Note to the Gen-Y Boyz of the world. I love you. I really do. You’re brainy. On the move. And you’re so damn cute. But here’s a lesson from an Old Wise Man: Always be polite and exercise class (not the one you go to for gym) when reaching out on Messenger. Remember: we Gen X-ers created you. You know, like God made the world in 7 days? it just took us 9 months…and a handful of backseat minutes at the Drive-in, during the credits of The Night of the Living Dead, which we later felt like, during those 18 years we raised you. Such a special time. It made us believe in the indisputable existence of a Hell, just for teenagers.
We don’t feel the pressured urge to hop onto Messenger; we don’t have to converse with you online. We come from a time when Life was real, and not this virtual bullshit. Our telephones are mango yellow, avocado green, and beige. Yes. Beige. They have those long curly cords so we can talk to each other, walk over and stir the soup, toke or two, switch TV channels…very convenient.
Jumping onto Messenger to answer a Hi or a Wave or a Pic of you and your brother, or you going solo, clothed, or, not-so-much (yes, Donkey, I’m talkin to you)—we are doing it to return a kindness. We don’t have gaping Gen-Y-er holes in our soul that only a moment or two with you can fill. Thank you for the very nice photos, by the way. Really. They are one of the great things about modern technology.
But, this message isn’t about photos. This message is about manners.
A gentleman is a gentleman the Baby-Boomers taught us, way back in the day. Imposters are, well, not to put too fine a point on it, but, they’re even more conspicuous than the Polaroid of your uncle willy drying in our Inbox. 💙
Peace, Love, and Namaste.
This has been a message from your “Let’s Heal the Goddam World” Neighborhood Association (LeHGWNA.)
Aquarians Don’t Put Things into Jars—We Pour them Out.
I rarely sit still or settle down. It’s just not who I am. I need diversity and variety. My Native American zodiac is Otter; tribe: Butterfly. My shamanic totem is Raven. I am a sun-seeker. My astrological designation is Aquarius/Horse. I was born at 2:48 PM on January 26, 1967. I am a very liberal person. My relationships are also liberal ones. I am very transparent and direct. I respect all living things. I do not mislead. I do not “belong” to anyone or anything. I am filled with compassion and I like to send that out, to everyone. Don’t feel mislead by an Aquarian’s attention; rather, see it for what it is: if an Aquarius stops to attend to you, he must really dig your vibe.
I see a lot of posts about bucket lists and goals…I’ve always been an odd one out in these areas. You can imagine the challenges for me in the workplace and in raising a family…hell, Life for that matter.
I don’t really have a bucket list. I never have. I don’t want one. It makes me too anxious. Planning and goals are negatives for me. They make me feel trapped. I don’t know if there is a phobia named for this weird thinking/fear. Maybe a stray vein of claustrophobia…or agoraphobia.
I am the opposite of competitive. Games don’t matter to me. Neither do power plays or politics or bureaucracies. Rules, fences, boundaries…not really considered the right way to go to my temperament…which is fueled by fringes/margins/rebellions.
I do have daily things I like to get done, though. Reading projects. (Reading is not entertainment for me.) A feeling of productivity is good, and creativity, but only in small doses for me.
Having a big mountain to climb is not my thing. I don’t care about summits. I like journeys. Impromptu things found “along the way”. I use my blogs to write at least 1000 words a day on any number of topics. Sometimes it’s fiction; other times poetry; and sometimes it’s just essay work or miscellany. This keeps me sane.
The blogs are my “daily journals” my “morning pages” (ref. Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way). This blog is the primary one I write on, though…
Links to my other blogs are here:
Eddy the Skiier. (Peppermint Eye Candy blog)
We assume you will only brave the frigid temps once you’ve out on a little more on than Eddy. The guy is crazy. Although a little peppermint eye candy always get one in the mood for the holiday season. Eddy was gracious enough to pose, wood and all, for the camera for one of the great snow-skiing shots of all time.
Enjoy the snow, mates. Be safe.
Pack some hot cocoa. Wool socks. Leather and down. Don’t forget those cat-gut snow shoes you made from Your first kill that year.
Oh, and your flint and rock and dried weeds … you know … to start a fire should you get stranded in a Rocky Mountain blizzard. I’m afraid even the Eddy’s heat wouldn’t be enough to save you from freezing solid.
You know the old adage: “Dress for success.”
Frostbite can be bitch.
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“He took the sacramental chalice, and stretching forth his bare arm, cried in a loud voice:
‘Come ye viewless ministers of this dread hour! come from the fenny lake, the hanging rock, and the midnight cave! The moon is red—the stars are out—the sky is burning—and all nature stands aghast at what we do!’
Then, replacing the sacred vessel on the altar, he drew, one by one, from different parts of his body, from his knotted hair, from his bosom, from beneath his nails, the unholy things which he cast into it.
‘This,’ said he, ‘I plucked from the beak of a raven feeding on a murderer’s brains! This is the mad dog’s foam! These, the spurgings of a dead man’s eyes, gathered since the rising of the evening star! This is a screech-owl’s egg! This, a single drop of black blood, squeezed from the heart of a sweltered toad!…
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