Originally posted on interruptingcow:

Desta wasn’t just a pretty bauble or a gorgeous housewife.  She was beautiful in the deepest sense of the word.  She was her own woman before she knew she could be and before Marlene or Katherine wore pants on screen.  A career woman with five children, a supportive mother, and a tender heart.

I guess when your mother is a one-room school teacher you learn a lot.  Some might say she had to learn the hard way, but we all become students in the end.

Graduated East Union HS in 1938.  She would have been valedictorian if not for a dispute between a teacher and a principal about she and one Miss Smutz.  Turns out Miss Smutz was related to one of them.  In the end, the Superintendent got involved and called a meeting with families, the two girls, and all parties concerned.  The Super thanked everyone for coming and…

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Asimov Tribute Flash

Originally posted on interruptingcow:

It was once thought that artificial intelligence would be the wave of the future – forming machines into thinking beings, similar but better than humanity.  That was such faulty thinking.  In reality the lessons learned from the creation of faulty AI equipment brought us closer to the full capacity of humanity when emotions and deep thought were set aside for mathematical equations in decision making.  Take for example, the chess game played between chess champion Garry Kasparov and IBM’s “Deep Blue.”  When Blue won the game, one scientist was quoted as saying, “My God, I once thought that chess required deep thought.”  He went on to clarify that is wasn’t that Kasparov was not capable of deep thought, but just that chess did not require it, and therefore, other aspects could be held to this same discovery.  This logic was carried forward into all matter of human decision making, military…

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Sycamore Trees and Green Folding Seats

Originally posted on interruptingcow:

Last night I dreamt that I lived in a neighborhood of white picket fences and large photo-shopped trees.  I drove my little car into my driveway as my wife was backing our “soccer mom” four-wheel-drive out and leaving.  We had a son in the dream.

I parked my car (as it morphed into a pillow) right next to the huggable tree and took note of all the neighbors’ windows.  I positioned myself “just so” behind trees (I don’t recall what a Sycamore looks like but those trees wanted to be called Sycamores).  I lay down on my now fluffy pillow in the one spot no one could see me from their windows (nosey people).  It was so comfortable I felt I could sleep and be rested for months – making up for all the sleep I’ve lost lately.

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Wentville Wind Chimes

Originally posted on interruptingcow:

Stacheldraht 05.jpgThe sound an old rusted chain makes when the cheap plastic seat, baked by the sun, has succumbed to one too many cracks and fallen off … and the chain hits the swing-set pole when the wind catches it. The sound of farm land metal (resurrected from a dirt grave where the orange-brown pipe has corroded for years) when it takes a dive into a burn barrel of the same color. That’s the sound wind chimes in Wentville make. They fit right into the landscape of yard trampolines and trailers, old tires and dead grass cradling yard trash.

Photo: “ Stacheldraht 05 ” by Waugsberg Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons .

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nowhere is not always insignificant

Originally posted on interruptingcow:

Alcedo atthis -water -splash-8

By Ryan Cheng from Hong Kong (20080722_0339 Uploaded by Snowmanradio) [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

we talked and in our ramblings 
    got nowhere
i felt

(not that lack of feeling meaning
        means that lack 
    of significance has taken place)

our romantic phone drippings
    were sincere 
and true

(oh, if only i could feel her, 
        heat and breath
moist and electric)

and i know talk can sometimes be
        just that
circumstances dealt

(and maybe "nowhere" is
        just a mirage)

mysteriously, curiously, physically, 
        emotionally, intellectually, inquisitively …
all i know is i miss her.

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what then?


This seems apropos since I have a short time until I leave the place where I’ve fit perfectly for 17 years and where I’m counted on in the day to day. Needless to say I’m terrified of the change.

Originally posted on interruptingcow:

in a rush to be loyal.
promised and will pay.
what will become when the contract's done,
when disconnect from daily sways
into my creative
out of my furtive
hopes to write
experience and strife
when i have no more 
to show up for?

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From the Womb


Since posting this I have gracefully avoided and happily enjoyed missing baby moose (surely the plural isn’t meese), Elk of varying sizes and numbers, fox, many Eagles, hawk, and Peregrine Falcons. I have hit and killed multuple yellow butterflies, but I swear they have a kamikaze intent.

Originally posted on interruptingcow:

I think the moment I came out of the womb I was too crowded.  It’s why I spend so much time in the bathroom.  Not because I primp or spend hours putting on lipstick. I only wear blush.  I need more time by myself to be myself. I need more time with my voices of reason and calmness.

