Once upon a time I thought I thought global.
I thought it was the only way to go.
But lately I feel the flat earthers have won
Or
Flattered
Tag: RagtagDailyPrompt
NLP
Be Careful What You Praise For
There’s praise and then there’s Neuro-linguistic Programming
Because research shows that research works
Chimer Chimer Shake
Ouch
my first full size bike
pieced together from spare parts
rolling chimera
a full sized Schwinn frame
spray painted sky blue, leopard
print banana seat
high rise handlebars
a big rear view mirror clamped on
for my first test ride
looking in mirror
and not where I was going
fell off, mirror broke
In the spirit of self promotion I recycled this Haiku Memoir from my homestead Haiku A Day
RDP Repartee
Missing the days when
Proclivity was precarious
Precocious and pernicious
Modus operandi moderation
Modesty was magnanimous
Raunchy rancor a rarity
Raucous only in extremis
As rapid crisis response
To imminent ruination
Not for mild irritations
ENIAC
Bottom LIne:
I am replying to this Ragtag Daily Prompt from the comfort of my own home using a fancy adding machine that rests in the palm of my hand.
Put that in your electronic numerical integrator and crunch it
Strata
Working in downtown Chicago of the nineteen eighties, I witnessed first hand the class warfare dujour. The jagged edge of the serrated social strata was clearly defined. You had your “fern bars”, where the yuppies (Young Urban Professionals) went. Then you had your tried and true old timey taverns, where the yuffies (Young Urban Failures) were known to gather. Both types of establishments were clustered together in or near The Loop
Pardon my gross generalizations, but I feel comfortable making that observation in hindsight. Then as in now, no faction has cornered the market on knuckleheads. Both groups grinding against each other in the serrated gears of commerce.
Ah, good times .
Blue Boxers
Late Friday Night
Just turned nineteen
That sweet spot in time
The four years
Beer and wine drinking age
Dropped just in time
Now legal for a change
My now erstwhile crew
Would roll into Scatscio's
For a pitcher or two
Plus a marginal pizza
That left the roof of your mouth
Burned but satisfied
Hugo would tickle the ivories
In this ersatz piano lounge
My introduction to
Adult late night entertainment
Just about the time
This song appeared
On the FM radio playlist
Scatscio's was in
A large frame house
Transformed into
A neighborhood lounge
I don't remember
Which of our crew discovered
The pair of blue boxer shorts
Under a square piece
Of loose particle board
Lying on the floor
In the upstairs terlet
But for many years
When going to hear Hugo
For a quaff and a munch
One of us was compelled
To do the underpants check
By lifting the board
For a peek and a giggle
The blue boxers stayed
Silent and persistently present
Under a particle board
Lying on the floor
Of the piano lounge terlet
Onerous is the Loneliest Number
You Think You Got It Tough
Growing up in a household where the adults where born respectively in 1881, 1906, and 1916; this was not only high comedy but a self help recording. So stop whining, here’s some Merthiolate to put on your boo boo, and go back out to play. Don’t come back until the street lamps go on. The only onerous was on me.
Spun
daily I view
fabricated realities
alternate universes
diverging converging
timeline merging
tapestry of screen time
disbelieved believing
spun from whole cloth
fruit of the loom
brought to you by loons
highly unlikely exposition
narratives from nattering
decanted denominational
decrypted dominated cryptic
negative nincompoop nabobs
woven into a threadbare fabric
with a smattering of snew
What's snew?
I don't know.
What's snew with you.
Track
I loitered in that corridor the whole school year, nonchalantly leaning against my locker in between periods 4 and 5; while not so discreetly watching her. Noting every nuance of her garments which changed daily without ever repeating. I was hypnotized by the cut of her strut. No, not strut; the glide in her stride.
She clearly worked hard to ignore me. Still I convinced myself she was sneaking a peek my way with a sort of stifled psychic acknowledgment. I reciprocated with my patented teenage gaze and smirk. Was I stalking in a crowded school hallway?
I only ever saw her at that spot at that time because I thought regimented consistency of school schedules served up that gawking opportunity. Nor did I ever follow her, though fleeting possible sightings at other locations in the school were not unheard of whispers to my eyes. But I never spied her at large out on the free range world.
Something about her didn’t track right; until the last day of the school year when I found the memorial plaque beside the school trophy cabinet. I wasn’t stalking her, she was a ghost haunting me.
A Scroll Threw Life 