Jalapeno Quietly Gazed At
Plump jalapeno
intones shapely strawberry rumpus
green today but one day blush
percolating solar swelling
shock for the curious ovivorous
dangles on aortic question hook
stemmed at a bifolial end (between bilabial leaves)
punctuational singleton frog-plop pepper slung over
Basho’s garden as bosom equation derived into one dimension
concentrated
Keeping Busy
Something to read, something to write
Even conversations can be planned out
To take up a measure of time, and time
Needs filling. It’s a bitch the way it works.
We wake to it, know something must be
Done or the emptiness will haunt us, will
Remind us that our place in life can easily
Be filled by others. “Busy” seems like a silly
Word, something our parents and our early
Teachers would say when they’d notice us
Slacking or preoccupied with the nothingness
That naturally surrounds us. “Get to work”
Became a slogan we turned into this bit
About needing something to read or write
Something to mark the time, to eat up time
Before it eats us up and spits us out.
Time Spent
Retired people go on vacation
Trying to remember what it’s like
To need time off
To need time away
But for them
Time off has become a constant
And time away seems odd when
There’s so little left to get away from.
Retired people vacation
Trying to forget
What all this time off
And all this time away
Are leading to.
About Place
Home game or away
It’s all in how
You play.
Walk down a street in NYC
Let’s say
Or in Buenos Aires
Both are big apples to chew on.
Then walk down a street
Any street
In Winooski or So. Burlington
And feel the difference.
Big apples or small
It’s all in the way you play it –
Big screen or small, big stage
Or just down the hall.
It’s all in the way you walk
And talk about
Being there or anywhere.
It becomes home or away
In what we say
About it.
Chirashi
(Note: Chirashi is a Japanese dish of raw
fish and seafood served on top of a bowl
of rice. It means “scattered.”)
A bright, cold winter day.
The memories are fresh
as the roses in the hall
though they are far away.
They’re light as leaves in autumn.
Like birds lined on a wire,
hopping wire to wire,
like notes of music, charming
as music long remembered
and forgotten even longer,
she seems now to say.
She seems now to say,
from the far edge of the table,
but her words are silent now
like music long remembered
and forgotten even longer
in the jammed restaurant’s clamor.
Her eyes are glittering
like the gleam of heated sake
in its white and tiny cup,
in the laughter, silent laughter.
There is laughter, silent laughter,
warm and silent laughter,
in the memories in the restaurant
concentrated in a cup,
in a modest porcelain cup
hardly larger than a thimble,
a little thing of matter
in the bright, cold winter day.
Between the miso and the shoyu
and wasabi with its tears,
and the sake as it lowers
in the cup and disappears,
like sashimi called chirashi
they disintegrate, dissolve,
and disperse and fly away
like a flight of birds
until there’s nothing left
but a cooling empty cup,
a demolished luncheon tray
on a table set for ghosts
and memories as they scatter
like sashimi called chirashi,
like music long remembered,
and forgotten even longer,
yet remembered even longer
on this bright, cold winter day.
For Keiko
_____
Christopher Bernard’s third collection of poetry, The Socialist’s Garden of Verses, won a PEN Oakland Josephine Miles Award and was named one of the “Top 100 Indie Books of 2021” by Kirkus Reviews. He is a founder and co-editor of the webzine Caveat Lector.
do you ever remember the spring or summer sun, the rains that make the wildflowers to blossom and the wooden and metal bridges that lead across the marsh water and creeks? do you recall the hawk and his friends high in the skies near the lakes, or the northern bald eagle way out there agile and like a dream? oh the countenance of the lands- loams and trees old their bark and branches wild shapes that sometimes look like spirits and tell all kinds of stories and make you think of poems and songs. the summit and valley, and oriole and blue jay, a coy deer and a running fox, porcupine in a tree, buzzing working bee, little spider and ant, the moth has its own beauty and the butterflies definitely so don’t you know? think of the grace of the wild orchids that live down the way off the trail, and the hundreds of yellow buttercups that receive the afternoon sun. path journey and scenery. do you remember such sights as those? maybe they can keep our spirit warm somehow, against reason and logic, in the winter air, the solemn dusk, the long night lonesome and witching hour gloomy. oh April-May the promissory notes for a better day. ah sand or June under blue sky, and July’s dawn river washed stones. yes August petals and the world in bright colour. calm let us be. waiting. waiting on light and warmth. waiting for a new dream dreamed by the universe. waiting for love.
