diogenespersonified's blog: "Richocets In The Brainpan"

 

Ah the Jersey Shore…..breezy, fashionable and of course the epitome of all that is sweetness and light in the world.

 

    Ok, so maybe this isn’t the nicest thing I have written in a while. (and for those who don’t know me so well, the above statement was indeed sarcasm)

 

    My children go to one of the newer schools in their district. This, like most in life, has both perks and annoyances. This note is less about this school, more about the charming fellow parents that wait for their offspring to get out in the lobby.

 

   Now I have never seen the show Jersey Shore. Maybe it is a bastion of family values for all I know, but I have lived in Jersey, visit there frequently and am a bit acquainted with the social patterns and structure. Because of that, and this particular covey of parental units, I call them the “cast of Jersey Shore”

  

   Though in all fairness several are also faux “jaw-clinchers”. This is even more amusing then the rest of the cast, simply because Lacrosse has no Mainline and certainly isn’t New Hampshire.

 

   So one member of this particular murder, has this habit of eyeballing me and on occasion has made comment. What is amusing is the range of looks and comments. I thought I was a walking dichotomy but dear readers, this is beyond that, it makes bipolar look like a social aberration as minor as the debate of lacing your shoes left over right or right over left. (no offense to my BP friends, we all know my stance on that and those that love me can attest to my mood swings. Probably those who hate me as well.)

 

  These comments run from the disdain and disgust one can only get being in the bastion of social supremacy wearing worn out carhartt pants, a faded pocket t-shirt, thin and ripped denim over-shirt and bush hat.  True, tis a wee bit of snobbery but nothing surprising.

 

   This then swings to the other extreme; virtual eye-fucking and cat-in-heat comments when I happened to be dressed in a decent shirt, kilt and driving hat. Yes, from the same person whose venom burned holes in the floor clear to Ecuador the day before when I tarnished the sacred halls of education in apparent homeless couture.

 

   Today’s conversation finally brought out the less-than-pleasant side in me. Yes my literary admirers I have one of those. I know, I hide it so well. With that I bring you:

 

How to win friends and influence people in the Coulee Region

Or

A real Jersey response to verbal flatulence

 

(Prelude: Christopher attends a production of “On Golden Pond” this weekend at the local community theatre where he is observed to be dressed in semi-formal kilt kit and acting appropriately i.e. did not piss in the potted palms.)

 

(The scene:  Our Star, Cynthia speaks to a fellow Shore Member is a not-so-subdued stage whisper.)

 

 

Cynthia: I swear HE was at the theatre this weekend.

Phoebe: It possibly couldn’t have been, I mean…really?

Cynthia: HE was even wearing his kilt and was with this woman whose son was in the cast.

Phoebe: You surely are mistaken, theatre AND a date? Please.

 

 (Wearing an Armani knock off, the star of the Shore approaches a scruffy cargo pant clad unshaven long haired individual trailed by her trusty side-kick)

 

Cynthia: Excuse me, weren’t you at the Lacrosse Community Theatre this Sunday?

Myself: As a matter of fact I was.

Phoebe: Really? YOU go to the theatre?

Cynthia: I was very surprised to see you there.

Myself: Yes I enjoy theatre very much.

Phoebe: Really. That is so surprising.

Myself: Why?

Cynthia: Well you just….well you don’t seem…..

Phoebe: …The theatre type is all.

Myself: Oh. Well, I do appreciate some culture.

Cynthia: That is very nice.

Myself: Well not yours so much, but yes I do enjoy the arts.

Phoebe: Well I…..

Myself: I mean I CAN chew with my mouth closed and everything. Know to start from the outside in with a place setting and shocking as this may seem, have been known to go to Broadway.

Phoebe: (much louder and indignant) I cannot believe….

Cynthia: I just don’t know what to DO with you….

Myself: Well, I really can’t help you with your beliefs; Father John at St. Mary’s might be able to. As far as doing anything with me, was that a request for suggestions?

   (Phoebe proceeds so walk off huffing and puffing)

Cynthia: Well maybe…but I AM married……

Myself: Well if it is suggestions you are after, when trying to pick a boy-toy for those rainy afternoons, condescension one moment and blatant visual copulation the next moment isn’t the best approach.

