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Yesterday was Lincoln’s birthday. I wanted to say something new, or at least meaningful, about him. I had little to go by in my recent experience aside from having viewed both LINCOLN and ABRAHAM LINCOLN: VAMPIRE HUNTER. So I did a little research…

Which led me to documentation that President Lincoln frequently used the N-word, loved minstrel shows demeaning to people of color, and told “darky” jokes. In other words, today he’d be considered a racist by many.

There are those who might say that we can’t expect too much from a man of the near-south in the 1800s. And my hero Kurt Vonnegut once confessed to admiration for the writing of known Nazi sympathizer Louis-Ferdinand Céline. And Robert Penn Warren once wrote “And what we students of history always learn is that the human being is a very complicated contraption and that they are not good or bad but are good and bad and the good comes out of the bad and the bad out of the good, and the devil take the hindmost.”

Somehow I found myself grouping Lincoln, Barack Obama, and Jomo Kenyatta, founder of the independent Republic of Kenya, where Barack Obama Sr. came from when it was still British East Africa. Jomo Kenyatta is on much Kenyan currency and coin, but not for long. Perhaps it is because he was publicly in favor of female genital mutilation. “No proper Kikuyu would dream of marrying a girl who has not been circumcised,” he stated in his book Facing Mount Kenya. Wikipedia mentions his taking the “traditionalist” side in public debate.

And what of Barack Obama? He has most of his second term before him. I would like to urge him to become an example to the world of what the United States is all about. He has already done that to some extent. His two inaugural speeches were magnificent, and I have praised them both on my modest Facebook soapbox. But Gitmo remains open for business, and many of his other promises go either as yet unkept or bent or shattered. “That’s politics,” some may say. But, Mr. President, I urge you to at least pretend to transcend politics, to the good of the world citizenry. Pretend to be transcendent, early and often, and with good will and good luck Kurt Vonnegut’s admonition will apply favorably.

NOTE: I wish my journal page above had contained much more of the message that is here below it. I was seduced by wordplay, and the acrostic format, plus some semblance of meter, plus an incorrigible proclivity towards punmanship, made the words what they are. I regret that they did not mean more; I hope they and these words are at least thought-provoking.

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Long ago I did some purchasing for a software engineering concern. One vendor offered a cut-rate screaming deal on a ONE GIGABYTE HARD DRIVE. It could be mine for a mere two hundred and ninety dollars.

Now I have something that holds thirtyfold what that dinosaur would, and it set me back ten bucks. I should use it more often in case things go Kablooie.

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Saturday morning our Village of Oak Creek was fabricked with the satin of joined snowflakes. I have not seen snow falling all that many times in my life–spending most of my life in the Valley of the Sun, I was 21 years old the first time I saw snow falling–so it is new enough to me to seem miraculous.

I owe my knowledge of the word (or words) Uffda (or Uff Da) to my sweet former wife, a small-town gal from Minnesota. During our 23 years of marriage, which ended a year ago last December, I also learned to say “come here once” instead of “come here, please” and “well, you’re welcome” instead of “you’re welcome.” Uffda usually follows some kind of accident (like dropping the fried egg on the floor) or burdensomeness (like working a double shift)–at least that was my inference. I am not bilingual in Minnesotan; but I often say “Uffda” just after getting my old bones off the couch after sitting there for more than an hour. Comes in handy, and trips off the tongue!,

It was one of those days John Lennon sang about when he sang “Nobody Told Me There’d Be Days Like These/Strange days inDEED…” Suddenly I found myself again at Urban Beans in Phoenix, Arizona with the smallest of time windows. It was 5:35pm. Caffeine Corridor would start at 7:00PM, and I had to talk to at least two people beforehand about at least two different things. After the event I had to dinner&drive back to my home and my love, with an image to post befor midnight. And I hadn’t ordered my large plain-drip coffee yet.