storms baptisms worlds
there was a long corridor made of the deepest green painted cement. it was far south, and the off season, w/nobody around. I went along it and noticed that it had begun to rain. yet the rain was warm and soothing and made sounds as it went off metal railings and stucco walls. at the end were steps and the walls had openings so that one could see where they were going on their journey. outside of the dark stairways was seen the sea. even though a storm was half-arrived, you could see the sea, discern the whitecaps boasting up, then dissolving, rising again, and disappearing. to the right a far way was a pier, not seen then. to the left just as far, a lighthouse. I wonder why we always went right and not left, though right was beautiful. if I go back maybe I will travel by foot left instead, to see the lighthouse. but with nobody then, sibling or peer, I was on my own. those were the same storms the pirates experienced. and the first settlers. and the people indigenous to the lands. those storms carried some ancient message that was beyond literature, philosophy, or science. they were mystic storms. I waited in the rains, under the warm sky-water. I looked up so that the water would touch my eyes. I had been borne w/a double crown. I put my head straight again and the water landed on the double crown. I baptized myself in the strange feral storm world before returning to the earth that was normal, orthodox, prosaic.
beyond the forest and near the loam-
there was a large forest and beside it a winding valley. the valley was mysterious beyond belief and the farmer who owned the land was afraid to go there but would not exactly admit it. you could read it in his body language and in his speech when he spoke about the valley. and you could just sense it. but I therefore went deep not the valley alone and walked it’s complete length. and yes it was strange and weird. but i didn’t mind. stop and out from it was an open field. a series of three large fields. in the summers…moth butterfly agate chaga ant insect flower vine chaparral stone leaf abandoned tractor sandpit tree stone wooden fence blue sky and white cloud. in the winter…ice and snow and grey and mystery and loneliness pronounced and actualized. you and yourself and the vexatious winds. and there was at the purlieu a strange beginning to a farmland where feed corn was grown. I stood there sometimes and in the distance could make out the farmer’s house and barn. a solitary hawk sometimes flew. I breathed deeply. I felt I knew something other people didn’t know,- being there so alone, having hiked all that way. but I didn’t know anything. well nothing if words and mind perhaps. and then it would be time to turn and begin the long walk back. step by step by step. sometimes my feet were warm and sometimes cold, but I loved it anyhow,- against odds and reason I loved the winter overcast w/its dark skies and frightening valley. I would overcome it all or it would overcome me. I continued. I carried on. I was courageous and went further than the few others that even went that far. sky sky sky, woods woods woods. season enthral, trees full and tall…….
there are wolves in sky and, during the waltz of the hidden, epistolary episodic belles lettres to the shoreline unknown ~
the past is a long while away, when there was the dream of an orange city and the night, and another and me caught in fright, trying to make our way. or the great and grand cathedrals north. I told the woman, ‘there used to be a church under the ground, and I went there and it was beautiful and old and functional,’ and the woman surprised me by saying first, ‘I know,’ and secondly, ‘it is gone now…’ and I thought about all that and there were wolves in the firmament one two three maybe more. and I listened to so many things, hundreds of things, and read until my eyes couldn’t function, but in the end I closed my eyes and tried to listen to the rainstorms. Mata once read The Thorn Birds near southern balconies whilst I watched the skies over the sea. and one day, someday, I will live in the skies over the sea. why do you long for much? opulence. fashion. power. fame. money. food. the new. the gauche. the decadent. more. more. more. why, if you were different, you could live in the sky ov’r the sea. w/me. we could live there forever. w/the wolves. I will be there anyhow. you should stop by. oh one time I went down there after a long strange dream and walked the coastline at dawn. joggers. yoga people. walkers. the world. but I was always a stranger. I only looked up in the end and yearned for home, longed to live again in the air, w/out a care, where the astral wolves sway by the thousand fold lair.
