Tag: Daily Prompt

Cheese and Meat

Posted on by Pete

Number one son was an aficionado of the Original.

Woe be unto him who tried to foist any New items on him. Perish the thought of Improved items as well. Same for Deluxe.  Limited begone. Nope. He wanted the Original.

He was the purist goalie in the family. Try to get anything past him that was not what he considered original, from BBQ sauce to Kraft Italian salad dressing, and the howls could be heard to the Original high heavens.

Anything other than cheese and meat on a burger was grounds to ban that McDonald’s from his Original list. With an added Original pox upon the hapless server who served it up in such an Unoriginal fashion to him.

He was indeed the embodiment of the Original Sin.

He was a terrible consumer in training and the nightmare of all fiduciaries of our growth fetishistic enterprises and nation.

But after years in front of the television soaking in commercials, online Ad culture, and peer pressure he came around as all good potential productivity pods do. Now number one son wants everything new and improved in the world you can possibly imagine.

But since he is one of the Original Millennials he may be too late since the Original promise of trickle down has already been lapped up, swallowed , and sent elsewhere.

Maybe someone has an Original idea to solve this.

I haven’t heard it.

I have observed a lot of very Unoriginal silliness in between the TV commercials, Ad Banners, and pop up ads however.

So I hope he still only wants cheese and meat on his burger.

After all , it’s the Original.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/original/

I Do Miss Steak

Posted on by Pete

 

I do. I do. I do

Especially when cooked over a charcoal fire. On a Weber. Propane just don’t make it.

But that is my mistake.

No not in the purchase of the propane grill. I only use it. But in choices I made decades before that caused me to end up eating steak rarely. Albeit for numerous economic, ecological, and personal health advise from the experts, textperts, and choking smokers.

Goo goo g’ joob g’ goo goo g’ joob

I’ll stop before further purloining, which would only lead to the inevitable resolution of, “I am the steak man….”

Oops I did it again. I misconstrued the  one word Daily Prompt.

Oh no. I stole another song lyric. I hope this will not be mistaken for plagiarism.

 

Oops. My mistake again.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/mistake/

Where’s Waldo?

Posted on by Pete

“I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the Stern Fact, the Sad Self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from.” –Ralph Waldo Emerson

There’s Waldo!

But that is not what I am obsessed with. I am obsessed with me.

Me memememememememememememe.

I am my own ever present meme.

Sure you may have thought the statement,”Where ever you go, there you are” was a joke. But it’s not.

It’s true.

Where ever I go I am there.

And it is freakin’ me out man.

That Emerson dude knew. I mean he really knew. This was long before he went into fridges and Hi Fi  and stereo stuff. But his stereo’s always needed at least two speakers.  It took him until 1969 to figure that one and he needed both Marx and Lennon’s help.

How can you be two places at once when you’re not anywhere at all?

 

 

But that makes three. He was really old by then so neither he nor I am inclined to wrestle that whole trinity thing.  I take comfort that I may still have time to transcend my obsession with myself since I am nowhere nearly as chronologically gifted as Emerson was even when he first started making radios.

Those were indeed monophonic constructs.

catalin-radio-emerson-au190-brown11

See. Beautiful.

It all starts with one.

Me.

But the key word is starts.

So even though I am stuck lugging the object of my obsession with me where ever I travel and have to experience the world through my obsession’s senses, filter them through my self obsessed brain, share them though my self obsessed mouth or my self obsessed fingers through this self obsessed blog post I have hope.

Through empathy maybe I can have brief flashes of being two places at once and see the world through another’s self obsessed perceptions. If I am really lucky that person I am empathizing with has transcended self obsession and it will reveal a whole new vision of reality.

Kind of like, they’ll tell two friends and I’ll tell two friends ect. ect ect.

Meanwhile I need to get more coffee. See. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/obsessed/

I Believe I’m Sinking Down

Posted on by Pete

Oh if only crossroads were so simple. Right. Left. Forward. Or run home and hide under the blankets.

Then again there are intersections that occur, have occurred, are occurring, and will continue to occur in the eternity called now.

Kind of like this: *

KVAH rev

Only with an infinite number of lines running through that single point we call now, continuing on into infinity and (for those of you that might be Buzzed) beyond.

So next time someone asks you to get the butter, just remember the options are endless. From explaining dietary implications of, as well as, the inevitable string theory of dairy products in general, oleo and the inherent sins of such marketing obfuscation and chicanery,  reenactments from scenes in “Last Tango In Paris” aside, to the full inclusion of just acquiescing to their request in smug silence: try not to be what my pale imitation (as seen above *) of a Kurt Vonnegut illustration alludes to.

So just choose and know we are all just:

After all as my father advised when I was just a sprout, “Go do something even if it is wrong”

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/crossroads/

For The Birds

Posted on by Pete

Indigo Bunting leaned against the bar and surveyed the lounge with her usual indolence. There he was resplendent in his ultra violet suit wearing his yellow  hair all brushed up to a point like the big ol prissy Cockatiel she was looking for.

