California, New York, Iraq

I was so afraid this wouldn't happen.

California finally passed a law, effective January 2007, which makes it illegal to drive a car containing a body in the trunk. Apparently nine people have died from this trick.

It brings to mind Gov. Pataki who signed into law a requirement for cigarettes to be self-extinguishing.

I am grateful that we are finally getting a handle on the obscene activities that create a death here and there due to a total disregard for sense.

Is there hope that the huge US embassy (known as George's Palace), the only task on track in Halliburton's Iraq, might be disallowed and turned over to the Iraqi's for their use while we beat feet and quit freeing those people by death? And is there hope that the additional forty-five bases being constructed there will be discontinued? Or could they be converted to the surplus FEMA trailers from Katrina?

Is there any hope that common sense will replace the incredible in-your-eye legislation that has taken place since 2000?

Artful Grunge

Long ago, there was a clan who regaled themselves with fad starting. Huddled together in one small glade, they practiced clothing pranks until they stumbled upon the next trend for unsuspecting commoners.

These oddfellows changed their heads to backward so their helmet front flipper was in the rear like a sun protector and their necks became very whitened. And, not only that, but they halted knotting their very boot thongs. At the same time, they put gores, or add-ons, into their mails until the armor was very big and it cracked so low that it practically protected nothing at all.

Alas, it was only a matter of time until hundreds of other tribes for fear of falling out of peering favor reached right out and embraced this fad by turning, unknotting and upsizing their wearings, also. No one could see, which was all right because no one was observing much at that time.

The ladies in waiting for their next dress saw how clumsy the knights were because both their hands needed to remain unencumbered to act as surrogate suspenders. And because of their backward heads and flapping-tongued boots they fell for almost anybody.

Lo! Feminines retaliated and took huge seams in their already tiny clothings until it became like another skin except it didn’t have piercings. They were dressed, but they weren’t.

It came to pass that many were distressed to see the gawky baggy hind-sighted knights trying to find a damsel because at a time when the damsels were barely dressed the armored clans had their heads reversed and couldn’t see what was right befront of them and their necks had gone white, as well.

And that’s how it was when the grunge fad lunged from clan to tribe.

Hunting Witches

Blogs are a good thing. Thinking is a good thing. Spouting opinions off the top of the head isn't such a good thing.

While reading some blogged opinions, I shudder. These are the same people who vote. Without consideration of facts, without looking at the foundations, they type ugliness and recount rabid theories. Talk show hosts stir up one mess after another.

Recent disclosure by the first Muslim congressman stirred up a worm nest until someone noted that the hand on any religious tome is not required during the swearing-in process.

Current polarization assumes guilt until proven innocent and I'm finding that scary. Everyone is prickly, righteous and moving too fast. We need a time out. To sit. Think. Look under the surface.

I'm far more afraid of witch hunters than I am of witches.

Cyberia

Once upon a time, forward-thinking people came up with a far-fetched plan to connect all persons on the globe by netting them together in a fantasy called Cyberia.

Unlike other plans, this one moved with celerity and it did, indeed, come to pass that many people made the right connections and found answers to questions they didn’t have.

Soon, companies saw a way to increase their bottoms and became involved in outputting items which succored this idea. They became known as hot coms, part of an overly exuberant bubble.

Ordinary people gazed into a crystal screen and found books, toys, clothes. Clicking on a rodent-like device and bartering their identifying numbers for pictured items ensured the items would be on their very doorstep within three priority days. And, even, they could order food from the farms.

Alas, small brained people capable of only one thought, began sending smut and spam to righteous people who complained to their protectors. The protectors didn’t know what to do, for sure, so they passed a lot of laws that didn’t have any teeth. The sleaze continued as did the zany laws and bewildered protectors.

Kings of countries-within-a-country saw that if their subjects ordered goods from shops beyond drawn boundaries that would be bad. To make sure there would be full coffers for their golden parachutes, the big powers declared tax on Cyberia which was virtually a figment of imagination anyway. At least, it had no bricks and mortar.

Cyberia meant that the average peon could reach out and touch his friends and family without getting his hands dirty, so antiquated phone firms dipped their fingers into the pie and pulled out a lot of plums.

The Pony Express rode into the Cyberarena and charged a wooden nickle for each message sent without their smoke. The straw was added to the camel’s back.

It came to pass that because of so many governances people couldn’t afford to stay in Cyberia so they returned to watching smut and spam on their other screen and dialing toll-free numbers to buy stuff.

Thus went the best laid plan of mouse and man.

Feast of Thankfuls

A long time ago, escapees from a high-tax kingdom packed their tea and took to the sea seeking a new country in which to muck about. When they arrived they slipped off their ship onto a rock named for a heavybodied car. The males wore high-heeled shoes and short pants later known as capris while the femmes hid inside drab voluminous gowns that trailed in the dirt and broomed chips that fell from animals.

They called themselves pilgryms and claimed themselves to be good and fine for bringing their high-sightedness to heathen otherbodies. Alas, none knew whose foot the shoes were on and a lot of fighting did go on. Some people lost their hair on the end of sharpsticks while others did gain it.

Time passed. The escapees became at home, discovered themselves still alive and very hungry. They named that a good omen and planned to cook up a great deal for one historic dinner of thankfuls. Those under the heavy dresses began preparation many days in advance by swinging big birds by their heads til dead and then flinging them into fire to clarify the feathers. They dragged out huge cauldrons, dug corn and other vegetables to boil and mash as sides to go with the fowl turkeys and an assortment of animal parts. It came to pass that the pilgrymesses worked nonstop for some big period of time until they sagged, just as the table boards did sag beneath the weight of all the delicacies.

Lo! The big day arrived and the men stood around outside the cook shed sampling the vatted grain drinks and telling tales of no truth. Their revelry was interrupted by the cookers who called them to feed. The long dresses then returned to the pits where they became cleaners of the muddle brought on by the marathon cookout. The men ate all they could, then outdoored for a napping and a game of pass the pigskin.

