was to make a statement to the world
about the
owners... and make Clay and I feel like white trash...then the whole
thing
succeeded wonderfully. The master of the domain was away...vacationing
in
the Dominican Republic...while the Lady of the house supervised the
staff
and worried over her horses. We only saw her for a few minutes...when
she
finally came in from the stables around 8:30 PM. She had told us to
make
ourselves comfortable when we arrived a bit after 6:30...so we had
grabbed a
couple of Coronas from the garage fridge (nothing so "base" as beer was
apparently kept in the "good" state of the art, stainless steel kitchen
refrigerator.)...and had finally figured out the remote control that
turned
on the 60" plasma TV (she mentioned that the custom remote we were
using
costs $800}...When she asked me how I liked the house...I favored her
by
acting the simple bumpkin that I am..."Gee!", I said with bug eyed
enthusiasm.."you must have had to have a lot of help getting all the
wheels
off this trailer and jacking it up!" I'm not sure if she knew that I
was
kidding or not. The funny thing is, ..even though the mansion was
gorgeous
in all it's marbled, oak, brass, granite and crystal chandeliered
perfection...it just didn't "feel" comfortable...or real even...it was
more
like spending time on a movie set..or the living embodiment of the game
of
"CLUE".....rather than a real home. If nothing else, it was a reminder
to me
of how happy I am with my own humble abode...such as it is...and how I
should sit down with Carol and start talking seriously about how we
will
begin downsizing in preparation for our rapidly approaching golden
years.
The bulk and weight of excess possessions and the responsibilities of
storing, protecting and maintaining them ,can drag down and encumber
even
the most carefree retirement. Based on what I've seen of life...if we
are
lucky enough to live long enough to end up in a nursing
home...everything
we're eventually allowed to keep will have to fit in a dresser draw and the
small closet supplied by that institution. Though only the most
precious
possessions would be worth keeping and bringing there...it would be a
tragic
mistake, since such objects are often "lost" amongst the comings and
goings
of patients, visitors and staff. About the only thing of value that
we're
left with in the end, in fact...are our memories...which take up no
space...and can't be stolen...except by the cruel forces of senility
and
dementia. That's why I will take care to spend more time making
memories,
instead of gathering possessions from now on. How'd I ever wander from a
perfect weekend at a Baronial estate...to thoughts of aged loss in a
nursing
home?...
So...It;s obvious that you guys really know how to throw a party. If
everyone had a good time...with only a couple of people complaining
about
the antics of "Wild Holly"...the beautiful but overly seductive dancing maiden...then you can certainly chalk the whole
thing
up as a success. Personally, I rather enjoy watching gorgeous women
dancing
provocatively. Carol says that it's because I'm just a "dirty old
man"...which isn't true...because I've enjoyed such things since I was
old
enough to be a "dirty little kid". A love for...an ability to enjoy
such
sights, is hard wired into the male psyche, I think. I know it is with
me,
anyway.Certainly, the marriage/ fertility rites of most cultures-both
primitive and modern, are rooted in sensually provocative dancing
(south
seas hula ...African mate taking... your classic rhythm & blues bump
and
grind) as a way of expressing sexual availability...viral energy...and
the
shear joy of living in the moment, losing one's self in the music...and
freeing one's spirit from the daily constraints of propriety. Some may be
offended...even appalled by blatant exhibitions of sexuality, but
"everyone"
looks...and whether openly, or secretly...enjoys what they see. It is
an
affirmation of life...a reminder that our ultimate mission in this
life-is
to propagate the species...and usher in and train a new generation to
replace us ...before we finally retreat to nursing homes and
eventually...the damp comfort of head stoned grave yards. The thought
might
seem to be a description of a long fruitless, frustrating, depressing
journey...but it isn't. As Dylan Thamas would
proclaim..."Rage...Rage...against the night...Rage against the burning
of
the light"....and when "Wild Holly" dances...it is fuel to feed the
fire...and a reminder to all of us...of passions, instincts, and
needs...which are kept hidden and suppressed beneath our veneers of
civilized accommodation. I think you handled the whole thing
perfectly...you
are a very wise...responsible...and sensitive hostess. It makes me feel
privileged to know some one such as yourself...you are an inspiration
to all
who are lucky enough to be touched by your grace and wisdom...that
said...is
there any chance of seeing any of this on video?
I'll try to write a more decent note tomorrow...have a great night...bye.

...A Camp Fire Tale

OK...No more teasing you about the story of Gary and Twyla. It's a fairly long or short story...depending upon the mood of the moment...and the way it's being told. The hardest part is just beginning...and that is right now.
