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“Whence Came We? What Are We? Whither Go We?” –Title to one of Paul Gauguin’s most mysterious paintings

about four thousand days ago

plus or minus an order of magnitude or two

there was a great local flood

and people have remembered it in myths

because myths inspire and drive us

(just ask tolkien or campbell)

..

meanwhile it is with great sadness that we note

that just this week raw tragedy occurred

two deaths

a father and mother done in by a berserker son

and all kinds of wounds are fresh

in millions of souls

wounds inflicted by the stark wrongness

of loving parents slain

by a son who would not be helped

..

surely new myths are already being wrought

because we like stories

and what a story premise we have here

but the problem with myths

is that they act as baffles to understanding

they act to mislead us from wisdom

..

now it is especially important

for us to discard our love for a juicy narrative

and try to arrive at understanding of this nihilistic act

and with that understanding

however minuscule

arrive at a means of coping

..

gilgamesh of legend

survivor of the flood

is gone

if he ever was here

and make-believe is good for some things

horrendous for others

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crossroads

the trouble with the robert frost
“two roads diverged…” encyclical
is that the two roads are just two.
in real life, it’s so complex:
the crossroads is a dandelion
of three dimensions, maybe more.
some circumstances force a move.
some preferences are imposed.
and fear, that strongarm bully, steals
the will from making wisdom count.
at times a traveler suggests
just with a smile: it’s time to go.

each breath inhaled is choosing life.
each kiss exchanged is choosing love.
each journey says a better place
awaits. but journeys may play false,
with distance that no yardstick tells.
the real journey’s in our heads,
in touching soul-to-soul; in goals
we keep, or not; in choosing words;
in scratching itches till they bleed
then learning that they’re best ignored;
and letting go begins a trek
along a path that must astound.

Snow is falling here in Cottonwood. Earlier I had made up my mind to drive to the Village of Oak Creek to retrieve a CD a friend had burned for me, which I’d foolishly left in my drawer at work and forgotten to take home. (In my defense, I’d had an unexpected 12-hour shift…) But the falling snow convinces me, with little experience driving on snowy roads, to stay in the warm and cozy. I’ll get the CD tomorrow, and put it in the truck before my shift begins.

The moral of this non-story is that sometimes the best thing to do is no thing at all. Thus this page:

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Now let us be quite candid
Uplift & have & hold
Then we’ll be even-handed
Hubraics countermanded
It does no good to scold
Nonaction is an unflipped coin
Gong yet unbashed an unboinged boing

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My daughter Kate, bless her born-in-the-90s heart, is polytheistic. She acknowledges the existence of David Bowie and Eric Clapton, and she acknowledges that both are God. So when I started sketching Mr Clapton, I naturally thought of her, and I chose an acrostic I thought she’d like.

Here are the words:

Elect acoustic, they say ‘G
Enter unplugg’d ecstasy–O
Excellence in modal D’
Even-handed normal C

Riffs that Weep & Seep & Wail
Reggaed sheriff rockful Layla

It’s a slow hand yet with pep
Indicates a Badge is kept

Cream, Blind Faith & Domino
Calypsodic Wisdom’s sown

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Supposedly there are only a few stories, and we ring endless changes on them. I don’t think that’s true, or maybe it’s true to a crude extent only.

Mary Shelley’s FRANKENSTEIN, OR, THE MODERN PROMETHEUS is a cautionary tale, just as the original story of Prometheus was. Much more recently, “Blood Music” by Greg Bear takes the premise to a wonderfully horrifying extreme. An Internet search will lead the curious reader to a synopsis, and a more curious reader to the “gray goo” concept.

We are an increasingly synoptic culture. So many things demand our attention! Why, I myself am demanding your attention at this very moment! I better keep it brief!

Words:

SING, O MUSE, of summ’d-up stories
Yawners, t h r i l l e r s, allegory
Nasty fall or heartmelt gem
OMG-er: booze/buff/hemp
Parabol that’s fulla Pooh
Sappy RomCom: thrice-pitch’d woo
If/then/else in Kind or Mean
Sapience: Aye, THERE’s the key

I used “parabol” instead of “parable” to give a flavor of arc to the story.

“Pooh” does and does not refer to a certain Bear of Little Brain that I’ll always have fondness for, even though my hero Dorothy Parker scorned him and his chronicler.

“If/then/else” will be familiar to those who indulge, even to the slightest degree, in computer programming. “If/then/else,” I submit, is the distillation of Story to the barest of bones.

“Sapience” means Wisdom. Our species has the taxonomy “Homo sapiens.” Riiiiggggghhhht.

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Here are the words to the acrostic:

Knowledge complicates & wisdom simplifies
It’s light bath & solid making a shadow
The dog catnaps & the cat lies doggo
The ONUS & the HONOR
Yinways & yangward

Please remember that cats have claws and, often, merciless predation.