That was on a Thursday and by the following Sunday the women’s work still wasn’t done but it was time to make trink-ettes and bead things for all the otherbodies to celebrate the next feast which would come about in 26 days.

And that’s how it was in the days before takeout.


Nitewalker, Fractal created in Apophysis by Sue

Once in the Bad Basket...

There is little within my control even though I rebel at that very thought. Several times in recent years, physical control was wrested from me and more recently I find my mental well-being is not being enhanced by the lies and ugliness that permeate the current state of our affairs. And more frightening is the fact that this is being absorbed and re-spat by people I know. Anger and division are signs of the times. (Un)Civil war could come again.



I'm puzzled that we hear so little about the planned highway through the US, the size and construction of the embassy(ies) in Baghdad, the source of and spending of political monies. So little about the faultiness of the Diebold machines. So little about the planned union of Canada, Mexico and the US.

While inundated with verbiage dedicated to this current do-little congress, the fact remains that it has been anything but a do-little. Laws passed in the dead of night with little fanfare and less input are difficult to track down but when one spends the necessary time, it turns into a scary proposition.

The herrings thrown at us have little to do with real life. Those laws that control real life are being swept under the rug.

Corruption and hypocrisy have been around since the beginning of time but never have so few been allowed to do so much.

Electile Dysfunction

*It takes less than a minute for a new hacker to do a Diebold.

*With the move from graphite to gigabyte - no lead is left behind.

*Who counts? Who's counting?

*Florida recently outlawed manual re-count of ballots.

*If you have extra Cia*lis, please hold on to it for upcoming dysfunctions.

Elephant Repellent

I was very young and asked my dad what he was spreading on the grass.

He said, 'Elephant repellent.'

'Hey, Dad, there aren't any elephants here.'

'It's working, ' he responded.

Yesterday when I heard the spin on Faux News as I shuffled past to see what weirdness they were spouting, a big-toothed blonde said, 'If Dems are elected, we'll be attacked.'

Who was on the throne when the USA was attacked last time?

What's working? With open borders, angst fusterclucked loose in the world and growing hatred of people who invade and build a 582 million buck embassy in the middle of an ancient city...

I hope elephant repellent begins to work.


Tusks of Spin, Fractal

Pork 'n Poker

Thank you, O intelligent leaders.

Our safety is assured.

Online poker is outlawed but, due to government monetizing, state lotteries, brick and mortar casinos, horse racing and fantasy sports remain unscathed at this moment.

Blind-trust Frist, celeb of video doctoring and leader of the ProFamily Movement, poked this pork verbiage (Unlawful Internet Gambling Enforcement Act) into the port safety bill (Safe Accountability for Every Port Act of 2006) which passed during this twilight of our days.

It was signed into law just before Congress and Prez departed to campaign with slick slogans like fighting 'em there.

Something about this right feels so very wrong. Why do I believe THEY are already HERE?


Stripped, Photo by Sue

A Fence or a Farce

Before building a fence, look at the laws. Trim out the excess, insert teeth and use them.

It's a fuzzy thought that illegal aliens are hard-working wonderful people coming here to help US citizens avoid doing work and to make a better life for themselves when, in truth, many of them come with drugs, sexual offense and criminal records, an embryo for citizenship or a desire to do damage. It is not all what it seems.

I liken the upcoming fence to the bars on residential windows and gated communities. Will it keep criminals out or in?

Writing a bazillion laws is unmitigated growth. Please stop. Think before writing laws that confuse black and white issues and create lifetime careers for criminals, lawyers and politicians while annihilating freedoms for regular joes who foot the bill for this frentic lunacy.

It's time to look at current laws, edit them to a workable solution and stop penning more pap until this issue is handled.



Digital Photo by Sue

Up is Down

At a recent gathering of the INWBA, I was tagged as 'appearing to be no-growth'. This probably occurred because I am in charge of my own muzzle. :) Strangely enough, a recent poll provided numbers to show that 80% of the local populace agree with me. Why then does unmitigated growth continue?

I am not pro no-growth. What I decry is growth for growth's sake. Growth for greed. Growth for the in-your-face 'see me' noveau riche. Growth without virtue.

Many towns are being destroyed by make-a-quick-buck mentality. Frenetic developers in their haste to make hay while the sun shines decimate the hay fields, overload the rivers and lakes with waste, and suck aquifers to marginal quantity.

Lack of foresight is evident in rampant stripping of green. A green zone controlled by fertilizer, pesticides and massive amounts of water is not the same as natural green.

Starter castles advertised as 'waterfront' are oftentimes located on mosquito factories of wetlands, sloughs or swamps.

Hillsides scraped to insert king of the mountain high-ceilinged glass fronts frequently give way to dump those ugliosities in the drink. The developer moved on and owners scream for FEMA (taxpayers) to replace their first, second or third home.

Flood plains overloaded with speculative construction ask for trouble. It may not happen this year, but it WILL happen.

I'm not pro no-risk. What I decry is risk for risk's sake. What I decry are frantic attempts to carve a bigger scar than the neighbors'.

Chill. Take a walk. Read a book. Find a tree. Breathe. Hug something. Laugh. Leave a smaller footprint, please.


Up is Down Watercolor by Sue Turner 2006

Elective School

2000 Mythsteries & Other Pithy Shorts #17

It came to pass that subjects wanted more say in reignment, especially those that didn't like the king who stayed for years and years. So they decided to try another way. They called it democracy. Each person would have a say in ruling otherbodies. And this worked well until there came so many people that the voices ran confused, almost like a towering babble.

Alas, someone started a school in which the votes could be distilled down to a very few so they would be less to count. It would keep errors away and besides the kingdom was growing crowded with otherworldly people and numbers became well more than a box could hold.