It was just a couple of days after Christmas, 1971...that I went to visit Gary above the post office and learned that he and Twyla had had a falling out of sorts. He was down, but still more mad at the situation than anything else. Twyla had packed up what little stuff she owned and had grabbed a ride with Eddie Buckner down to Boston where she was hanging out with him and Joe. Gary was a bit bitter about that....but also relieved that at least she wasn't with some total stranger.I Thumbed down to Joe's house in Andover and met the three there. We rode into the city and hung out. Eddie was all excited because he was going to be hosting a film crew at his camp over the New Year's holiday. He was going to school in Boston to learn to be a TV producer/engineer and one of his professors had asked him if he wanted to be part of shooting an Arctic Cat snow mobile commercial...(in other words-supply a cottage for free)..."Sure!"...a shot at the big time! We had a few memorable adventures over the next couple of days...which are totally irrelevant to this story...and managed to get back to Eddie's camp in time to prepare for the film crew's arrival a few days before New Years. I was a bit surprised that Twyla stayed with us...but figured that she would eventually come around and go back to Gary. Things were clicking beautifully for the shooting of the commercial...the crew of about a dozen technicians arrived with "tons" of equipment and began setting up on Friday night..."we" shot a lot of film the next day because the light was so good and the temps were so mild. I ended up being a "star" in the film...turns out I was one heck of a stunt driver/ stunt man. Most of the footage needed was in the can by the end of the day...and everyone retired to the camp that night in high spirits, because a New Years eve snow storm was moving into the area that night and it promised a chance for some wonderful footage of virgin snow covered trails for the next day. We partied...a bit of weed...some pills...and a lot of alcohol...I brought two gallons of my Grand father's home made elderberry wine to the party. It was very smooth...very scary stuff...even a serious drinker had trouble maintaining poise after downing little more than a beer can's worth. I warned them...but who's going to listen to some dumb hick...especially when already jacked up on who knows what else. The snow began falling just after dark...and the winds picked up soon after. Pretty soon they were howling and driving the snow against the windows in horizontal sheets. The wine was flowing...the crowd was loud ....drunk and raucous...almost out of control...and some time around 9PM, the phone rang. It was Gary's mother, who called to tell us that her son Gary had just emptied two or three cans of "Raid" bug spray down his throat and had been pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. She was calling just to let us know that she considered us partly responsible for him taking his own life...we had stolen his girl and driven him to it...and don't even think about coming by to express any condolences over his passing. Stay away..."You back stabbing Murderers!" . Wheww!! Talk about a buzz kill! Things got pretty quiet in the place after the call...just the sound of the howling wind and icy snow hurtling against the cathedral windows of the cottage. At some point, Twyla came over to where I was and started telling me how smart and wise and sexy I was...how she'd always been intrigued and attracted to me...and how it would be a dream come true if I would just let her stay with me back in Keene...Hmmm! As drunk and horny as I was...I couldn't see that arrangement working out even in the short run...I told her that as much as I'd like to accommodate her...I couldn't...at which point she left me and began working the room for another "sugar Daddy"...within 20 minutes she had hooked up with a young Boston technician who had to be wondering how he had managed to get so lucky all of a sudden. I was pretty depressed over the whole evening...Gary was dead...and for all intents and purposes...so was Twyla...in the end, she was willing to trade her body to just about anyone in return for a warm meal and a dry bed. Eddie and Joe were too screwed up to really even understand what had occurred...and one by one...the crew gave into the poisoned magic of the elderberry wine and gravity...and passed out on the carpeted floor where ever they happened to be at the time. I didn't want to spend the night there...the place....the people...all just seemed so shallow. tacky and profane for some reason....and I knew I had to leave. I bundled up and struck out across Locke Lake...taking the direct route, up over my Grandfather's hill, ...the short cut to the half moon bridge. The screaming wind and swirling snow matched my anxious, confused, unsettled mood any way...I was a walking cocoon of introspection...trundling through the blizzard. The visibility was practically zero...and the wonder is that I didn't become disoriented in that dark night, snowy chaos and start wandering through the drifts in circles...but...I ended up following almost a compass course across the frozen dark stretch of ice and was very close to the opposite shore...so close that I could hear the sound of the frozen pellets of ice dashing against the trees lining the shore.
