Monday, August 21, 2017

To Sleep Yet Again




I’m here only when I sleep
Dozing waking only to scurry
Off to school for the daylight hours
Returning only at darkness
I sleep yet again.


Its walls painted
Colors intense as black
Erect, starring, looking for some end
Its boundless borders 
Descending down softly curling
Coming to sleep yet again
Sleeping yet again


I’m here only when I sleep
For me it isn’t a way to sleep
An alternative way will be
Unorthodox it may be

So I must be careful where I sleep
What type of question I answer
Criminal it may be
To sleep yet again.

Monday, July 31, 2017

Global Warming?



Getting hot, however the flowers are blooming and there is no need purchasing bulky winter clothing.

Tuesday, November 08, 2016

At Eleven

Year 1970, living in Walled Lake, Michigan, at the age of nine, I started playing tackle football. At ten I played on a team my father coached, and we went undefeated. Our team received trophies at a banquet, which all teams came together and watched then old film clips of the Detroit Lions destroying their opponents.


When I was eleven, we as a team didn’t win much, but my experience was memberable. Attending that year’s banquet, I was shocked learning that all teams that year, regardless win loss record, that every player would receive a trophy. The top winning team did have their record showing they were the best, but...


I’m not trying to create a debate, but stating that at the age of eleven and receiving a trophy it first surprised me and then it had bothered me. At the banquet, I questioned my father why would I get a trophy?


When I was eleven, the definition of someone earning something had changed, and my father’s response didn’t really answer my questioning why I deserve something that I didn’t earn. A trophy isn’t what I was playing for. At the age of eleven, I enjoyed its competition and winning, and contributing to a team. We didn't have a winning season, but I learned and contributed toward steps improving myself. That year, for me, receiving a trophy reflected nothing and stood for nothing.  


Needing clarification: I treat winning as a measure. A measure on what needs to be worked on and improved, so winning is everything.     

Saturday, September 26, 2015

Cultural Integrity - Ramble



After twenty years, I have returned back to OSU. My hopes are to allow time striking out on new ideas; seeking a simple, not complex, way of life. I have tried escaping culture’s grips; eliminating all culture’s expectations; in quest of a social non-participating ideology. I don't participate in culture's rhetorical expectation and regulation. I watch, with popcorn in hand, observing as the film roll manifests cultural amusement at 24 fps. Drama and tragedy are at work.

The culture, in regards to its description, is described through its habits. The habits are limited to the edges of its stage or cultural boundary. Each stage is an element of a cultural set, and the cultural set of stages are within a wooden framed sandbox. The sandbox’s borders are regulated, and regulation offers each stage its prompts, and inspires the entities within the sandbox to put-on their performances -- describing their culture. Regulation grants each stage with the prompts and toys for them to select. By granting this selection narrows cultural integrity. Culture can be arisen from within a prison, but cultural integrity will be misplaced. Cultural integrity can only exist when human dominance and regulation isn’t introduced. It is when the sway of air, rivers, and vitality do regulate that Cultural integrity exist. Cultural integrity is misplaced when I empower myself over another or when I form a culture to regulate over another.

Simply put, cultural integrity would be a good idea. It would eliminate all dominance and spur a shift toward culture based off a personal awareness. Allows the land base to be the stage and offers culture it pure existence. Pure existence by offering the prompts and toys, which each culture must notice and know of its existence. Shelters will be made of sod, wood, rocks, leaves, underground, above-ground, etc. Regulation wouldn’t exist enforcing every house must contain a garbage disposal or if children are present, then every house must have running water (not walking water). Dog may be off leash. Cars may or may not be existent. It will be the decision of the single entity and their interaction with the culture. A culture is a tolerable awareness played out by all its entities through their interactions.

Thursday, May 28, 2015

Saturday, May 07, 2011

TOPPER MANIFEST

The temperature in Michigan dropped below freezing. Snow was plowed into large piles, which would take many spring days to thaw. During the day I drove truck for Canada Dry Bottling Company. At night one could spot me crawling into my box with my Carhartt Arctic Thermals, Danner Super Rainforest all-leather boots, and a wool hat to steal a good night sleep. The dogs napped close to my side, curled, balled tightly, keeping their heat from escaping. I slept tucked away in a mummy sack. We all never raised any complaints about the cold.


Topper Built on My 1985 Nissan
Topper built on my 1985 Nissan
Before building the box, I found a nice Oregon rental, which was a cycling distance to Corvallis city limits. A kitchen / living room, a bathroom, and a bedroom, the rental was located off a gravel road where night pitched blackness, where only stars could be seen. Quiet and peaceful, I decorated the place with nice furnishings. The rent was inexpensive and the management was fantastic. During cold months, gas heat kept the place nicely at seventy degrees. I would invite friends over for dinner and occasional talks, while the tranquil guitarist Stanley Jordon was heard over a set of speakers. I never before lived in such a place that I loved so much.