The wizards argued it would be easier to count fewer votes even with all the newly arriving fingers and toes. So they spun some numbers off to this school and partied them out. If you said you were one species, your vote counted only for that species and so on. However if you wanted to vote for a third specie it was unavailable.

Two kings, at different times, didn't get a throne because of the voting school but the real people did much want them. Not overly much, but it was more.

And mostly things moved along in that fashion until one day a bird flipped from the bush claimed to whisper in someone's ear that a particular bunch of people who lived on the other farm would toss their eyes into his cocked hat at school. And that would mean a biggish win for him even if the regular joes didn't want it.

But it came to pass that the bull did gore the other guy who although the most people liked him, didn't make the cut because his scholarship was nay'd in some sort of confusion during recess.

Lo! History would note that this all came from a bunch of newcomers to the area who paddled past much water to arrive. It would also note there was a thinning of honor.

And that's how it was in the days when a new king could hug the throne when majorly somebodies didn't set him there.


BigI, Fractal by Sue

Tall Little Lord Throttlebottom the Twoth

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #26

Once not so very long ago, Tall Little Lord Throttlebottom the Twoth, aided and betted by nepotisms, became cock of the barnyard.

Soon after, methane hit the fan and the fox was loosed. Tall L. L. Throttlebottom the Twoth stumbled from the throne, shook his fist at the darkened sky and threatened eye-for-an-eye revenge even though he called it different.

Unluckily for the coop who had assembled heaps of gold and bonds in preparation for a gigantic croning coming, T. Little L. Throttlebottom the Twoth claimed the funds for his own and declared a private killing on distant methane makers and pressed huge monetary plums on his cronies.

Lo! Big owners from a state the size of another country panhandled kickingbacks from the nepotism and before the general inhabitants know they'd been plucked, all the gala riches were whisked into the ether and it was surely found that the fox still roamed inside the barnyard.

Forsooth, Tall L. L. Throttlebottom the Twoth kept floating red herrings in the stock pot as he plucked even though the populace was oft heard to shout that the fox was in the henhouse and that bullying otherbodies was a farce.

And it came to pass that the barnyard became the stalking ground for multi-tribes with axes to grind and the very co-op was fully fleeced from within by T. L. L. Throttlebottom the Twoth who none too soon left the henhouse to join the fox in search of otherbiddies.

That's how it was when one whole flock let wool be pulled by a corybantic insider barnyard cock.

Canned

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #10 or #15

Once upon a time, when there were no wires draped from the sky and no crystal screens, it was necessary to leave your hut to find out what other humans were doing. Mostly, they were hunting and gathering, but occasionally, if you looked long enough you could enter into a barn raising or a rain dance depending upon which century you wandered in.

Kings reigned supreme but mostly in a small area because they couldn’t cover large areas on foot or horseback and still be home in time for dinner or whatever.

Then one day it was brought to the attention of those kings that with a few cans and some string made from sheep hair they could virtually call on neighbors and find out what was going on without leaving hearth and throne.

Alas, this worked so well that it became unnecessary to ever leave home and people began to develop hunched backs and feeble eyesight from staying indoors bent over the can. Many of them became quite irritable from lack of outdooring and failing to move bodily about. When, for some reason, they did go out they were quite rude and rage-ous.

And it was no wonder, they had forgotten how to interact with their faces so they kept using their fingers and squinty mouths. And being accustomed to having a can to themselves they were not inclined to share anything with others.

And, it was particularly hard on women who were just learning how to can and didn’t know so much about hunting and gathering. It was hard for them to find partners clad in mail. The can escalated into a new type of messenger and when it was first announced that ‘they got mail’, it turned into a real disappointment due to a lack of good knights.

Before long, there were hundreds of people racing about, trying to find bigger cans and the whole thing came to a screaming halt and collapsed when strangers pulled each other’s strings.

And that’s how it was in the first days of canned life.

Sex after AARP

'Sex', in hot red letters, graces the cover of the AARP magazine lying seductively in the mail box where, at first glance, it resembles my granddaughter's Cosmo. Single and enjoying my own processes of life, I cringe in terror at the thought of missing something and leaving an unearned T-shirt or mouse pad.

Inside this magazine mutation, weathly plastic seniors profess to aging as one should - with tucks, trims, sucks and stitches - and inserting those new shapes into grandkids' clothing. Taught by trainers, massaged by wannabes, coifed, colored and chauffeured to exciting careers they soon sneak into elevators for lovely lusty trysts with the next handy mate. My eyes turn green with envy.

Having sensational sex several times a day sounds like a perfect way to while away the golden years until I remember past partners and wonder if they improved with age. Shuddering, I mutter, 'Down with Viagra', and render a silent prayer of thanksgiving to Eveready.

Reading further, I learn bottled hair color should not be obvious, artificial nails should be applied religiously and I should always wear a smile on my lips, a prayer in my heart and a flirt on my hips.

Well. In the interest of saving time, money and stress, I dress in brightly colored floor-length T's that double as dress or nightie and my gray hair serves as a beacon at dusk.

I sometimes wonder who let the air out of my arms, brought my thighs to my knees and planted fanny fat in my tummy. It annoys me when I bend over and my eyes close by the lower lids, but mostly it's enough to have original hips and a beating heart. A smile is nice but not mandatory - some days hateful thoughts spill blithely from my lips.

Living, by itself, is a good thing.

Health Insurance Myth

Is Health Insurance Sick? 2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #1

Once upon a time in the world's richest country lived honest joes who paid agents of medical practitioners in advance for treatment of illnesses they hoped never to have.

With those monies, the agents wove personal glass and steel kingdoms until it became apparent they might have to return some funds. They ordered scribes to underwrite laws to prevent this coffer drain but, alas, the scribes overwrote until the money became soiled and was laundered in other countries. The agents continued to request larger amounts of money until regular joes could no longer pay.