At this point, things get a bit "weird"...maybe it happened the way I'm about to tell it...perhaps it was all just a figment of my over heated, emotionally charged imagination...but a glowing, electric blue ...figure...something roughly human shaped appeared a few yards in front of me....I remember questioning it's reality...and noticing that it was giving off enough light to reflect the falling snow flakes between myself and it....the flakes lit up more brightly as they blew through it...then disappeared as they hurtled into the darkness just beyond it's glow. Looking back, It some what resembled what one would imagine to be the shimmering ethereal shadow cast by the grim reaper...and I'll tell you at this point...I was not drunk...or stoned...or the least bit tired...in fact, I was very, very much awake and crystal clear in my head. I stood in place for several seconds...trying to get a handle on things...and all of a sudden...the figure seemed to gesture to me in a silent slow motion...it seemed to be beckoning me to approach...and out of shear reflex I stepped forward...and crashed through the ice into the winter cold water of Locke Lake...fortunately, since it "was" Locke Lake...I found myself standing on the lake bottom only about waist deep and was able to crawl out ofn to the ice bath and across the snow to the nearby shore. Once on land I headed for home through the deep snow as fast as only a freezing wet, scared shitless yokel can move. When I went back to the spot where I had met the electric shadow and fallen through the ice...it turned out to be the exact spot where one of my great grand father's hired hands had been killed in an accident around the turn of the century. A wagon load of stones had accidentally been dumped on him there. It may have been just a coincidence.
I returned to Eddie's camp that morning and learned that...perfect snow or not...the filming of the commercial was done...everyone was too sick and hung over (they blamed the wine) to do anything more on it...and were heading back to Boston "pronto"...the commercial would never be finished...I would never be a star stunt man...Twyla would leave with her temporary techie...never to be seen again by us...Joe and Eddie were still out of it...and Gary was still...and would always be...dead. I guess that it was at that moment that I realized just how fragile and temporary "everything" is....wine, films, friendships, lovers, ...lives. All the talk about Peace, love...drugs, friendship, music and politics...all of our generation's innocent dreams....were all just a giant mirage...just another electric blue ethereal phantasm...beckoning us towards the thin ice lying just beyond where we were safely standing. That's when the 60's ended for me...and I began looking for other dreams to believe in.
That's the reader's digest version of the Gary & Twyla saga...hope it was worth the wait. Your turn for a camp fire, wine sipping adventure. Time to go...Bye

...3 letter words

Hi Gang!...It's the eternally omnipotent and omnipresent BIG GUY here...that's right!...the one and only...dare I say it once again?..."god". I've heard more than a few of you grumbling about the egregious-heresy of some one actually using the "G" word to identify him self on a blog...and don't go bugging me about that dyslexic who doesn't like me calling myself "DOG" either...I've already been there and back on that particular subject. While I can appreciate how some might be a bit uncomfortable at such a prosaic use of that three lettered word....and other pucker assed holy rollers might even consider it sacriligious...To them... and all of you doubters and troubled readers out there...what can I possibly say except..."tough doughnuts!!" If the "G" word can't be used by "ME"-then who?!...and if you don't like it-then feel free to go outside and create your own infinite universe...furnished with everything that goes with it! I'll warn you in advance, though...look out for all those extras...they add up fast and can really kill you in the end...(that's "you", of course,...not me-since I have an excellent credit rating "AND" I am, after all..."GOD"!)

The Fish Who Believed In Water

...Long ago and far away...in the deep, dark, coldest depths of the bottomless-shore less sea...there lived a small but thoughtful fish...who swam amongst his kind...and survived as best he could in an eat or be eaten world. If you can accept that words are merely the imperfect shadows of thought...and dreams but the desperate echoes of hope... all tugging for recognition upon the chaotic edges of a very distracted consciousness...then this fish truly existed in a simple, but desperately serious and final universe. "Hungry".."It's food-eat it!"..."Big hungry eater!"..."Run away and hide!". Fish don't really need or want a lot of words and thoughts to get along...and pondering too long and often over even those few, in fact...could get any one of them turned into "food"... before even the simplest sentence has reached a grammatically correct conclusion. it is important to note that this particular fish, while brighter than most of his kind...wasn't all that "smart" by human standards...but not quite as simple and stupid as, perhaps, we enlightened beings would like or even hope to think he was.
And so it happened one day (or rather; "time"-since there is no day or night in the pitch black endless night that cloaks the bottomless sea)...that the little fish had a momentary shift in consciousness and a thought...(Totally unrelated to food or flight)...all of which was quite out of character for a finned-scaled, cold blooded creature of the depths..."Why are we here?...How did we get to this place...What is this place...Is there anything else besides "Darkness and cold"...Where do we finally end up when we stop swimming and start sinking... AND Lastly-but most importantly...WHO MADE IT ALL-and-WHY"?!... He suddenly wondered. Being only a fish, however, these matters were quickly cast aside...since the simple creature lived "in the moment"...had little capacity to learn, remember, or understand...and actually lacked words to describe the very "thoughts"which had so suddenly flickered in and out of his limited consciousness...even if he had. Still, the fish was left with an "inkling" that something was missing...that some deep...important...mystery was gliding back and forth on the outer fridges of his understanding...riding upon felt, but unseen currents like some powerful, black finned eater...just waiting, lurking...and sizing him up as a potential future meal...