shadows near dawn, letters home to a soul unknown ~
and the lake is a paramour, a mistress, much loved but not the essential. because I recalled something else forgotten. i remembered suddenly that I had gone out and seen the sea, and it was dawn, and everything was contained there yet bursting out in light. parapets stucco. old catamaran to sit upon. the darkness and shadow slowly being warmed and lit as if from a paced and deliberate spiritual fire. the mind far away, the heart speaking to this hearth, a hearth from and source unknown. and I could hear the waves lapping and thought of all the souls that passed through there during those years, and maybe the years before I knew if it. the whole and existence had brought me there…karmas, providence, fate and fortune, circumstance. and I knew where the sandbank was and the pier that went out and out,- oh all the things. and I had gone alone the path, the sand path framed by verdant palm leaves in humid breeze, yes trees that spoke still a little to the moon and even to me, shadows near dawn, telling the most marvellous and intriguing of secrets that you ever heard.
the other world songs
after the dawn and it’s mist, was the day, prosaic and normal, clear and neither good or bad, and then the strange dusk where shapes melt away and night afterwards overtakes streams and estuary, inlet and lake, boulevard and rural road and city street. that is when the angels used to arrive, or be heard, finally heard. they sang songs together, actual angels, and the songs were melancholic and rueful, crestfallen and lamenting something. I wondered why they sang. I wondered for years and years and years as I listened to them. they didn’t bother me, or comfort me too much. they were on the side of good and not bad. but why were they always sad? oh how deep and intense they were, w/their songs. but now they are long gone and sometimes how I miss them so. oh angels, come back and sing your songs. astral tunes. limbo lyrics. other world whines. complaints from eternity. what would or could a mystic orphan lost soul do in a suburban place surrounded by mediocrity, ambition, modernity? nothing, that’s what. but I miss the songs. please sing a song old friends, just once, somewhere sometime somehow. perhaps in the deep and still witching hour when the wind whistles wild unencumbered through the distant reeds on the edges of towns hardly known, when one is all alone, near lonesome loam, far and far and far my friend, so very far from anything like home.
Brian Michael Barbeito is a Canadian poet and photographer. Recent work appears at The Notre Dame Review.
Genre: HIP-Hop Chorus I see life my own way Never disturbed by what happens But dictates what goes on around me Lalala (3CE)
Verse 1 Started out in consonance with the elements of the earth I’m at the summit, peeps! Punching hard in all-weather like the Mayweather The fire of my wordings so serious that my flows run faster than one seriously pressed from the inside. Dominating the world from the fourth dimension I’m bullet-proof from the deceptions of cynics Politically immune from all ulterior motives of the elite Economically free from pseudo statics and extrapolations Financially more hydro-plane than Wall Street Yeah, y’all can say what you like Afterall, you entitled to your views Check it; My words carry the waters of neutrality But highly inflammable when y’all come with the fires of opposition They carry the gas of subtle influence that the earth can only recognize them at the fifth dimension… Catch me if you can like the Ginger Red Man ‘Coz I’m super-human teleporting in all realms interchangeably like the speed of light, my words hit your sub-conscious magnet at a pace it can’t even imagine…
Chorus I see life my own way Never disturbed by what happens But dictates what goes on around me Lalala (3CE)
Verse 2 Deceptions try permeating my subconscious like a virus Ugly events want to make me dance circus I chose to see myself as the citrus Growing in the fields of Peace Never caught by the weeds of disease I’m hooked with my creativity through my ability To express my service to humanity I see life my own way Decided not to be in social disarray Because it doesn’t matter the name Whose distraction is giving him the fame For I know that’s his game
Chorus I see life my own way Never disturbed by what happens But dictates what goes on around me Lalala (3CE)
Verse 3 I’m all out for the money But not down with the honeys Because they are actually monkeys Pretending to be like honeys I’m ahead of my time like time That’s why you don’t see me all the time That’s the way I chose to see life My Own Way So see life in your own way!