One day a large group of the honest humans gathered in a small town to seek a solution. A little girl listened to their chatter for a long time before she picked up a small stick. The sky bled rage-red and transformed the stick into a powerful battering ram. Whirling, the girl bade the citizens to follow and led them to a beautiful building where with a mighty roar the girl and her ram smashed down the door of the new jail.

A cry of relief burst forth as the uninsured mass broke into the last bastion of safety where medical needs, color television, Internet hookup, law library, three meals a day and housekeeping were freely dispensed. Lo! The building's large windows were even barred to keep criminals from re-entering.

And there, thanks to the little girl, the good citizens lived happily ever after.


Between a Rock... is my original watercolor which was used as a book cover for Truth & Other Fiction 2000

JonBenet - tragedy without end

In my view, regardless of whether the new suspect is deemed guilty or not,

it would behoove the justice system to put him away, quickly and surely
it would behoove the media to forego 24/7 coverage to stay on critical news
it would behoove the judicials to write fewer laws and tighten old ones

This little girl's death caused pain for a number of people while thousands more suffer at the hands of abusive adults. Abusive adults: war initiators, bombers, genocidists, sexual predators, random killers and child-careless parents.

The suspect, whether guilty or not, increased the amount of grief and mocked human decency. No amount of legislation makes society safe from anti-people but dull-toothed wishy-washy laws could be sharpened to make earned penalties swift and sure.

Jack Paar et al

I miss Jack Paar.

I miss Dick Cavett.

I miss Johnny Carson.

It's not the men I miss. It's the conversations. Grown up talk. Not slutty. Not scatalogical. Discussions of real events in complete sentences, grammatically correct and interesting. Funny, funny skits and comments.

I yearn for bleeps and closed doors in the place of strangers' coin slots and navels. Voyeuring is not my cup of tea.

Generally, people are dumbing, no doubt about it. When I see a skit of a dog biting an anatomical protruberance and the owner of both dancing around, unlike Gene Kelly, I wanna puke. I've turned into a news junkie in order to hear sentences, mostly without humor, which saddens me.

Words have lost meaning. Several have taken away the need for descriptive sentences and for any meaningful thought process.

In the long haul, it won't matter that Paris, Tom, Jolie, Katie, Brad, Britney-burps and artificial lites are creating faux news. It won't matter that erectile dysfunction is the only treatable ailment when we can't fix electile dysfunction.

What matters is that if we don't get our minds out of the sludge, tomorrow will go missing.


Fractal created in Fractal Explorer program. Spring 2006.

Welcome Home!

Today we'll see the young man whose tour of duty was extended, extended and extended. He was sent all over the world, released twice, then recommandeered and sent off again ~ most recently to Baghdad.

He'll be off duty for 10 days, then returned to stateside duty for several more months before a final 'out' date. Fortunately, he returned with no visible physical damage.

My heart goes out to all those who've lost friends and family and those who've returned with massive damage. War is a sad and useless thing for those who are actually required to participate in it or are attacked by it.

Welcome home, Nate!! And thanks for your brave service in the an unpopular and unnecessary war. Now, maybe you can tell us the truth...

Smoke and Mirrors is a fractal created in Apophysis.

Use it or Lose it!

Use it or Lose it was a threat I remember from my teen years. Some time has passed. I may have lost it - I'm not sure; but I'm not using it - at least I don't think I am.

Today a headline in the paper caught my attention. Use it or Lose it was printed in the darkest boldest caps. I nearly ignored it. Surely it had nothing to do with me, but who knows what tomorrow might bring, so I read the smaller print.

The gist of this article maintained that if you don't use your BRAIN, you lose it. Studies show that stretching this organ increases its changes of healthy surival far into the golden years and maybe beyond.

Over the past years I've used mine almost beyond recognition. I was a left-brained computer illiterate. Today, I can design a web page, paint a watercolor that sells and write poetry and prose that is published in places you'd recognize. That feels like a stretch but I'll have to admit there are times when I'm sure I've lost it anyway.

After all this time, I wonder if I misunderstood that ultimatum issued after a movie or roller-skating date. Were those fellas with ciggies rolled up in their t-shirt sleeves and long hair slicked back into duck butts referring to using the brain? I wonder. I would ask them but I'm not sure they'd remember.

Rise the Morning Bird Watercolor by Sue, June 2006. Original available for purchase at Watercolor Gallery

War Tale

Yesterday, a family friend e-mailed with the news he'd be returning from Iraq next week. This young man has served 3 concurrent terms. One-plus in Guam. One-plus in Afghanistan. Returned to stateside duty in January 2006. A month later, he was sent to Baghdad. We haven't stopped praying and believing that this recent report is true.

Each day the news worsens as the Pandora box opened by the current administration cannot be shut any more than the original could. If you haven't yet had a personal friend or family member exposed to the War of 27 Names, the odds are narrowing. This political fiasco which serves no purpose is gaining speed to effect each of our lives. Soon, our days of being a super power will be marked by a full-fledged slide into third-worldhood.

The shifting numbers bear this out even though the controlled media forks continue to titillate the unaware with unending sleaziac tales of Mel, Katie, Tom, Suri, JLo, Paris, Brittany and Brad.

Self-extinquishing Smoking Sticks

On August 16, 2000, Governor George Pataki of New York signed the Cigarette Fire Safety Act, which made New York the first state in the nation to require the establishment of fire safety standards for cigarettes.

It's enough for a wrinkle, a wink and a giggle. Who does he think he's kidding? NY Gov. G. Pataki is headed for Iowa for a stab as Presidential Contender. Is it possible he's the same straight-faced silly man who signed this law? Yup. None other. Age doesn't improve this weirdness. Think of his meeting the Shoe Bomber. Think of his being in charge of anything.


