The Path of No Path

Out of Munchies I crept back into the apartment and pretended to fall asleep. My mind was made up. I was leaving. No one knew.  I had come home from the Navy, only to discover that I was homeless. My father, who  had remarried while I was in boot camp, had sold the home I grew up in, and moved his new wife and her four kids into a new and much larger home. This new place did not include me. My involuntary, non-participation, in this new "family" unit, was made all the more clear when I discovered two important details left out of the wedding announcement. 1) All my stuff had been disposed of. All items from my childhood, from school projects to class photos, from stuffed animals to GI-Joes, and all my non military clothing had been thrown out. It was all gone. 2) My one remaining possession, my motorcycle, I was told, by the step-bitch, was still here. Just before she wailed, "get that piece of shit outta' MY garage!"  Walking out to the garage, I quickly f

Cut, deep. I do not want to write. Pulling on words. Dental floss with that scraping sound as you pull it out of it's container. I never seem to get the right amount. To little and and i end up throwing it out and starting over. Too much and I feel guilty for wasting such a precious commodity. My words feel that way this morning. They smell, stink actually. Rhyme of reason is abandoned as meter and measure fly out the window and into the trash heap. What is one to do with such obvious crap? Again I am sliced open. Cut. Harsh is the shining blade of a trusted one that cuts you deep. Bone deep. Deftly with an oft practiced stroke my heart is neatly, cleanly sliced in two. So perfect, and ever so swift, such that my attacker is long gone before I realize that I am nearly bled out. I am an easy mark. Accepting of others, open and welcoming. It is my nature to be this way. I will not change. Those who keep their skinning knives sharp, their vorpal, killing words honed and ever ready.

Softness The wind does not speak Rain floating gently to earth Soft heart welcomes spring - From the mobile Curmudgeon via his trusty iPhone be | amazing

The weaving of Life's Tapestry is not so much about the finished product, but rather, the careful selection of the threads of each moment woven together with skill and compassion. A beautiful weave consists of only a few simple, but no less essential elements. Warp and weft, bound together and combined, with yarn of just the right quality and color wound around the shuttle. Passion is born on such a loom, . . . So here I am. This odd bit of well seasoned, colorful, kind and compassionate bit of warp. Are you that gentle and caring bit of weft? Would we find beauty in the yarns that wind around the shuttle that we pass back an forth? Working together perhaps we can find threads that are humorous, witty even, and threads that shine brightly in the sun, but can also withstand the inevitable rainy seasons. Will you help me construct a loom that is large enough, robust enough, to weave all of our biggest dreams together? Treadles made of strong oak and pristine ash. Strong enough to w

It is the right, and I believe the duty, of all who would call themselves good citizens, and most especially those of us who are curmudgeon-ly inclined to ask questions that are of a pesky nature. It is these heart of the matter, cut to the chase kind of questions that are often left unasked and or answered. Some of these you will have seen before. So, I am ... I am curious. Which countries would Jesus invade? Who would Jesus bomb? Which of your children would Jesus not educate? Whose civil rights would Jesus take away? How many forced labor camps would Jesus own? Who would Jesus torture? For what kind of information would Jesus decide that torture is appropriate? What would cause Jesus to invent water-boarding? Which Alter boys would Jesus fondle? For what reason would Jesus change the name of illegal kidnapping to Extraordinary Rendition? How many LBGT persons would Jesus beat to death? Whose insurance claim for injuries sustained from being raped would Jesus deny? Whose health care

The 3:14 to now(here) Words to the left, words to the right. Stand up, sit down; write, write, write! Pesky term papers turning my brain to soup. Grammar and vocabulary do loop-de-loop. Term paper complete. All the info she asked for. In one neat haiku. Would that it were that simple. (the above waku brought to you by Curmudgeon insomniacs Inc.) - From the mobile Curmudgeon via his trusty iPhone be | amazing

Rain Percussive rain. Loud! Stirs me from my nap. Gently. Soaring mind. No limits! - From the mobile Curmudgeon via his trusty iPhone be | amazing