Chorus I see life my own way Never disturbed by what happens But dictates what goes on around me Lalala (3CE)
I have the body of a twenty year old – I keep it in the refrigerator for midnight snacks. I was worried when I was told that I was in room 205 at the hospital – When I checked in the room, I found out that it was someone else. I don’t want to die with my boots on – Because I don’t wear boots to bed. I check the obituaries before I get out of bed – If I am in them there is no reason to get out of bed. I heard someone about my size and age had died on a bicycle – I was worried until I remembered that I didn’t have a bike. I want to die in my sleep like Uncle Fred – Unlike the people in the house he burned down after blocking the doors. I don’t want to die in the saddle – So I avoid horses and tack shops.
Hospital
I volunteered at Legacy Meridian Park Medical Center (or as I thought of it, the hospital with too many names) for eleven years. My job was wheelchair jockey, or as I called it, unpaid escort, pusher or roll model (nudge – nudge, wink-wink).
Usually the job was very easy, so when I was asked if I got a lot of exercise, I responded “Not since the wheel was invented. When I had to carry people on my back, that was exercise.” Sometimes I was challenged to roll the extremely obese uphill. I got to see a lot of overweight people because they are more likely to be hospitalized than others. My last partner was an eighty – something year old woman, so I tried to take the more difficult cases. It didn’t require much strength, but driving two wheelchairs at once, occupied or not, required a lot of coordination. It wasn’t necessary, but I liked to show off. Getting people with leg injuries into jacked up pickups was difficult. In one case, which no doubt broke the rules, I picked up a light person and put him in the seat. In return for my paltry labors, I got a free breakfast.
This was a cruel prank, but I enjoyed handing off a very heavy bag to an old, 100 pound woman and watching her almost hit the floor.
One good thing about the job was that one rarely saw the same person twice, so I could use my short list of jokes repeatedly. Best gag – pretending that the patient was deplaning. “Please extinguish all smoking material and return your seatback to a full upright position. Thank you for riding Legacy chairs.”
Some events were not humorous to those involved, but presented slapstick visuals. One fellow’s urine sac which was connected to his catheter fell of his leg while I was pushing him. I didn’t catch on until I heard him screaming. Another patient had his oxygen tube caught in the wheel of his chair. He was cool, but his daughter freaked. Last and least, was the projectile vomiting. It looked much like the gag vomiting in TV or movie comedies.
Of course there were heart-rending events as well, but they belong on the “Short Sadness Site.”
Hiking Etiquette, Glossary And Wisdom
Affirmation – Are we here yet? The answer is always yes. Are we there yet? – If said subject to capital punishment. Bad hike – One or more die. Bleeding – Probably not fatal unless in pints. Bonus – To leader for bringing back more hikers than taken out. Boots – Wear them. Brace Yourself – Admonition to put on knee protectors Cell phone – Don’t depend on. Useful in emergencies and to irritate other hikers. Cheryl Strayed / Wild Rules: Try out your boots for a few miles, before a thousand mile hike. Try out your pack for a few miles before a thousand mile hike. Cliffs – Where you find out if you have any serious enemies. Clothes – Take clothes for all possible weather. Layers good. In good weather, flaunt it if you’ve got it. Dehydration – Slayer of kidneys. See water. Deja hike – Hey, I’ve been on a hike with trees and views before. Emergency equipment – Find a list and follow it. Falls – Try to avoid, but you won’t. Feet – Something that hurts. Five Mile Hike – The new ten mile hike. Flower Identification – They are smaller than trees. Gaiters – Misspelling of gators. Gatorade – Bring for your gators. Good Hike – Nobody dies. GPS – If your group has one, you will know exactly where you are. If you have more than one, you will have no idea. High heeled sneakers – Good song, bad for hiking. Kneesy – Hike that is easy on the knees. Knife edge – terrain where I won’t be found. Leader talk: We are almost at lunch – Means we aren’t. It is just around the bend – And 20 others. There is no uphill after lunch – There is. The steam crossings were easy when I scouted – They aren’t now. It is a five mile level hike – It could be Lost hiker – Someone who is visiting from Wisconsin who starts hiking alone an hour before sunset with