2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #8

It came to pass in the days of heat and drought that many countries-within-acountry burned. Some said it was divine will, others said it was smoking sticks that caused the fearsome conflagrations.

Alas, the leaders of one big apple, in a state of confusion, passed an edict that required makers to create those coffin nails in a manner to cause them to put themselves out.

Many people cheered and admired the leaders but some were incensed by this feudal attempt to control every aspect of society.

One lad laughed uproariously when he saw the difficulty imbedded in a self-extinguishing tobacco stick and soon after that he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Several mini-countries caught up in this incendiary issue passed similar bills and in their zeal also outlawed other fire provoking instruments such as lightning, spontaneous combustion, acts of divine and accident.

In earlier days the solons required automatic matches to be built in such way as to prevent children from using them however in the days that followed it was found that children were the only mammals agile enough to operate mechanical matches.

One gaggle of solons who advocated purposeful burning of forests set off a blaze that ate many acres, unfortunately at that time no one required lawmakers to be self-extinguishing, thus they raged on.

It came to pass in those heated times that fire was so unpopular many upright citizens died from consuming only uncooked food.

And so it was in those days just before the bar fell completely and smothered society along with the fire.

Powerfree

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts ~ #20

Once upon a time, there were men (mostly) who roamed the streets with matches looking for a light and they were named lamplighters.

In time, the matches lost their heads and a silly fool went out to fly a kite in some sort of bad weather and used his new key to provide a tail.

Lo! A lightning bolted straight into his kite, stringed now and blew up his key. This act of divine knocked the fool into a cocked hat and when he woke up a light bulb went off in his head. He kited and keyed another while and imagined up electricals.

Much in demand, this form of captured lightning brought a high price and people formed little groups to produce enough to light their path to the outhouse and the cow barn. Soon, otherbodies went from kingdom to kingdom to buy up these small groups, or co-ops as they were then known.

After some time, there were only a few big groups and the price went so high the littlebodies couldn't buy any more. Because of the twin ninos and such the lightning pretty much moved on and alchemists began to make electric out of water.

And it came to pass that the dam electricity faltered because of heavy useage by many and many more folks who were using it to light up days as well as the night. Alas, when the rich got the lucre out of energy, the rulers stepped in and mass-confused the whole system until town criers were invented.

A town crier was a man (mostly) who went up and down the roads crying out the news in his own words. His opinions, called punditings, were commonly accepted as truth. It was he that rolled up and down the roads telling first one and then the other that there would be even-ing power.

Today you get some, tomorrow you don't. Some get it, some don't and so on until eventually it rolls back to your place and you see the light.

And that's how the powerless caught rolling blackouts.

Headlines, Again

We appear to be moving backward.

Heat wave kills...

People are giving humans a really bad name.

Politically Correct rewrites history and future all in one fell swoop. Future words will be limited to duh and f***. Who could possibly take offense at those?

Abandoned cats become savage and scalp inhabitants of trailer town.

Barking dogs lie when they should be asleep.

Walnuts are found to have peanuts envy.

Cold War heats up.

Salt treaty thrown over left shoulder at full moon.

Tax rebate borrows trillions to return six dollars to poor while doing away with Social Security.

Poor money habits put government out of business, middle class out of existence. The government seeks lucre in pockets of indigent and elderly.

Bottom drops out of bucket. Those who were astute enough to invest for their own retirement as suggested by the government and brokers now find social security and retirements borrowed out. Homes are being foreclosed at a record rate and gun sales increase.

Country wonders what to do with few remaining whites. They just won’t wash with colors.

The Spin Goes On

#1

My head is cross. My eyes spin.

I apply facial moisturizer full of botox bugs and retinol to eliminate aging signs before going to the garage to apply shabby chic crackled paint to a new table to make it appear old.

In a fit of confusion, I decide to keep my face as is and learn to love a scratchfree table.




The fractal above was created in Fractal Explorer.

The Wages of War

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #27

Once upon a time when the towers of Babel were knocked down by the hands of foes, the king (ruled by the dead dreams of his father who reigned a couple back) was blinded by the trees and couldn't see the forest for the shrubs.

He drew his sword to fight a losing battle with the tower downers in a far off country then rhetorized it to a quiet death to make room for his new plot which was sadly soiled. He claimed it as his own right to cast stones at another evil king even though it rocked the world of otherbodies. In this self-wrought foolish plot, the silly king decreed that only he could amass bigsize weapons of killer proportions and others would be ended if they attempted to hold those same rights.

Forsooth! He sat upon a vipers' nest of his own hatching. The land he ruled was once the richest in the world but he pimped it off, piece by piece, to the hands of villains in an effort to buy popularity and up his backers.

Wait, the dwellers cried, this is not right.

And it came to pass, things moved too slowly for the pachydermal king who took a fast track and claimed all rights as his own. Lucre matters were in such short shrift, he surmised this war would be good for his coffers, his polls and his pols. He was upon a role and huddled in his castle while he sent the littles to fight.

Lo! By this time Pandora's lid slammed and pinched off the wings of the wise while evil thrived underfoot and overhead.

Thus it ever is, the ways of men lack forethought and in this rage the wages of war produce destruction of the masses.

Agendas

I live in a reverse bigoted community professing to welcome all diversities with open arms and tax breaks in a 'holier-than-thou' unbigotry. This place task-forces on a constant basis to promote this image. Well.

The Aryan Nations came. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is one diverse group. Mayhaps, even somewhat bigoted. Called, you know, they came. But with them came the information spinners who blew this into a storm in a teacup. The few members of the splintered group were hounded by media and harassed by ill-meaning righteous.

In the meantime, the community gained such a rap for succoring these diverse people it became necessary to hire people to upgrade the community's standing in the world of tourism which is what makes a few locals wealthy and lets them hire some diversities for menial low-paying service jobs.

