Circus Elephants Transmit Tuberculosis

Driving home from work I noticed the circus wagons outside the local civic center. Barnum and Bailey's in town. There were a handful of protesters out there too. One young woman carried a sign informing me that Circus Elephants Transmit Tuberculosis. I can't explain why, but it struck me as sweet, sad, futile, foolish, bizarre, noble, tragic and stupid all at once. All of these causes, flags, banners, placards, chants, slogans, campaigns, struggles, jihads, riots, wars. All this passion, rage, love, hate, righteousness, hypocrisy, faith, belief. All these tiny truths, or half truths or outright falsehoods, existing in direct opposition to one another with their proponents invested to the hilt, ready to kill and to die. All this noise.

Shut Up!

All are worthy and all-important to someone, I suppose. I am nominally a proponent of taking a stand, I suppose, when in practice I do more shaking my head than anything. But it slapped me across the face tonight, it's belief  here in this circus that limits and divides us - our fantasies about the world. At least that's my belief tonight, here with a sour stomach and a plan to go to New York City for the weekend.

Meanwhile, any elephant that doesn't cover it's trunk around me when it coughs is going down. I'm fed up to here with it all.

INFP

Carl Gustav Jung, Swiss Psychiatrist and Know It All, is labeling me from the grave. I'm a little terrorized and waiting on pins and needles for the authorities to come and remove me or something. Had to take the Myers-Briggs as part of a management seminar at work and was a little alarmed to see how accurate it is. I was also alarmed to see that most of my peers were almost polar opposites of me. That confirms and validates a few things for me down the years. But if Jung dares call me reticent again, I'll slap that damn pipe out of his mouth and the taste with it.

Thanks For Looking In

So, I'm gradually learning my way around this blog, and I've become part-time obsessed with the notion of whether or not anyone reads this, or listens to the music I post, and I wonder where they might be from and what they think. I guess maybe it's juvenile or desperate or something, but it's true, I do that. So I learned that you can see the number of "page hits" you get and what country the audience is from and what posts they read. It doesn't appear to be 100% accurate, but it gives me a sense that someone out there can hear me, and who doesn't need that?

It makes me happy to see Pakistan, Poland, Brazil, Malaysia, Russia, the U.K, Malta, United Arab Emirates, Germany, Japan, China, Chile and the U.S.A. But then I wonder if they actually look around, or do they just stumble in and right back out again?

What I am most pleased about right now is the fact that the most frequently visited post is a song I posted by Black Flag called My War which served me well as an anthem through some of my more turbulent years. It inspires me to post another one in a few days for those times on the edge of sanity, in the dead of a sleepless night also by Black Flag.

Anyway, if you're reading this - thanks for visiting. It means something to me that you did. I'd like it if you let me know you were here - post a comment, "follow" the blog if you want, send me an e-mail, tell me what you think or what's going on in your neck of the woods.

It's a big, big, big, old world.

Rest in Peace, Dr. Robert Morgan - Friend.

House Red

We'll drink red wine together, passing a bottle is best, and to me it will feel like passing blood between us - a sacred, ceremonial thing. My heart will open and seep forth, and you will understand, and there will be no need for explanations. We will feel everything together - the music, the night, the wind - and we will catch a glimpse of the beyond and believe. Everything will be stretched out before us and magic will protect us. By midnight I will be bursting with it all and ready for the sacrifice. Bear with me, I don't get out much.


This is something I posted on 6 Sentences a few months back while drinking a little wine after a long stretch of working too much. Sandra, thanks for getting me thinking about it again. Maybe there's more where that came from. I was thinking of the song below when I wrote it.

Bukowski - "Bluebird" read by Harry Dean Stanton

October

October begins in torrential rain thanks to Tropical Storm Nicole. Wow, there's a lot of water out there in a short time span.