a dead cell phone, clothes too cold for the night, sandals, no water, who sometime after dark decides the best way to get back is to go off trail to a cliff that he can’t see. Mountain – Something that you can fall off screaming to your death. Nature – Our enemy. It blocks views, sends coyotes and raccoons into our backyards and slugs into our gardens. We must win the battle against nature at all cost. Pathological – The Decision to stay on the trail rather than bushwhacking. Poles or walking sticks – Equipment used to ensure that the face is broken rather than wrists when one falls or for stabbing the hiker behind. Rule of the trail – the hiker behind is at fault. Poison Oak – Leaves of three, let me be. Definitely, do not use as toilet paper. Potty Stop Men – Where men trade five years of life for speedier peeing (at least until the prostate acts up). Prowess is judged by a jury of their pee-ers. Potty Stop Women – It is a mystery. Rain – Get used to it. Road to Trail Ratio – A low ratio of time driving to time hiking is good. Rocky Road – An ice cream flavor, or a route that is hard on the feet. Saw, Rule Of: It is better to have a saw and not need it, than to need a saw and not have it. Applies to many things other than saws. Scrambles – Hands in use. Watch out for the hiker in front rolling down on top of you. Shrinkage – Happens to guys in cold streams. Hike leaders allowed to lose up to 10% of hikers before being penalized. Ticks – An excuse to get naked and have someone inspect you. You could get lucky in more ways than one. Toenails – Trim them to prevent downhill pain. To be safe, have them surgically removed. Trail – Note similarity in spelling to trial. Stay on it. Tree Identification – You guessed it. They are bigger than flowers. Vacuum – Synonym for sweep Vegetation blocking the trail – A weapon used to injure the hiker behind. Volcanic Eruption – Avoid. Walkie-Talkies – Great devices for communicating on group hikes, which perform perfectly until you need them in an emergency. Water – Bring lots. Drink same. Weather – Will not be what you expected. Wildlife – At our age after a ten mile hike?
Search and Rescue
If you would like to meet some of the fine people from Search and Rescue and listen to some of their amusing stories about the fools that they encounter in their line of work, here are some ways to help you do that. I’ve attempted to use English as well as American so this advice will work on both sides of the Atlantic. Start your hike close to dark. Make certain that you know nothing about the route that you take, except that the trail is narrow and that there are dangerous drop offs. Take a youth or dog that is likely to wander off. Bring a cell (mobile) phone but be sure that it either doesn’t get reception or that the battery is dead. Don’t take a flashlight (torch). It helps to wear a thin undershirt, sandals and shorts when the temperature is projected to be below freezing at night. Food or water? Of course not. Avoid maps and GPS. When it is dark and you are scared of being lost, immediately leave the trail. If you are lucky, you will fall down a bank and be disabled. You will probably make the news the next day with the Search and Rescue crew. Good idea – decide the day before whether you want to go for a scruffy and disheveled look or you want to be glamoro(u)s.
Personals
W4M – Boyfriend wanted Me – 300 pounds BBW. HSV positive. Fore kids with five differint fathers. U – 6’2” to 6’5” athletec, edjucated perfessional generous$ gentleman to take me shopping n diner, then well see how it goes. Gross picture deleted.
M4M – ISO Str8 married guy Kik me for a good time. M4W – Let me rock your world Look at this. obscene picture deleted.
M4W – Looking for a discrete affair Handsome professional man wanting to get a little on the side. Helps if you are married too. obscene picture deleted.
W4M – Want late night fun. I have low self esteem. Please demean me and my children. Call me a while __ on me. Must be respectful non-smoker and DDF.
MW4W – Unicorn wanted Successful, happy couple looking for a third to complete our marriage. Must be beautiful, 25-32, and willing to clean house. Fake picture deleted
W4MMMM – Hope to do this soon Open to anybody to do anything. Do not be concerned about my husband with the gun; it is only for my security. He’ll just be watching and filming. Fake picture deleted
M4W – ISO Cougar Buy me dinner and we’ll see how thing go.
W4M Ready to party go fast now Bring party favors. You’ll need to give me a credit card to be able to verify your identity.
MW4MW Full Swap Must be young, attractive & fit. Bring Tina and Air Blast for PnP. Non-smokers only.
