Rob decides to make another comeback . . . because a band of one can always get back together.
Tag: Poetry
Flamenca Friday — Tongues will wag!
Just try to remember
that their words are just tools;
neither build nor break
if not given the edge
that they’re spurring such fools.
One thing I hope people never say about me is that I am — or was — a terrible person who is — or was — terrible to others.
Not that I care so much what other people say or think about me. Neither do I put much stock in much of what others say about me; it’s a natural defense I’m (admittedly) still developing halfway into my forties. It’s about survival, after all — putting things into perspective and remembering that people say things that wound you for all kinds of reasons. Some do it with good intention, even. After a hellacious youth in which everything said to me was taken to heart, during which I took myself way too seriously and developed a sense of humor regarding the behavior of others far later (I’ve always been a late bloomer!) I’m still sensitive to certain comments. Lately it’s yo-yo inmates observing how I’ve “stacked on the pounds” since the last time they saw me, or that “I’ve been eating good” since the last time they were in. Forget the fact that I’ve stopped serially starving myself for the sake of fitness goals, or that doing so has enabled me to engage in long-term strength training, both of which will make a man wider over time. These are the things that I had to bear in mind when I finally begrudgingly asked my Training Sergeant for a new set of uniforms in the next size up for the first time in almost five years of employment with the County. As she was stuffing shirts and pants into a garbage bag for me like an elf loading Santa’s sack, I happened to mention those comments in passing and she ruefully replied, “oh yes, they do like to tell the truth . . . “
So yeah, I get better all the time at not really giving a second thought to what people think or say of me. But this all falls back to what I think of myself; although I eschew the former, I do so to protect the latter — they are only independent insofar as I keep them separated in my own conscious. As long as I let people tell me what to think about myself, I have no chance of making myself any better, because most people don’t want us to be better. Most people who make the effort to paint others in a negative light want us to be worse than them, because doing so is easier than taking the (worthwhile) steps to improve themselves. And a lot of otherwise decent people do this without even realizing it. Hell, I’ve trash-talked others before, simply out of being jealous that they find it so easy to excel. They certainly haven’t let it bother them.
The only reason I hope people never say that about me is because I would never want it to be true.
In the world of professional Law Enforcement, nothing is sacred anymore. Anyone else may be able to live their lives in a state of social compromise without hurting anyone or anything else . . . it’s called “going along to get along”, which is encouraged by society. But for those of us in law enforcement, it’s the first thing we have to sacrifice in order to survive in the profession. We have to take up a supervisory role over other people and we have to be hard about it. But as I’ve said before and as I will say again, this doesn’t mean that I don’t care and it doesn’t mean that I don’t have faith that our inmates have what it takes to live like (so-called) normal people. I’m not there to judge people by what they’re accused of; on the other hand, as a member of the executive branch of the County I am there to observe and react, and I can and will judge them by their behavior under my eye.
But I won’t be terrible. If they’re not harming anyone or creating a situation in which anyone may be harmed, I’m not interested in making things worse than them. I’m not power-tripping and I’m not a tyrant . . . . and I don’t think I will ever be. And if they say I am or was, I have to have the confidence that I did the right thing at the time for all concerned, including society and the facility.
And speaking of doing the right thing, I have some sidewalks to clear.
The blizzard rages on . . .
Tanka Thursday 2022.12.15 —
My mind floats terete,
wrapped in a single surface
of self-reflection:
a flaky, birch bark conceit —
a defense against the world.
Poised as a flower
on it’s electrical stem,
blooming rather late,
finds the source of its power
a well of solemn rebate.
Yesterday was the first day of my Christmas vacation.
I thought this year I’d take the two days after Christmas off so that I could have a five-day stretch after, before going back to work. Unfortunately, someone else had already laid claim to it, so I was out of luck. After finishing our latest recruit’s training paperwork, however, I took another look at the schedule and discovered that there were five days before Christmas that nobody else had taken off. I was able to take that off, and now I’m on day two of a twelve-day staycation . . . through Christmas day.
I couldn’t be happier with the way that shook out.
The blizzard that has taken the American Midwest by storm (pun intended) is still doing its worst, although things are quiet around here this morning, and the worst thing we’ve had to do, I believe, is the wife had to go clear out the window well around the dryer vent. For my part, I was planning a supply run when I realized I had fully intended to write a blog post first thing in the morning. Of course, this is that for me because I just came from working night shifts Tuesday night and I have the supreme luck of being able to skip the rest of this round of nights — but I was up until three in the morning playing Fortnite. Up at 0900, delete a fresh, steaming load of emails; cup of coffee; sit down to write a blog post. Sounds like a good start to the day to me.