Awakened by the sound of a loud scraping noise and flashing caution lights, I could see through the box’s windows that it was early morning. The snowplows were out clearing the road for the start of the new business day. The Michigan night sky had brought down many inches of snow, which my dogs found very exciting as they rolled and skipped through the accumulation. The pickup was running and warming its engine when the dogs and I ventured into the early morning darkness for a refreshing chilly walk. We would return twenty minutes later finding the pickup’s interior cab very toasty warm and its windows defrosted.

In Corvallis, Oregon, I built a 4x6x5 foot wooden box, which would fit on my 1985 Nissan pickup’s six-foot bed. With 2x2 inch studs and ¼ inch plywood, I had screwed together a box for living. Building from penciled drawings and wanting a change -- my wooden box was built within a weekend. With a few friends at each side we lifted the wooden box and placed it upon the bed of the truck. People I came in contact with after its completion would call the wooden box a topper.

From five ante meridiem until six post meridiem, I pushed and pulled a dolly through drifted snow mounds and drizzling, freezing snow. At the end of the work day, my toes possessed an achy tingle, which started my feet bouncing a rhythmic step aiding warmth to the sting. Night had come. I found my way to my pickup. Swinging open the topper’s back door, the dogs jumped out and raced around in an open field. Climbing inside the topper, I found the dog’s bowl of water had spilled -- soaking and freezing deep into the mummy sack and into the dog‘s bedding. The mummy sack was stiff as a board! Books and papers that were near the mummy sack were also solidly frozen. No problem, it was a Friday and no work tomorrow, I could dry the items tomorrow. We all spent the night sleeping in the cab of the pickup intermittently turning on the truck and warming up the cab.

I stood in the center of the living room slowly turning clockwise, taking note of what items are of use. I rented all this space and never utilized any of it. I spent much of my time in Corvallis: school, working, homework at the local coffeehouse. I stood questioning the space that I occupied. Did I need all this space to live! Why should my questioning of this space be a problem? I was able to afford the rental space. The motto of owning or renting square space in which to “live” was probably a deeply ingrained idea that I gleaned from previous traditions of our culture. The truth being I seldom found myself interacting within the walls that I rented. It was definitely the space that initiated thinking about moving... The box idea was born. Everything I own is now organized on shelves in my topper.

Space was the catalyst. The essence of living this way is that you find out the essence of the motion of nature. The truth being that what we are told isn't necessarily true. When I moved into my topper, I started living in different surroundings and started noticing how social images were telling us how to maintain oneself. Michigan was the test of living the way as I do, which I lived very comfortable and tranquil throughout the winter, contradicting the societal addiction (monkey on my back). Learning many social images are false. This has lead to many other great insights. I do not participate with the expatiations of the societal image except when necessary for their enforced expectations.

COMPUTER DATE

Looking at the clock, I have an appointment. I can finish this, a few more lines, a few more minutes, a few minutes, and more minutes. Fingers clicking on the keyboard, displaying new lines – coded lines. Testing and retesting these fresh new lines. I must go, but why am I receiving this error. I must go to my appointment. Wait! No! It didn’t work.

Finally at my appointment, a romantic date, is with a woman whom I had much love for. An evening in a very elegant restaurant, with linens as white as snow and wine sparkling under watching stars.

I softly embraced her hand, and saw lines-of-code in her eyes. Precious black characters lined-up tightly. They give way to spaces whenever valid statements or variable names reflected outward.

Wait, penetrating deeper into her eyes, thinking that’s it! I found a solution! She spotted my breaking intense smile. She smiles, matching mine. Soon afterward my enthusiasm dissipated into thinking: “NO! That doesn’t work! Why didn’t that work? It seems basic, damn it.”

Finishing dinner, enjoying desert, we strolled out under street lights and running cars. A few blocks down from the restaurant, we meandered along a calm, spacious river. I hugged her so gently.

Hold-on! thinking, If really that line of code iterated that many times, counting to ten, so why is it eleven? Yes sir, In my excitement pulling her tighter, I kissed her soft tender neck. Yes sir alright, thinking that is the solution. It is the answer that I had silently contemplated all night. Tightly fisted,  looking up at the overhanging stars, yes sir!


Swiftly, I guided her smoothly back toward the car, the night is late, and I have an appointment. Lips pressing tightly, my eyes roll up, star bound. I know it is the answer. Good night my love, I had a wonderful evening.

Now it is early morning the keyboard keys rapidly clicking, sleeping not a wink, absorbed, I felt completely happy. Oh yes, that was the answer.