Those thoughts were cast aside,though, when the fish suddenly spied a shiny, alien-like, spinning object trolling across his line of sight..."food!...Eat it!"...and he attacked the metallic intruder in one total reflexisive spasm of ferocity. In an instant, he felt a sear of pain as he was "hooked" and yanked up ward by an unseen, but irresistible force. Despite every effort to swim, fin or thrash against the constant tug...he felt himself being drawn inexorably upward through the crushing darkness. Long seconds passed, and the upward rush increased in speed...the surface horizon ahead began to "lighten" and the surrounding water pressure decreased... until he was struggling to remain conscious and felt as if he were turning inside out with the difference between internal and external pressures.
The fish was experiencing the first throes of death as he broke through the shimmering noon- day bright surface of the sea. His last momentary visions were of sea gulls gliding above the waves...and...perhaps...he thought they might be angels...and he saw the foam tossed waves, the clouds scudding above, and blue sky beyond...and perhaps...assumed he'd been carried into heaven...He felt for the first time, the warmth of the tropical sun...glimpsed a flash of it's all encompassing light...and must have been certain he was finally looking into the eyes of God-the creator. It all ended in an instant, though. A restless, frustrated fisherman...looking down on his catch, saw only a small, boney, unappetizing, unpalatable, worthless sea creature...his seizure had been a waste of time, energy and bait..because the fish was certainly not worth keeping. In disgust, he gave the line a sudden, violent snap against the boat and released the fish from the hook. The concussion left a smear of fish blood across the back of the boat, and the watery fluid ran down over the lettering of the boat's name, which was emblazoned in gold lettering across the transom..."THE ST. PETERSBURG"...It was the last thing seen by the little fish before giving into death..Fish don't read, but even so... he didn't really have a chance to grasp the whole irony of the circumstance...even if he had had the intellectual and philosophical gifts to do so.
In that instant before drifting down into the final darkness, we can only hope the fish finally understood that there is another plane of existence beyond his every day consciousness. and that he was falling ever so steadily into the darkening, cooling, crushing depths of the bottomless sea.
It is impossible to appreciate the presence of water...when one's entire existence is spent suspended totally within a liquid world....and when even the very cells of one's body are mostly made up of the same stuff....It is not until we are drawn to a place outside of that reality...where there is no water...no darkness..no cold or pressure...or pain... that we can know our present realm of existence for what it is....and even then...our ability to understand and perceive ...is limited by our intellect,perceptions...and preconceived notions. Though the existence of such co-existing states of being may be imagined...actually experiencing those realities will result in a one way trip to oblivion. The "true" cost of enlightenment.
We, as I have said already...are not all that much brighter than the fish...and so it is best to not put all that much time and energy into trying to "define" the parameters of God and reality. It's best to be content to know that there "is" a higher power or force that acts upon our reality and brings a modicum of order (even if it is only imagined) to the universal chaos of existence. If it gives you comfort, then believe that we are all part of a great energy force flowing in and out of constantly shifting planes of reality...from the sub-atomic level of protons- electrons and molecules (ever wonder what holds all those atoms together?) to the unimaginable oblivion caused by black holes as they do their work of crunching matter into pure...irretrievable energy (where does it all go?).
I "do" know that when I have been hurt, afraid, hopeless and abandoned,... that I have been comforted by an unseen presence. There have been times when I have been hurrying along, busily distracted...and have felt the subtle tug to attention by that same source...and have been blessed with the view of a glorious sun set...cloud formation...a mother hugging her child...a shrub growing up through the crack in a stone...or some other earthly miracle. The ability to see, appreciate, and feel those moments is truly proof that "something" exists "some where" beyond our reckoning. I don't expect to understand the details of all that's going on -with in or without my understanding...because I know that I'm not all that much brighter than the little fish. Perhaps, though...given enough time...human beings will one day progress, evolve, improve...to a point where they will attain a higher understanding of the nature of the universe and of God. Until that time, I can only do my small part to help humanity along on its long journey towards the final enlightenment. If I live as well as I can..find a worthy mate,...honor and care for her and our relationship..and raise children with with love and positive values which will serve them in carrying on the genetic string (finding their own mates) Then I have done my part and fulfilled my obligation to what ever higher power exists...If there is "one" great goal of humanity...it is to survive and carry on...and, hopefully, improve along the way...One day we may find ourselves finally looking into the eyes of God...We can only hope that when the moment arrives, we are ready -and are finally capable of understanding and appreciating the answers to all of life's mysteries.