W4M – Missed connection. I saw you at the checkout at Albertsons. You look like you are about 30 with long blond hair. You were dressed in black pants and white shirt. You were with a woman about your age and three children. You were buying food, tampons and panties. I was in the next lane over, the short, chubby woman in red, and didn’t get a chance to talk to you even though we exchanged glances. Are you single? If yes, I would like to bear your children. 10 year old picture of someone else deleted.
The Ten Commandments in the 21st Century
A team of defense lawyers has given a modern interpretation of the Ten Commandments.
1. I am the Lord Your God. / You shall have no other gods before me. Response – One of these is not even a commandment. Note that it says “before”, therefore having other gods equal is acceptable, so if you choose to have Morduk, Justin Bieber, money, a Corvette, Angelina Jolie, or the Portland Trailblazers as equal gods, you meet the letter of the law. 2.You shall not make yourself an idol. Response – We can’t imagine that applies to reality shows like “American Idol” or movie studios, the major producers of idols. 3.Do not take the name of the Lord in vain. Response – “In vain”, what does that even mean? Other parts of the book imply that we can’t speak or know his/her name, and that there are many names for god, so how can we possibly apply this commandment? We don’t think that “Gosh” or “Golly” are offenses. 4.Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy. Response – If some say it is Saturday and some say it is Sunday, it would be completely unfair to apply this to either day. Anyway, how do we keep it holy? Does watching football and drinking beer count if football is a co-equal god? 5.Honor your father and mother. Response – Visits on Christmas or Thanksgiving should be adequate. 6.You shall not kill/murder. Response – If you are commanded by secular authority, such as the military, this commandment is rendered void. Police are exempt. If somebody threatens you in any way, say looking at you in an intimidating way, lethal response is considered self-defense. 7.You shall not steal. Response – Office supplies should be considered de minimus. Borrowing and not returning does not constitute stealing. 8.You shall not commit adultery. Response – If you did not enjoy it or agree to counseling afterwards, it should not be held against you 9.You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. Response – Your truth may not be his/her truth. 10.You shall not covet your neighbor’s wife. / You shall not covet anything that belongs to your neighbor. Response – The first half is unenforceable because it is not gender neutral. Defining the difference between “liking” and “coveting” is a slippery slope no one is qualified to define.
Thespian
My first acting role was as Santa Claus in a grade school production. Because we had no theatre department, I was chosen for the lead because I finished my homework quickly. The “plot” was a trip around the globe showing how different countries celebrated Christmas. My one mistake was going to the countries out of order, but recovered with aplomb by blaming the reindeer. Oddly, no talent scout offered me a big studio contract.
My second role came about by an odd sequence of events. I was giving my friend Gary a ride to his starring part in a Portland Parks production of “Little Abner”. The director spotted another friend, the handsome Kim, and I, and said “Scraggs” (relatives of the beauteous Daisy Mae). The comic strip / movie / Broadway Scraggs were known to be lazy and ugly, so in my case it was type casting. Our song was “If I Had My Druthers”, which was OK because it didn’t require the ability to sing, which neither of us had. I got some praise as one of the handsome, muscular topless Dogpatch boys after drinking Yokumberry Tonic. Remembering the good parts is a good thing. Afterwards, the show was televised on local TV, which confirmed my lack of singing ability (this partly inspired “Nose” which is in Short Humour and Literally Stories).
When we moved to Marin California after leaving a job that I hated, I became a decent docent at China Camp, which involved storytelling about a Chinese shrimping settlement. It is a fascinating story involving history, culture and business, but not too funny.
I became a programmer and seller of actuarial software, which was quite a leap in that I couldn’t program or sell, but at least it gave me something to do beyond being a house husband. For several years I worked on advertising and running booths at industry meetings for my software, and if that isn’t show biz, I don’t know what is.
When Windows replaced DOS, I was unwilling or unable to revise the programs, and thought that we had enough money to retire.
During one of the three productions of “Tony And Tina’s Wedding” that I saw Tina chose me from the audience to make Tony jealous. I wasn’t very good at looking happy to have the rather large Tina sit on my lap. Now I “act” indirectly (my lovely and talented editor thought that “at one remove” was too obscure). My alter ego, Duke Hanley gets to do the things that I’m too smart, too incompetent, or too fearful to do in many of the stories that I write.