So here I am, day two, and there’s some potential here. Coming back to the page, drying out and doubling down on my intent to do things right and well. Because every day is the first day of the remainder of our lives, and that’s exactly the kind of reflection that can put our priorities in perspective.
I hope your holidays are finding you well and preparing for a celebration of life lived rebelliously well, in spite of the darkness.
Skål ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My newest discovery, Jonathan Doyle. I was proudly blogging to this, after finishing a vintage vinyl pressing of The Who’s Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy.
Waka Wednesday – 2022.12.14
Silent, overblown . . .
summer’s ashes fill the air.
Soft light, piercing air
fill this steely land of stone,
frozen ghosts, and icy bones.
I even forgot the title . . .
Ashes and vapor —
when the world
refuses to end,
I’ll catch what remains
of color and light.
For this is my way:
surviving,
building my fences,
and always looking
for my way back in.
I sure hope everyone is enjoying the Summer, such as it is. I’m working on finding my way through some speedbumps in life, but otherwise clocking along. Maybe that’s just how we have to do it — cutting our losses and moving forward with hope for the future.
Such as it is.
Mental Graffiti — 2022.05.21
Machines making miracles manifest
as realities resolutely remold;
faded facades of fallacy attest
that stacks of souls have already been sold.
So keep your wits — don’t be twits! Stay tuned,
because a real world still waits in the wings
to play its part for skeptical hearts soon
sick of these clown car clashes of (so-called) kings.
So Much Spin — 2022.05.09
It’s funny, how they spin —
as if the sun wouldn’t shine
through an open door;
as if light won’t penetrate
through their cracked machination.
Walls always crumble —
whether by tide, time, or force —
into shifting sand;
wide open wilderness
unfolding its Truth.
We inherit ourselves.
I guess this will be one of those days where I work on me and let the poetry stand by itself.
Just give in to the light.
Sweet Heat — 2022.05.08
Listen:
finding my ears
before looking for words
means a whole lot of not speaking
my mind,
where my thoughts collect without form;
dying unknown, alone
in that umbral
vacuum.
I don’t know how some of you do it. Day after day, some writers come back and find something to say, something to share.
I’m jealous.
I often find myself apparently empty, without too much to say. Or somehow, perhaps I have too little I feel is worth sharing with others.
Am I selling myself short?
However, I’m trying to get back in the habit of paying attention to my creative spirit. Not just writing, but working with materials to bring new things into being. It’s that spirit that I believe drives all of sentient life. The other night I managed to break free of the spell of video games to take the time to rack my March meads to secondary. “Racking”, for the uninitiated, is simply the process of siphoning our fermented product out of the primary vessel into a sanitized secondary vessel. It removes the liquid from the fruit and the yeast and other solids used for the primary fermentation and allows the brewer to finish out the fermentation to their specifications.
Batch 09a, my blueberry / green tea was good. Current ABV at about 16.5%, but still fairly high on gravity. Good medium blueberry flavor, pretty sweet yet. Batch 09b, my mango habanero was also good. Current ABV at about 18.5%, also pretty sweet. Just the right amount of heat buzzing right in the middle-to-back end. Great spicy flavor that doesn’t burn!
After racking and testing the gravity and corking and airlocking . . . they were already visibly fermenting again! Sweet, that’s another first for me.
I didn’t manage to do an April mead, though. My goal was a batch a month for the first year but I’m still ahead of the curve. I’ve made well over a dozen batches by now, counting my juice hooching experiments, and taken copious notes, I have ideas for my next batch. My May mead is going to be a three-gallon batch. I’ve decided five gallons seems like a lot of work when it comes to the bottling stage, and one gallon feels like it’s not yielding enough. I’m looking to fill a dozen bottles in a single batch, that’ll make me feel good.
Hopefully, light is shining on your faces and you’re enjoying mild weather and good times. Happy Mothers’ Day to all the mothers out there, and especially to the ones in my life. We’re all here creating our way through the world, one craft, one pet project . . . one baby at a time.
Solitaire — 2022.04.08-10
A solitaire calls:
“that’s a wrap!”
no stage fright afoot.
Nobody‘s fool
fearlessly facing
its laden plate
Nervous sweat falls as
the mourning do,
their grief feeds the root.
Fighting back
the impulse to wilt
at this state
Thriving as the living do
Surviving as we fight too
Spotted Knapweed — 2022.04.03
Searching for a pulse
to elucidate events
unfolding today.
The charm of this noxious weed
is an opportunity.
Stamp it out,
if we were able;
is it hate,
or is it a wish
for greater control?
Fighting nature:
one hand pounding,
one hand reaping,
one hand clapping . . .
silence will fall
and weeds will thrive —
never perfect,
but running wild
with nature’s plan.
Love will survive.
Rob's Surf Report 