He seemed the likely eager green volunteer to her next sensuous hoax. But he was anything but a nookie novice.

She did not know then that he used the nam de plume of Nymphicus Hollandicus for his extensive erotic writings all drawn on first wing exploits. Yes his quill had penned many a blue tail.

His beak had been around the block, so to speak.

Indigo was soon to find out that her’s had bitten off more than she could chew.

So she sidled over to the great bird as she lowered the front zipper of her feather tight red  jump suit knowing intimately the effect her astonishing cuttlebone cleavage had. Other fowls would flock to cuddle, yet this one just pecked distractedly at the seed scattered on the bar.

In she swooped and she cooed into the colorful spot on the side of his head, “I am going to squeeze you like an orange.”

“I hope so.” Nymphicus Hollandicus replied with a flapping of wings and an early spring preen.

So they flapped and they soared and they warbled and they twittered and they chirped and they trilled each other until the next morn.

But when the rainbow appeared with the sun it was clear, that Nymphicus Hollandicus had taken it on the wing leaving Inigo Bunting perch-less and seed-less.

Oh dear

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/roy-g-biv/

Perishable Individuaity

Posted on by Pete

“I don’t wanna.” I am sure was my initial reaction.

I can not say I remember not knowing, yet I am pretty sure I had to find out sometime.

Or is it instinctual knowledge as monarch butterflies know where to migrate to and from. After all we are trained from the get go to organize our instincts into acceptable reactions, so maybe that knowledge gets short circuited, only to be reintroduced in a more elaborate lesson further down the road.

We have told ourselves, have been told, taught by others, many elaborate stories on the subject of the long dirt nap. Before we ritualized and institutionalized the process I would imagine it was rather like going to sleep in a manner ranging from peacefully to horribly and then waking up dead. I suppose that waking up dead part is where the story begins in some versions and where it ends in others.

From celebrating my grandmothers “last” birthday for the first twenty one years of my life to witnessing my child’s crying jag upon the realization of the apparent inevitable; I felt always aware of the final summation. If the equation is alive or not alive, i can say I have spent a lot more time not alive than alive in the grand scheme of things. So as I walk through this vacation from being not alive the words of Melville always vibrate through every strand of my DNA.

“Wherefore, for all these things, we account the whale immortal in his species, however perishable in his individuality.”

pic0918083jpg-12

So if you are looking for answers I say, “Move along. There is nothing to see here.” You want answers, people got a million of them. In price ranges from free to all your earthly possessions. Up to and including your life. After all, you can’t take it with you. The ultimate sliding scale.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/finite-creatures/

My long gone antique faux bronze naked lady lamp

On The Flip Flop

Posted on by Pete

I am already in a time machine. It is this meat popsicle I have been lugging around in the only direction time travels.

Forward.

Save me the timey whimy wibbly wobbly changy sort of thing, Whovians. I love the show too. But it is a television show brought to you by people who want to sell you something.

I am talking about time as a measurement that all of us meat popsicles have agreed upon.  Isolated tribes yet to be found, if there are any left, probably have their own version of time and are exempt from that vast generalization. Their version of time might be one that satisfies the Whovian in me.

But I am talking to the lot of you that have joined in via these gussied up adding machines we all pound on or speak at to post here in WP-land.

As battered by time as this vessel I have been lugging around on my bones is, I have seen the past. Read about it. Listened to tales from those who lived it. The only difference between the bad things that happen now, and the bad things that happened then, is that many of those bad things were institutionalized officially. Now they are just unofficially sanctioned.

Not to mention if you saw a doctor in the not to distant past he probably did not believe in the existence of germs, thus rarely washed his hands after defecating in a ditch out back. Women and children were chattel, most people could not read or write and spent dark nights huddled and shivering in the short abyss of their lives.

Sure you read about the good old days, but that was mostly told by the select few who could read and write. Life was good and child labor was cheap.

Many things didn’t happen along the way that might have made things different. But they didn’t. I shall refrain from rampant and rueful speculation. That is what the media pukes are for.

Many good things have happened along this perceived timeline that were institutionalized officially and unofficially sanctioned and in aggregate has brought us to now. Be it ever so humble, there is no other place.

The things we humans have stacked on top of other things are marvelous. Science, art, architecture, and yes even the media most of us have access too keeps us well informed of the things we do not have. Many more of us now have the luxury of indoor plumbing and we use it often. Doctors wash their hands now. Most of the time.  We are still sold snake oil for our ills, but it is usually well tested snake oil, and some of it really works.

I for one am grateful for being born when I was born, lived when I have lived, and will end my vacation from being dead when the desk clerk brings me the bill and tosses what I think of as me out of Hotel Pierre. Not a second sooner.

Oh the wonders I have seen.

Oh the wonders you will see my less chronologically gifted time travelers.

Until I catch you all on the flip flop.

Peace.

BOZO2

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/one-way-street/