Taking the Shortcut

"Wrote blog entry about mirrored DJIA pattern. Will take walk along concrete path in Hays Nature Preserve."

Sit in my old BMW at the top of the driveway, under one of the circus tents that dot the yard (reflecting my life view - a grand comedy, accompanied by trapeze artists, captive animal performers and human-like magicians), enjoying the warm day, writing a note to myself in my miniature Moleskine about moments outside this one. Remember the day our builder told us about how to hook up a device to the whole house power meter that would shortcut the circuit and make the meter under-read our actual power use.

What is MSRP? Who cares except game show contestants who must pay taxes on gifts they receive, sellers and salespersons promising savings that shortcut the middleman, or police claiming the street value of a large drug bust? Why do I feel like I'm walking well-worn word trails, behind the footsteps of vaudevillian barkers like Vonnegut, Ballard, Barthelme, DFW, etc., and...

Well, will you look at the white mold growing on the dead branches of the burning bush (Euonymus alata "Compactus") overhanging the BMW at the end of our driveway? A shortcut to the point my eyes were making when my brain was not.

I am not the men who went before me. I am not my father. I am not any man or woman. I am me. Satisfaction guaranteed. Time to close this chapter of my life. Was it fun? I don't know. It was. That makes it wonderful.

The old gang can do their recruiting somewhere else. I want a united world, not one divided by those who want to shortcut others. Here, you can have my words. I set them free! No need to know the original MSRP. You can't get a cut out of nothing, can you? How can you milk the cow if you stop its milk production? Reminds me of two of my old poems.*

Saw Soos Weber at the Hays Nature Center parking lot, along with some geocache enthusiasists (woodland nerds, in my view; BTW, I'm a word nerd). Walked a mile or so on the river trail. Drove into town, cruising down a boulevard of blooming Bradford pears. Shopped at Party City for my wife to buy St. Patrick's Day plates and cups to use at a gathering next weekend. Ate early dinner at Longhorn's restaurant using a $25 gift certificate. Returned home to read. Played with cats. Sat down to write, using a note I'm writing to myself in my miniature Moleskine.

Reread blog entry and feel the door of destiny closing behind me. I have not expanded the universe with these words. I have no offspring to call my own. My genetic material mutates with time, inertia winding down to inert and finally to ert or in. I, despite the virtual breath of fresh air I take with each intake of the wondrous universe, am getting old.

Time to set this virtual pen down and let the next generation take over. It's your turn to play with words. Maybe you can transcribe a better mousetrap. Let me be an example to you. Best not be sitting inside the trap when you write it. Unlike the fairy tales, you can't hide a shortcut in here; eventually, you'll starve from lack of words, your vocabulary becoming a stale, dry joke with no meaningful, thirst-quenching punchline.

And one more thing - I was wrong. Life is a sentence. Have fun with the dangling modifiers. Fill your life with ellipses...say,uh, um, whatever, you know, that is, short stops and starts, ahem, that give you time to think, too (even parenthetical phrases can give you pause, separated by commas, if you will, and stretch out the exciting moments), leaving misssspellings and incomplete thoughts for all to. Whatever the judgment that put you in the sentence, do what you can before you reach the ending punctuation like "." or "?"! Yes, feel free to end your life on a question mark as long as you remember you won't be around to find out the answer. Better yet, go out with a "!" - don't slip out of this world unannounced.

= = =

*The Official Social Protest Songs

I. Familial Norms

Wasted, wornout baby, way to go,
You messed up the morning you cried;
The doctor announced your death,
Said you could've done worse.

Honey, in the morning when I leave,
Kiss the baby, tell her she's loved;
We only have 1.5 more to go,
A station wagon and a dog.

Chorus I:
Corporation Mama, teach me the stocks,
Businessman Daddy, when will the interest rates rise?
We're on a collision course toward nothing,
Tax shelters, IRAs, we know the solution
Beating out evolution's path.

II. On Equal Terms

TV antennae sprouting atop consistent shingle madness,
Smoking charcoal eats leftover curtain stains;
Tailored tomorrows, discount store no-credit everyday bargains,
Paid in forgotten ambitious selection,
Hold out green angels, golden apples, some god's heaven,
Earthy images of monkeys raping Mother Nature's plan.

Chorus II:
Network communication,
The Master equals Media Man,
Presidential, precedental,
Sunday evening, July eighty-four.

Repeat Chorus I
Repeat Chorus II

[Published in Gallery 1985, a Walters State Community College publication, spring 1985]



Striving For Efficiency

Undocumented love songs do appeal
To unrelenting robots at the job,
The automatic working people's deal
About their heavy hearts' (in stillness) throb.
You people! See your wasted VCRs!
Take comfort with the loved ones from the rain,
Wave pennants at the ballgame, and our cars
Shall eat the track. Replace oldtimer's train
With progress' routes, invented by the Old
Guard, so the New will build starcruiser ships --
The labored, never-ending future, cold
Beyond imagination -- mindless trips.
The words we say, the plans we've made in haste,
Perspective bears their worthiness or waste.

[Published in Gallery 1985, a Walters State Community College publication, spring 1985]