Story Time

"Once upon a time"
Are the words that recently
Will turn a mood happy,
Into fast calamity.
It's the nature of the game...
A crazy dance you do
When a child with needs unique,
You're now a parent to.
She likes it when I read to her,
With regularity,
You can almost set your clock to when
She feels it's time to read.
She fetches me for story time;
I happily comply.
And often she won't care
If she's heard it many times.
She's happy with the company
And treats the moment kind,
Regardless of the story told.
But there are other times....
Alas, it seems to matter super-
Disconcertingly,
And certain words can set her off,
Or so it seems to me.
The phrase that get's her lately,
At the dropping of a dime,
Is that once-too-much-heard opening,
"Once upon a time".
Even though it's at the start,
It's already to late.
And nothing can console her
Until the mood self-abates.
But I won't collect and serve
These stories to the trash.
"And why not?",  a well-meaning
Onlooker might ask.
Because it's seldom permanent...
These sways of up and down -
The happiness that suddenly
Can turn into a frown -
Or usher in the start of
Another melting-down.
What set her off yesterday,
Might yet unrepeat.
And the day always uncertain
when her wrath again you'll meet.
But on this point, I'll bet it all,
As sure as there's a sky,
The only certain thing about the future
Is surprise.

Some days feel
like a shit machine
and a hard place that
you're now stuck between.
No matter the path
or decision you take
you land in the pyramid
it deficates:
the machine I mentioned
a few lines ago
has today, made it's presence
unmistakeably known.
I guess that's life.
You ebb and you flow.
And time catches up to you
wherever you go.
I gonna try dismantling
this new pile of trash,
with extreme predjudice,
(i.e. kick it's ass
to the curb and dare it
to never come back),
and now execute my
metaphoric attack.
But I know, as do all
that a great victory
of the shit, can only be temporary.
There's no way to vanquish it
all future days.
But even temporary wins
feel good anyway.

The burden of de-burdening
This daily blog debrief is for the birds.
Absurd.  It now to me occurs:
Why meander on about the things inside me head?
Could other candies of the mind be consumed instead?
Maybe Candy Crush?  Or Sims or gambling?
Or standing on a stage and pretending you can sing?
Wow...it almost seems as if the cynic has arrived
And replaced the optomist that prior did reside
Within my cortices, the skull, and everything inside.
Maybe bastard-he should get
The hell right of the way,
And brush away the whining pout
Shellacked across the face....
The party-poop imposter
That had make it's presence known
And who I'm now kicking out,
And sending his ass home.
So welcome back, the before-me
Before he came along.
Now it's all ok again,
To stand and sing a song,
Knowing that a better singer always comes along,
But now without the worry that I might have sung it wrong.

Writing's block mocked

Can't think of anything new today.
Looking at a screen, with nothing to say,
yepper yep.....oh my oh my.....
It harder gets, the more I try....
So let me try Costanza's game,
"the opposite" will point my way
to getting words out on the page
and breaking from a mental cage.
Instead of trying.... I'll try not...
the least amount, with fingers crossed.
So far so good, but not the best
I probably won't share the rest.
But just in case....here it be.
My daily word philosophy
To be unabsent for a day
in efforts to consistent say
"I write, therefore I am" or not,
I'll give you everything I've got
though admittedly that's not a lot
today, but I've kept my date...
with my blog, it wasn't great.
Your expectations could deflate
but surely I will compensate
inevitably.....and mark the date!
Thank you for your precious time
and most of all, thanks for your eyes!

Steve Brady: A wuss for the ages

Remember that old comedy,
The Sex and City show?
Me and wife are giving it's
Rewatch another go.
Rewatching it by seasons,
We've just started number 5.
But seeing Steve be such a wuss,
Now takes me by surprise.
It's not that he's a grown man
That still watches Scoobie Doo.
Or that he cries at every turn,
And shruggingly aloof.
No, the thing that did me in the most.....
When he reversed
His choice to be a father to his kid....
That was the worst!
Miranda was about to go
And hop onboard a plane
To go with her 3 girlfriends
On a once-a-decade break,
When this poor excuse for an idiotic fart,
Agrees, then RENIGS, to babysit!  Don't let me start!
I couldn't quite believe that I was seeing such a thing.
This guy deserves a "most selfish dad on the planet" ring!
To let his 'tarded 'noia be the agent of his choice.
Makes everything he says and does nothing more than noise.
Yucky Steve....wuss you are....and so for evermore.
Don't let it hit you, as we boo your ass right out the door!

Doctor, Lawyer, Ph.D:
These, the lonely careers 3
Whose path to reach is well-defined,
And schooling not a waste of time.
But for nearly all peeps else
Our schooling doesn't function well.
A broken system to it's core.
A hand-me-down from ages 'yore.
A useful prep for work and life
Is what it should aspire, right?
Sadly this is not the case,
And nearly all of it's a waste
Of our fleeting precious youth.
So, sheepishly we hide the truth:
That useless as we know it be
It's all we have, regretably,
Except the efforts made at home
which can be useful, some have shown.
Better than the system wide
at getting at the jewels inside:
A thing each person made for be,
Hidden often underneath,
Projecting what we want to see,
Or so they think.  So goes the game.
Our ancestors had played the same.
But I wonder, what's it take
For our system to unbreak
And redesign more modernly
To be the best that it can be:
Functioning less uselessly
And educating, happily?
Well for starters, how about
When they're 3, don't kick them out
the door so they can congregate
at school at such a tender age.
Here's an article I read,
inspiring this poem thread:

Early enrollment causes ADD?

"Gut" take - no ideology

I found a new philosophy,
Invented just today.
I needed it, I think, to circum-
Navigate my way
Around a planet, perilous,
Presenting many tests
That has me seeking now a path
Divergent from the rest ...
To better hear a voice
That has been with me all along ...
A voice I like to call, "my gut",
That's almost never wrong.
It's synchronizing with the "now",
In super-present tense.
And getting in the zone
Instead of living in your head
With countless possibilities
Presenting you "what if"s
That haunt your thoughts repeatedly
As they goes adrift.
There is no ideology
That thinking man has made
That's capable of dealing with
All things in every way.
All rules have an exception.
All laws have broken been.
There's, every time, a caveat,
In every discipline.
We can't see all contingencies,
Can't beat every drum,
And can't demand all choices
Should distill to only one?
So why have ideology at all?
What's it to you?
What truth can it reveal, the present
Moment cannot do?
To learn to see things as they are,
Instead of narrative-
The over-arching tale we tell ourselves within our head-
Is quite a revelation, and a novel clarity,
When free of all thought-defining ideology.
Some say no religion.  But I go all the way....
No predetermined organizing thoughts at all .... I say!
Pretty radical, I guess.
But I dig it, anyhow.
Woudln't have before, but that was then, this is now.
"My gut" is the thing I'm gonna
Listen to the most,
Because if you ignore your gut,
Your happiness is toast.
There are some principles sublime and cool,
No doubt about it!
But actions similar, I think, may too
Result without it!
My hope: if one could feel the world
Complete without the shade
And the bias and distortions that our prior thinking made
We'd have a great capacity
(Exceeding what is now)
To live without assumption, or moreso anyhow.
And attenuate the fear, as much as safely is allowed.