Cynthia: I NEVER…

Myself: What? Oh my mistake…a thousand pardons.

Cynthia: Well….

 (The villain walks off to better see the approach of his sprites and conclude this amazing conversation)

(Children approach, male sprite has a mini-gap male gap commercial in tow, introduces him, and viola’ it is Cynthia’s offspring)

Sprite: Ciamar a tha thu mo Da? This is my friend (insert micro jaw-clencher’s name)

Cynthia: WHAT did he just say?

Myself: That (Blank) is his friend.

Cynthia: No, no before that.

Myself: How are you Dad? Is that what you mean?

Cynthia: Oh yes….Why….you can speak another language….we should have coffee….

Myself: Should we? I think that would be rather unsuitable.

Cynthia: I cannot believe you said that.

Myself: What? A word with four syllables? Here I will make it easy for you. (lays on heavy Jersey accent) No friggin way are we grabbin coffee.

(The villain then leaves with sprites in tow to the background strain of Blank saying “His Dad is so COOOOOOL!”)

 

   So dear readers, was this my better behavior? Sadly it was not. I am sure a strongly worded letter from the PTA as well as the producers of Jersey Shore is to follow. In defense of my boorish behavior I might add: 1. I refrained from foul language in any dialect. Something I KNOW will amaze my friends. 2. I have never approached these women and really am clueless as to who they are, and while in my mind and in the company of friends may mock them (hey common, we all do this) I never have so much as given a significant glance let alone an unkind word to others at school. 3. I keep out of the way and to myself to avoid any type of conversation at school. Simply to avoid moments like these or, to me something much worse, a invitation to get to know such people. My social travels simply are not up to that task.

 

So I hope that today’s events have amused you as much as they have amused you. Mayhap I have offended you. In which case, I beg the question “Why are you on my friends list again?”

 

 

               Never a dull moment in my world, that’s for sure.

 

 

 

Swaying Bridges

All my life, I have created with my hands and heart

Poured sweat, feeling, blood and tears

Into bridges, spans to cross gulfs and join

Together, different places, emotions

Friendships, loves and simple connections.

Some have been simple things

A log laid over a small stream called

Minor difference of opinion

Others more stable, a graceful sculpture of

Wood, covered in vine, a protected crossing

Into the comfort and safety of another

Yet seldom do my bridges seem to last

And I beg to understand why

Is it the failure of the architect, a design

With faults built in, or the workman who can't

Follow the necessary blueprint

Or the supplier with shoddy materials not up to the standard

But my spans always seem to fail

Or get lost

The log, now overgrown with moss, lost in the weeds

Of a forgotten dry creek, in woods seldom travelled

The covered arch, resplendent in vine,

Now nothing but a tumble of charred timber

Caught in swirling rapids

So many connections, so many failures

The tools get put away, dust settles on the drafting board

Yet a meeting then stirs of something

Inspired me to begin anew

Much contemplation on the design

So with heart and soul I spare no expense

Foundations stones of enormity

Granite that is timeless and forever

Girders of tempered steel and iron, to withstand

The hurricanes and earthquakes that assail

Any relationship

Safety nets for the pedestrians off to the sides

In the naive belief never would a jumper

Use my bridge for self destruction

And finally out of it all, the banner ribbon is strung

A snip and open is this creation

That crosses over the chasms in my soul

I run and meet you with abandon in the middle

Of this impregnable, indomitable structure

And dance and love and open all to you

Then suddenly the music stops

And the dance is over

Blame against me, excuses put on me

“You made the record skip; your clumsy feet pulled the power cord"