The small number of Aryans wanted to hold a parade and the discussions went on and on, pro and con, as you can imagine. Eventually, in the interest of free speech and right to gather, the parade was approved. Many legal snipers sat atop buildings and the militia for the people eyed watchfully lest this turn into a riot. As usual parade pomp, the sweeper of horse poop came along behind and all the reverse bigots who welcome only select diversities were overjoyed by that symbolism.

I can tell you that with the diversity lovers and the diversity yelling at each other from opposite sides of the street it was very hard to tell the haters from the hatees. The appalling look of hatred rode each face in self-interest.

Then came a strange incident which created a trial and a staggering monetary judgment against the bald ones. It looked like a kangaroo court, like a mock trial as if in something prepared in 'Real World 101 - A Comedy'. The judgment amount was so humongous it caused the AN to file bankruptcy. I wonder how much money the attorneys took and I wonder because that debt will somehow find its way into the list of things I, as a property owner, must pay.

If I had a choice, I might choose the Aryans over the serial murderer who is now on trial here, the father recently convicted of killing his 9-year old daughter, meth gangs, and the 'sure to re-offend' perverts who are released into the middle of unsuspecting neighborhoods.

Because I am tired to death of pseudo-tolerance, holier-than-thou righteousness and an agenda promoting special rights under the aegis of political correctness, I am seriously considering becoming a bigot but I haven't decided which side to bigot on.

Bazaar Betrayment

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #19
        
        Once upon a long time ago, a group of crones appointed by a well-wishing king gathered fortnightly to share story tales and merriment. Timid souls, without sharp spines, they gave willingly to youngs and olds and left their fire open to those of all missions.

And it came to pass, a strangeress from a foreign kingdom journeyed to those crones for advice about upgrading her wares to sell and begged their word-of-mouth helping. She ingratiated before departing for her kingdom and nothing more was heard for some long span of time and some found this to be bizarre.

Lo! An agoura of the weightiest size was occurring near the ides of September and was rightly called Festember. Great excitement preceded the affair and the crones were lit by enthusiasm. Invitings smoked from mountaintops well behead of this autumnal bazaar.

The crones spent many hours laboring at scalding cauldrons to prepare feastings for the fair comers. Games were planned with prizes to be awarded the winners. Crone-sent couriers rode deep into the kingdom to give word of the event.

At last the big day dawned as a downer for the crones who arrived with the sun at the bazaar grounds and were turned away by soldiers, even some they knew, but some not. Keening with loss and fury the crones crouched near the grounds and pleaded with passersby to share the new tale with them but found only firm rebukes by those under perukes.

Puzzling, the crones pieced together in one moon that the stealthy strangeress who came for advice was up to usury and had penetrated the castle by deceiting. One recalled how the strangeress pretenced to be young and well-known in the other kingdom but the sharp-eyed crone saw witch doctor sewings befront of the foreigner's ears which had snugged her faceskin and shriveled her heart. Now they knew the bizarreness of the whole fable was that they had been fleeced by a greedy clone who legended herself in her own mind.
   
For some time beyond the bizarre bazaar the crones, weary of dishonest doings rested and pondered the weirdness of socials

It came to pass, the wise crones couraged up and realized they didn't need a king who was rolled over for strangeresses and once again went to their storytale-ing.
    
And that's how it was when wise crones didn't play with clones because the crones would get dirty and the clones were already.

Postals

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #24

There was a time in the newer world when missiles were carried by men on horseback riding across the desert between oceans after otherbodies sprawled wide enough to need them.

It came to pass that the men got calloused by all the riding and, anyway there arrived other forms of lugging the goods, so the horses went to pasture and the blistered men kicked back. The rulers saw a way to become involved in glory and snatched the deliveries to be conveyed under their oversight.

Lo! They did make so much money, they were able to loan some to forgetful foreign folks. In time, other bands formed wee groups doing the same duty for littler money and provided more competition than a game of hot marbles.

When the old postals saw what was happening they began to make collectors' items from the stamps by die-ing errors on the heads and soon they began to issue new stamps a lot, each new job was destined to tie in with whatever faddish things the populace was doing. Such as: flowers appeared on the stamps at Easter, flags at patriotic times, fruit in the fall and even some celeb faces graced the little stickies which by then didn't need licking because the glue made from horses was so vile the postals now stuck the stamps to little slices of shiny paper for easy uncoupling.

Indeed, it happened that the workers made so much currency they forgot the common folk who were sending these messages anyway and the workers became rude and sullen and begged for more money and filed frivolosities when they were chased by pups or some such.

Droves became annoyed and grumbled their letters were not arriving timely, so there was a big dust up and when it all settled, the postals showed remorse by huge dear commericals on image tubes to tell peons the postals were god-like. And after that message was sent out until they thought it worked, the price of the stickies went up again.

One old lady was heard to say, 'I wish they wouldn't send those warm fuzzy ads. Right afterwards, I get screwed.'

And that's how it was that regular joes went postal, as well.

Anti-aging

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #29

It came to pass in the decade preceding the Mayan's calendar ending that a crusading king grabbed so much righteousness that he began to believe he had the god's ear and began dropping bombs of love and awe around the world in order to remake it in his own nightmare.

Instead of being shocked into submission and falling for the this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you promises of the charlatan king, the receivers of these great bursts of love became enraged and launched their gods' love in return.

While the majority of the world huddled in wonder and fear the two kings increased their righteousnesses to send more and more missionaries out into the other's countries with awesome missiles designed to convince the nonbelievers that kings do indeed know best what the world needs.

As the year of the fire spitting and hissing wore on, plants and trees began to die. Birds fell from the sky and crushed the lowly ChickenLittles who were loath to cluck for fear of retaliation by big brothers and even bigger motherofalls.