At 6:17pm I was finished with the image. Necessity is the mother of inspiration: I knew I had to keep it minimal–MINIMAL? A theme tailor-made…

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Enigmatic & quite a show
Entertaining & awesome glow
As we lessers contract catarrh
Rheumatismatical Epstein-Barre
There’s our Life-Grantor SUN so fair
Heaps of Energy with a flare

George Carlin, pointed tongue in cheek, on Sun Worship: “I’ve begun worshipping the sun for a number of reasons. First of all, unlike some other gods I could mention, I can see the sun. It’s there for me every day. And the things it brings me are quite apparent all the time: heat, light, food, and a lovely day. There’s no mystery, no one asks for money, I don’t have to dress up, and there’s no boring pageantry. And interestingly enough, I have found that the prayers I offer to the sun and the prayers I formerly offered to “God” are all answered at about the same 50% rate.”

To cover all the bases, though, Carlin prayed to Joe Pesci: “You know who I pray to? Joe Pesci. Two reasons: First of all, I think he’s a good actor, okay? To me, that counts. Second, he looks like a guy who can get things done.”

George Carlin and the Sun have two things in common. Both have radiated enormous energy; and both are not on Earth, but some other Where.

 

 

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Every day billions of us doom billions of us to death via kinetic energy. Most of the death-dealers don’t give it much thought, even when they’re squeegeeing off the mortal remains of their fellow creatures from their windshields.

We are killers, yet the ghosts of what we smash (or eat, or consign to starvation through eviction, or exterminate) don’t tend to haunt us. Our factory farms make a mockery of “reverence for life.” The havoc we have wreaked (or “reeked” as above) is all the more horrific for being commonplace.

And we name some of our children Alexander, and some others David. One dealt death wholesale, one retail (not Goliath; Uriah). It is no coincidence that Anthony Burgess named the berserker of his A Clockwork Orange Alex.

Socrates is said to have said “The unexamined life is not worth living.”

NOTE: Berni Wrightson and Mike Ploog are illustrators. Wrightson has worked with Stephen King, on Creepshow and The Stand and The Song of Susannah of the Dark Tower series. Ploog did some comic-book continuity in the horror genre as well; some of his panels from Werewolf by Night have been stuck in my memory for more than thirty years.

 

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Today’s post gets a little personal. My father’s mother, whose maiden name was either Cora or Marguerite Price, and whose Uncle Arthur co-founded the city of Chandler, Arizona, left this earth in the first part of January, 1979. It wasn’t till I started this page, based on a framed photograph of her probably taken in the early 1930s, that I discovered how dark the dark side of my memory of her could get. I suppose she did the best she could, and I owe her my life, my circumstance, and a lot of my DNA; but my poor Uncle Jim (birth name: Brian Aylesworth Bowers) and my poor father (he could have signed a contract with the Chicago Cubs, and would have if he’d followed his dreams)! There is a Latin phrase, “de mortuis nil nisi bonum dicendum est,” that I am defying here. She ruled with an iron fist in a satin glove.

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Since we can be lovely when we’re not becoming ash
Try recording graphically your Lovely Soul to cache
Insistence on an optimistic stance–a way well led–a
LIFE-LY friendliness in showing memory’s well fed

Note: I was tempted to include a comma after “well” so that it would read “Memory’s well, fed.” I left the comma out, because it would klunkify the syllable stressification; but I invite you to consider the subtle difference in meaning.

The acrostic weighs in at thirty-five words, or forty if you include the acrostic words doing double duty. And it’s a quintuple acrostic, though a little fudgy since exact characters-per-line isn’t even close to achievement.

But it’s far from the ultimate in quintuple acrostic word economy. About four years ago I did one whose first line was “The JonQuil’d KoalA.” Three lines, a total of fifteen words–and the acrostic was TEN JACK QUEEN KING ACE. It CAN be done, my friends, and one fine day I’ll blog-post the image, which is headed by an illustration that included not only the Kee-YEWTEST li’l Koala you ever did see–and Jonquil’d to boot–but also the poker hand known as the Royal Flush. I leave it as an exercise to you, O revered Reader: which twelve words followed the first line?

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I now live in the land of Spooky Woo-Woo, where maps of psychic vortices are available. One such vortex is rumored to be on Bell Rock, which is walking distance–LONG walking distance, but I’ve done it several times. Maybe it’s the altitude, or the stunning red-rich rock configurations, but there does seem to be something extraordinary about this place.