"Oh why? Oh why did you stop the music?" is screamed

Ripping my soul

Simple small things, a reach to reset the needle

Hands can place back the plug

Nothing major or insurmountable when done together

Then as you walk to the rail

I see that which I had missed

Like Al-Qaeda, a fedayeen in the midst of jihad

You’re loaded with explosives galore

And the dance was just an excuse, a time delay

To get yourself into position

So over the rail, punching through safety nets

And leaving behind a package not of love

But full of destruction, you launch yourself

And sadly it detonates

Leaving all in crumbling ruin

The massive beams, what was thought to be

Unshakable foundations

The family that needs you loves you

And of course myself

And as I rise bleeding from ears, eyes and soul

I see that one girder lies crooked and precarious

Hanging over the chasm

Heat twisted, scarred and out of balance

And now I reach out a crushed hand

trying to steady the shaking remains

Now I stagger upon unsteady legs

And begin to walk across this chasm

That you threw yourself in, wringing destruction

As you willing left all behind

I stumble as the beam twist and turns

Yet cross it I must

For I have no desire to stay isolated anymore

And see a chance at peace upon the other side

May the fates still the winds

The grounds not tremble and dislodge this connection

For I truly want to escape this to move on and into

A better world where sound materials wait

Better designs beg for the builders

And come together with another

To build together a new span

To jointly build a new connection

So I tremble and creep

Out into the wide gaping rent in things

May my balance return

My legs be steady and Kismet

                                                                          Finally brush me with a gentle hand

Teeter Totters

The veins and arteries bound and woven tight

Makes for a pulsing, throbbing, slippery tightrope

Over rusty razors and shattered glass glistening bright

I strive to balance, overcome the winds and cope

Make my way across this gaping divide

Trying to find a way to escape their calls

Wanting only peace and stillness inside

Clutching to overcome my failures and falls

I hear deep within my breast, a sudden feline roar

It voices a command, the collar and leash to slip

I unfold my forgotten wings, let go, on the winds do soar

Winds no longer buffet, my feet no longer have to grip

No blood and barbwire perch strung out for me to crawl

No more heavy stones and bronze bars to overcome

No more gilded cages, no more frozen containing walls

I glide towards my horizon, follow my own drum

Ink on the Soul

We all have our tattoos

Some show them visible

Some keep them hidden

External but covered

Something for their own reasons

Having special meaning and purpose

But we all have them never the less

The ones that don't show

Ink on the soul

Like any other tattoo

Some are bold outlines

Shades of many colors

Or just stark outlines of black and white

Things happen in our lives

Like a tattoo

They penetrate our being

Of varying depth penetration

They leave their marks forever

We can even do what we can to remove them

But like marks erased by laser

Or dermabrasion

It stills leaves a shading visible on the skin

Sometimes only seen in certain light

And like a tattoo it may not be

A reminder of bad times

This is what differentiates

A pattern etched

From a scar or brand

Left from adverse circumstances

It may be something joyous

Or simply life altering

Birth of a loved one

Special moments of intensity

These leave tribal markings

Some relatively painless

Other go to the bone

Stimulating and overloading nerves

For a moment exquisite torture

Then the feeling is gone

The design memorialized forever

Unlike what appears

On our skin for others to view

We don't always choose

What art decorates our soul

And sometimes we are oblivious

To the marks of our tribe

Until something reaches out to us

And we realize we have found

A member of our tribe

A subtle feeling

They too share our marks

Coals and Ash

 

Glowing coals

A momentary sweetness upon my lips

Inhale

The taste of clove

Burning leaves

Swirls within

The hollowness of my being

Once warm breath

Occupied this grotto

Gave heat and life

To cavern dark

Now again

It sits empty

As the fumes wind and curl

Around stalactites of pain

Stalagmites of self loathing

For mistakes made in the past

Wither

Burn

Ash falls away

.

.

Exhale

Remnants now peeling

Toxicity of feelings

Rendered and torn

Fly free upon the breeze

Mixing with dust

That falls away

From

An oral fixation

That now replaces

Lips that once brought pleasure

And lies in disguise

So

Cast away the remains

Until the need

Returns

To feel something in my depths

Return smoke again

To the cavern of my soul

As ghostly and ethereal

As

So called love

That was once breathed

Into such sacred space

When point in fact

It was a vacuum

Pulling out

What remains of love and hope

Were scattered in hidden corners

Of a heart many times crushed and broken

And light another

Stick of poison

A substitute for

All that I

Believed

Was real about you