North&Gales Creek Hike
Gales Creek is in the eastern foothills of the Coast Range in western Oregon USA. By mountain standards, the Coast Range is very modest and have never been known to brag like the Rockies have as in “Rocky Mountain High” as performed by the late John Denver aka Deutschendorf.
An aside – a lesson from John Denver – don’t sing a song about a woman you are going to divorce (Annie).
The hike was led by a man, but we usually have women leaders in which case we are Ms. Led or Miss Led, depending on which camp you are in.
As always, we got a hike description before the hike. It listed two creek crossings. We thought we’d have to cross them through the water, but each had a bridge. Cleary the description should have been abridged.
A woman asked about a tree that was broken off about five feet (1.5 meters) from its base. I said that I was stumped.
This was an easy hike for me because I am usually the designated whiner and complainer. For this hike I was usurped by a former lawyer. Maybe he was courting my approval.
The four of us in our car opted to skip the no-price extra three mile (five kilometers?) and several hundred feet (less than several hundred meters) add-on, so we didn’t get as high as they did.
Nobody died so it was a good hike.
What’s Wrong With The Left
Many parts of my body either hurt or don’t work, but the left is really bad.
My left shoulder has been diagnosed with five problems, which on a good day, I can remember: floating bodies (sounds like a mystery or war novel), calcification, bone spur, degenerative joint disease and arthritis. Granted, there may be some overlap here. There are times when it is quite painful. At least these are signs of a life poorly lived.
Left arm – practically useless. I can catch with it a little and sometimes hold things. It is weaker than the right. Attempts to write, throw or bat lefty are comical.
The orthopedic guys told me that one leg is shorter than the other, which is probably why I habitually walk in circles.
I shovel and kick right footed. Throwing or batting with either foot doesn’t work and I’ve had plenty of left foot and knee pain. An X-Ray showed severe to advanced arthritis and an old fracture to my kneecap. Knee pain has reduced me to using a walker on a few days.
My high blood pressure is related to the left-leaning heart.
My left eye is inferior to the right – both are abysmal. With powerful lenses my sight can be corrected to near blind.
According to a vast oversimplification of a Wikipedia article, the right side of the brain is more action/emotional oriented and the left side is more caution/analytic oriented. Hard to pick a winner or loser here, particularly since the left brain controls the right side of the body and vice versa.
Whichever part of the brain does what; neither side can help me remember all the leftist problems over the years.
The right isn’t that great either, but that is a story for another time. I’ve got plenty wrong with both sides.
All of these week attempts at humo(u)r have appeared in Short Humour.
Brian Michael Barbeito is a Canadian writer and photographer. Recent work appears at The Notre Dame Review.
Spirit of a Place, Spirit of a Thing (Artist Statement)
In an off handed remark during an interview, U.G. Krishnamurti, called by some an anti-guru, and by himself, ‘Something like a philosopher,’ said that he once thought he could sense the spirit of a place. But then he brushed it off through words and body language. It didn’t fit in with his philosophy and message. But I resonated with his statement anyhow, because I had always felt that I could feel the spirit of a place and also a thing. Old town, lake still and wide. City street, carnival game vendor and prizes. Bee. Spider. Flower. Vine. Ridge. Summit. Stone. Petal. Stream. Sun. Cloud. Bird and dusk, horizon and dawn. Lock, denoting love, affixed to lonesome bridge alone in the rain. Artifacts. Areas. Some saturnine and some sanguine. Hundreds of places and things, their spirit, against reason and logic, somehow speaking out, not with language of course, but calling out nevertheless. Semantics and nomenclature could argue what spirit means. Is it the atmosphere, the daemon, the angel, the area, the vibration, the feeling? Is it physical, metaphysical, true and there, or purely imaginary and projected? Difficult to know conclusively. But there is something I think in all that mise- en-scene, and so on the rural footpaths and metropolitan worlds also, I try and photograph it and also write about it, this spirit of a place and spirit of a thing.