Lo! The big bang theory arrived when deaths spiraled upward and landmasses disappeared in clouds of smoke and shock.

And that's how the anti-aging cure was discovered by the bellicosity of the old world.

Wave after Wave

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #31

Once upon a time, before the Cyclops box, long skirts weary of daylight chores sought their sewing rockers to stitch evening entertainment while they rested up for bedtime.

One woman, most likely a poet, sewed her thoughts with stars and lines in colors of truth, purity and blood or so it is said.

Lo! Others took up this frame of hues and carried it round on a stick until it was well known and pedestaled. In time it became symbolous for patriotism, democracy and citizenship and was written in history books, rode stalwart in corners of public buildings, hung suspended from any number of shafts around the country and drooped despondently like a wayward prayer when a famous passed.

In time these fabric arts became mixed in the minds of the biggest little beings and became revered as real gods. And when rebels grew, some of the squares were purposely dropped in mud and burned to ash. These actions roused the ire of the legals who wrote and wrote and wrote while professing that if enough writing was done the rebels would see the error of their ways and would begin to identify the flags with the great uncle in the big hat who finger pointed and wanted them all.

There was talk of worshipping icons being sinful but it dissipated some during waving ceremonies and in the hardest of times it was found that some even prayed to this flag.

And that's how it was that a piece of sewing came to be a mythical mystical icon of power.

Peking Pieces

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #25

Once beyond the time when you and I were born, the boomings kept coming on and a crowded country named after dishes went into crazed crackdown.

The rulers, already born and before they knew what was waiting in the closet, in an effort to chink the breach passed decrees to the masses that a man and a woman could have but one name bearer.

Lo! Those otherbodies then began newly programmed breeding about the time the foreseers learned to tell the coming-parents which sex their parts had spawned.

Peoples at that age, before they olded and needed compassion, found femmes to be of little useage and with the bodies' ingrown wisdom they turned to deleting skirt wearers and thus produced merely brawn even though each unit could be three -- one man, one woman and a single moppet.

Forsooth! Time and tides didn't wait for them to sharp up. One day the rulers beheld a widespread overage of the three-leggeds. But by then it was sorely late.

And so it came to pass, the dish nation died out even though the three-leggeds did practice unproductive procreation among themselves.

And that's how it was when farseers became doomed by their own shortsight.

Dei Vinci Code

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #47

Once before any living remembers, a mystical marvel came about and once written found an ever enlarging readerhood.

As time went, many addenda and penned rewrites caused little consternation and none of the old timer eyes survived so conjecture withered under the rule of acceptables.

It came to pass that a smart man what-iffed the old tale and called it counterfeit but many could not accept the what-iffing and berserked over this rewriting.

Behold! The tiny cardinal country riled the world while claiming victimhood and stirred up a stumble over what-iffy and fostered fractious factions. Some knew what-iffy even though after all the centuries counted down the chute there couldn't have been what-was by probity of translation and rewetting quills so much of the what-iffy could have been true, but not for certain so.

Out of the muddle of the tussle over the rightest, one victor arose and he was the what-iffing scribe because, while such struggles ensued, his name became as well known as the main notable.

And that's how it was when what-iffy was deemed to be true and without real truthiness it was all one big moot because the message went lost in translation. And some stood back and laughed at the follies of the know-not-alls.

Saved by a Dime

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #23

Once upon a time, a hippocritic oath was taken by witch doctors when it was determined that any number of them couldn't do the right spell. This vow compared their work to magic and allowed they should always do everything within their power to save lives of any who sought help.

In time, the kings and rulers sought longer life in order to spend the gold woven into their parachutes. Those wielding knives, leeches and needles practiced stewing long life remedies away from plants and herbs.

It came to pass they saved so many lives from birth onward that the populace took on a high number. And those who came to call themselves saviors became accustomed to hiring bean counters to oversee their waxing wealth and to provide means to sew up their own parachute stringing.

Lo! Witch doctors became in such demand they were able to charge exorbitant fees and to support little kingdoms of others until they resembled a great deal those very rulers who set them to finding the secret of eternal life.

Then, because of tontines, insurings and such, those who provided salves and balms grew so busy they no longer had time to stir the pots. They claimed to want to go back to the old days of healing ills.

Soon, they discovered a way to stay not so busy and to make even more wampum. Sick were turned away at the door because the docs picked a few healthiest rich and charged them the same beads as they had charged whole groups the other years. So one wealthy man could pay a huge sum of cash for a practically personal witch instead of the old style of many people having one.

And that's how survival of the richest was launched. Alas, this survival method is little different from the other supremes who tout survival of the whitest.

Crack Slippage

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #21

Once upon a long ago, a new country came into being when criminals, sinners and remittance men lammed out from a monoreligic monarchy.

With sudden foresight these men founded a mockracy, as they called it, in which the majority ruled and every fowl had a pot. In time, they began to insure for failure of otherbodies to reach full dream potential by creating a tontine-like plot whereby earnings would be lifted from each worker and placed in one big bucket not to be mixed with other buckets' contents. When onebody began slipping through a crack, or became olden aged, it could then cry out and retrieve some of the bucketed boons.

This plan worked for some time until a shrub man pricked a hole in the biggest bucket and the goods began trickling out which meant that when you began to fall through the crack, you better find anotherbody to help.

There came a great uproar and this shrub person was put off the throne. Life went on until, in an unlikely deja vu, a thorn off that old shrub gained the throne and poked another bucket hole.

When the multitudinous oldenagers discovered the fraud they outraged and a foreign war was launched to get their minds switched and to provide a gathering front to shore up the flagging buckets. Now the savings of all the crack-faller-throughs drained into a desert across the sea.

While these folks watched the war, the bucket brigade added a sniff and scratch watermark to the final pail funds just before delivery to the recipients.