Tonight I drove up French Mountain road and turned left on Shanghai Divide.  It was a dangerous, beautiful, peaceful ride.  I saw a black bear cub, three white tail deer, and some bunny rabbits.  No one talked to me and I didn’t have to listen.

Tonight was the first night in a long time that I’ve missed my 8pm goal to post something.  I sacrificed 24 minutes to gain my sanity.  Life is good.

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My Hugging Coach

Originally posted on interruptingcow:

When I tell you that I went to a “hugging coach,” it’s important you know two things. First, it was by accident that I became a student of the hug. Second, it is the only subject I ever failed.   For reasons I will not explain at this writing, I am a very socially awkward individual. In crowded settings I squawk like a chicken and screech like an eagle while people are, all around me, whispering. I’m speaking metaphorically here, of course. I don’t actually make those noises; I’m actually rather quiet. But that’s how it feels to be in social settings without a clear mission.

When I was younger, I was spared some terrible embarrassment when, seeing I was new and shy, an 11th grade English teacher pointed me toward the Drama Club. Learning how to come out of my shell and pretend I had other traits and skills…

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Stories of Historicide


I love it when a poem reminds me how connected we all are in our living.

Originally posted on Retkon Poet:

The winds of change upon him
like water aiming for
the brims of broken cups.

How we yearn to
drop something fragile
and be privileged to pick it up

a single piece.

As rips are
to denim jeans, as
lapses are to
sworn celibacy,
and as cracks in the bellowing voice
that follows me gentle
to tundra,

feasting on words I do not utter

not about the man I am not
but the man
I can’t be,
not the pieces that have clung
to sickened skin through thick
and thin but
the flesh that
has abandoned me.

Canonically speaking,
my history is still an
anatomically correct
being- were it
bleeding me out beyond
the shadow of a doubt,

we might have
been brothers and
family, forged friendships
that warmed us in spite
of winter winds.

But it
was always my
malcontent companion, at
the ready to

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Originally posted on interruptingcow:

A powerful light shines in the dark.

I’m haunted by the ghost of my inner me.  In the wee small hours of the morning, when there’s no one to tell you to get your ass to bed, a virus takes hold and strangles your brain.  Schedules, routines – such mundane and tedious stalwarts of responsibility.  Can anyone relate when I write – sometimes we just don’t want what we need.  We just don’t want them so badly that we reject them like the plague and grasp at other worlds of adventure like, “What’s in the fridge?” and “what’s the lyrics of that song in my head?”

Perhaps this is what becomes of not bearing children and maturing into older years having only ever concerned myself with the needs of another adult.  Caring for myself not as a person who must go on for the rearing and survival of a small brood, but as a semi-independent partner.  When…

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Something in Return

Originally posted on interruptingcow:

the world doesn't revolve around me;
it spins between everyone and no one.
people pleasers harvest sorrow in themselves
where planets of happy orbit their sun of night - 
darkness swallowed to front-smiles of performance
    while deeds rest dormant
    in minds of their very own pleasant.

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Originally posted on interruptingcow:

Open bags of chocolate mock my gurgling stomach.  The heater, a cheap little job that the landlord anchored right next to an uninsulated glass patio door, does its best to keep it’s little corner warm while the warped plastic blinds usher the cold toward its thermostat.  Another cheap addition to this little rent house, the blinds provide privacy for approximately one square foot  in this room.  Otherwise, they sprinkle the cold tile floor with light during the day, and reveal murky shadows and distant headlights at night.

I turn off the Margaret Atwood collection I’m listening to as I surf the net.  I think I have an idea of her style now, but still not sure I like it.  The one about the duchess poem is interesting but somehow, unfulfilling.  What a letdown this day has been.  In an hour I’ll need to start packing, but of course, I won’t. …

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Opening Lines

Originally posted on interruptingcow:

Rain Drops

By Bodhitukun (Own work) [CC-BY-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Rain on a metal roof seems either urgent or forceful. When you hear it, you’re either inwardly frantic (while intelligently self-talking yourself into casual unconcern) or outwardly sleepy and willing to be drummed into Neverland. Either way, your first instinct when you hear the pummeling of nature upon your hard earned home is not to grab your keys and go bolting out into it. Yet that is exactly what Kevin Abernathy did on that afternoon on the first of May, 1992. Twenty minutes later the sun came out; brilliant rays radiated the leaves that overhung the gravel driveway, their slippery burdens dripping off and falling to the ground. But Mr. Abernathy wasn’t there to see it.  He would not be seen or heard from for another twenty years.

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