University Clock tower obelisk

Miller Time


Oh, you mean that time. Not to be confused with this time, out of time, Miller Time, or Hammer Time. Not to mention Morris Day and The Time.



It was a different time

So excuse me while I take this time to do the ramble. I miss the arbitrary reckoning of big hand is here and the little hand is there; as opposed to the empiricism of the digital display. Or the solidity of everything happening everywhere all at once hypothesis. Times arrow. Time slip. How many times has this happened before. Déjà-vu all over. So many hypotheses, so little time. Or too much time? Time is what you make of it. If you spend that much time counting, or making time, it may leave too little time for anything else.

Do you remember the past?

Do you remember the future?

Forget it!

But there is always time for Pink. But which one is Pink this time.



Time for me to give my brain a time out.

P.S. as a child my mother would talk about punching out of work. I imagined a first fight everyday at the time clock to leave the factory. 🕓

Urban Hiking


My favorite place is nowhere and everywhere. Simultuneously. From an early age walking out my front door into the night. No destination. No goal. Deciding which way to go for a stroll around my neighborhood. Then the whole city at large. City streets lit first by dim street lights. Then by mercury vapor lamps. Eventually they even lit the alleyways. Shame , because alley’s had the best shadows. You could really tell a neighborhood by its alley. Just down the alley from home there was a cement and broken glass garden with windmills and bridges and houses and walls along the black cinder alleyway. A well kept garden. Cement and glass carefully smoothed. I had to go back there in the daytime just to take in the full wonder and be sure it was not a midnight phantasm. It was there. The glorious miles I covered as I branched out. The hours filled in silent reverie exploring the streets and alleys of my urban habitat. People sitting on their porches on hot summer nights. Some sleeping there too. I would quietly wander. No mischief. No malintent. Just Urban Hiking. Even through snow storms I’d hike on. These days it’s day hiking. Different insights. Shorter durations and milage. Grateful to be able to enjoy my nowheres and everywheres again after decades of that pleasure was taken away with every other step. I breathe in inspiration and breathe out expiration on my strolls through a wonderland that holds both urban, lake, and bucolic residential views whenever I can. Because I am the luckiest man in the world



SoCS

Double Double Toil and Trouble

Anything that closes 
Can open again
Like chapters of history
That emotional cauldon
Blowing it's lid
Boiling over it's rim
Roiling content conglomerate
Filled with blood and riddles
As we drive our cartwheels 
Over hectares of the bones
Of those that have gone before
With foolish finishing beliefs
That a chapter has closed
Only to gaze into the abyss
Brutally pried open again
By our ignorance and bliss
Inhumanities calling card
To this earth we inhabit

Squeeze the Wheeze

Life is full of many peaks and valleys. One thing that has helped me traverse those highs and lows is the knowledge Firesign Theater gifted me back when I was just a little sprout in Indiana. That was the truth bomb of Everything You Know Is Wrong. My mother was a Bozoette in high school, so I must go where the Bozos go. Naturally I got on the bus with Chairman Barney and we went to the future. That’s when I found out that We Are All Bozos On This Bus. Unfortunately Uh Clem was doing maintenance on the future that day. Not only were the clones out of hand in the future, but the Holygrams were as well. But we inflated our shoes, stepped on the moving yellow line, and took the tour to the Hall of Presidents. But when we violated robots rules of order: Don’t Crush that Dwarf, Hand Me Pliers we were all asked to leave the future immediately. Enough clowning around. Now that a hole has been dug deep enough for everybody to jump into it I’m off to see the Gypsy Fortuneteller. So squeeze the wheeze all you want because it no longer hurts me. But I never lose sight of the highest of peaks even from down here in this hole with all of us Bozos. Honk. Honk.

Guzintas and Gozoutas

ᕦ༼ ~ •́ ₒ •̀ ~ ༽ᕤ

I find myself living in the cosmic combo platter of prompts that feed directly up the flapdoodle flagpole that is my stream of consciousness. Trying to make sense of the chaos that is the firehose of information of all flavors while sorting through what may be plausible as opposed to implausible makes me realize that my inputs are like this mess of cables on this utility pole flowing with flapdoodle opinions to the internets while becoming the material basis for many immaterial opinions posing as expository ejaculations of noisy nonsense, twaddle, and other wu wu waste management emissaries that are well outside my immediate sphere of influence. Now that I have expunged my flapdoodle foliage into the stream I will devour a heaping helping of flapjacks with a good portion of thick syrupy material on top.

ᕦ༼ ~ •́ ₒ •̀ ~ ༽ᕤ

I’m Vibrating Here!

Dinah Moe Hum was the first thing that jumped to my mind

ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ

Now for those who call humbug; the second flash was, “She’s a humdinger. Folk singer.”

ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ

Humming right along here….

BTW. I’m not just humming, I’m resonance tuning

ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ

Hey! I’m vibrating here!

ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ

Then there were the humbucker pickups on my good old Gibson SG

Believe me when I played no one hummed along, but I got penty requests to play, “Far Away.”

Ha. I was still so loud I rarely got far enough away.

Such is my humdrum life.

I think I am all hummed out. So I’ll mumble my way out

ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