Without much thinking, the oldsters and the faller-throughs scratched and sniffed their terminal monies and were snuffed before they could grump about the empty bucket

And that's how the one for all and all for one theory was out cast and the mockracy devolved.

Under the Shrub

2000 Mythsteries & Other Pithy Shorts #46

Once upon a near passe time the wanna-be king couldn't reckon the simplest tasks. He hugged and held hands with distant robes while he tugged the rug from locals.

When the country came full of illicits, he lawed to licit them in order to have little wages paid by big pocket sponsors.

His singing shifted from the sandland bombing to keep on keepin on the illicits so plum picking didn't earn overmuch.

His reluctant subjects fussed when he said the aliens were doing sweat the voters wouldn't do.

Lo! The mostly indigenous dust, mop, mow, prune, pick, grow, roof, frame and do all their own toil right up til they drop off even as the lily-right-handeds hire the illicits to chore for them while they skim from the treetops and every otherbody.

Behold! It came to pass the silly country did fight 'em here instead of there.

Downfall du Jour

2000 Mythstery #22

Once upon another time, in a societal experiment created by remittance men, released sinners, regular escapees, religious zealots and runaway adventurers, a new country was grounded on a land far beyond their shore and founded right on top of those who already lived there.

Lo! This righteous group fell so in love with themselves, they began to send out, as well as take out, messages inviting those from other countries to come admire what they had wrought.

Indeed the country did begin to fill with mobs who spoke so many dialects it became necessary to hire multitudes to teach tongues to speak alike but some rebelled and the land did become a babble. Few understood otherbodies and many fights did erupt.

When generations passed, the newbies looked into murky waters and reflected themselves to be good and kind. They fell in love all over again. This continued even while their neighbors fell deadly silent from lack or from invasion by freed offensives who were too shiftless to find new countries to populate.

Denizens from other spaces began to clamor and request remedial retribution for any number of perceived wrongs from the descendants of the initial settlers and each wanted better equality than their next door dwellers.

Myriad folks took this seriously and gained certificates to foist these and many other frivolosities upon the overly burdened taxpayers and the overly tired robes who no longer had time to read the voluminous tomes and began, willy-nilly, to dispense freakish judgments.

Within some short period of time, as time goes, unpunished cheating and greed escalated right into the open. Indeed, corruption infected companies, governments, sports and other factions of this great experiment.

Alas, it did come to pass when the few owned the money and power, they called off the experiment and declared war on the remnants.

And that's how it was in the days when even the straightest fell crooked.

Bad Beef, Maybe

Sat May 6

Ground beef products possibly containing E. coli bacteria have been recalled by a Midwest company. We have a hard time getting it right.

My pantry boasts fish, beans, and fowl,
why do I have a mad craving for cow?

WhiteHouse, Ink.

2000 Mythsteries #43

And in the age when schooling mostly went home to read animé and such there came out of the Big House some bad books that took on legs.

One scooter penned a piece revering bestiality even as canons were being passed by playing bigs who seemed not to know there were some pressing problems afoot.

And the big Dick's wife, mother of his strange daughter, wrote a tale of girly/girly in the old west and philandering in the next wing. In her tale, the roving guy died astride his paramour from a bad heart and she wrote as if these things were fiction.

And in another part, a sinner quilled a million squibs of non-fiction when it mostly was fiction and a flap went on about that for some time until it was found that truth and lies are doppelgangers.

And the O'man from FauxNews who had been flailed for heavy breathing about a faloofa into some skirt's link wrote a tome about an old man his age who noodled little misses and called it fiction when it surely wasn't.

And the man who ran home insecurity did webcam and sicking speak with a little girl who turned out to be the law in disguise so he went to the front of the low class, temporarily distracting from the other fouls.

One cyber store named after strong women of another age posted pages of these tatty tales so one could peruse a page or two before squandering coins for these soiled nightmares.

And so it was when the land was ruled by the fictitious proper who weren't and weren't afraid to flaunt it.

Poorboys, the Sandwich Generation

2000 Mythsteries and Other Pithy Shorts #18

Once upon a long ago, humanity stayed at little numbers because of sabre tooth tigers. Also the lions in the arenas wiped out quite a few as did ungodly and floral wars.

Powerbodies ran amok often enough to keep general groups of people to mini-numbers while keeping their own purses at the full and ready. In time, when the mini-wars were sharply curtailed, the peons made some headway as far as quantity was concerned.

It came to pass that some kings couldn't spend all their lootings and plunders in one short life so they encouraged witch doctors to invent longevity. The witching cauldrons picked up a heated glow while cooking concoctions of anti-passing potions and many people did begin living, living and living. While many good ones passed too soon, lots of bad ones and scores of other mediocres lived far into their century marks.

Well. All this continued for some great time.

Then the messengers began signaling smokes that sympathised the mid-agers who were being saddled with their offspring as well as with their forefolks. Anyway, the sandwich generation was what the messengers named the middles and this caused their parents to feel guilty for living so long even though the cauldron stirrers left not much outage. But the youngers used so much coinage that it took both generations to provide all their wantfuls.

In the meantime, the kettles did keep on cookin'. Then there became big places full of people shells, their real parts having gone on, and there were cells for the young who couldn't figure out what to do because everything was already done for them by the sandwich middles and the sandwich tops.

The youngers became known as the heels. The middles became depressed because it was a waste of good money to keep the shells going, and they were tired of working to make a living. They wanted mostly to track some dreams and become playful with their inner kids again but they were living so long they must keep working even as they frailed. And the heels became meaner and meaner and more threatening.

This went on for some time, until the chimer reversed and the sandwiches began to see that their olders and their youngers were really their bloods and began to join up to make family groups instead of letting the me-me's talk them into dispersal and poorboying.
And that's how the world became homely once again.



Note: By request, I produced Poorboys, the Sandwich Generation as an audio for presentation on BBC in 2000