2016.02.10 — A Poem and Some Life-Changing fushigi*s

A poem and a nice bunch of fushigis that continue with Marie Kondo and her ideas on how tidying up has the magic to change a life.

I wrote a poem,last week for the Goodreads group WSS / Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company. The subject was Cabin. Here it is:

Living Truthfully

This is solitude.
From the city I have driven in comfort to sit
way out here,
the car a few feet from me,
in comfort and safe.
I am restless, pace within the well appointed walls
look out the different windows, hoping to see nothing
but my reflection,
and instead I see the lights of the other cabins dotting the lakeside.
I sit. I bounce my foot. Shake it. Cross, uncross and recross my legs.
I stand. I sit.
I pick up a book, one that used to evoke the idea of peace in me,
but it sits idle in my hands, my eyes unable to focus on the words enough
for them to be meaningful parts of a sentence.
I put the book down.
I decide to shower, but before I finish taking off my sweater
I change my mind.
Maybe a walk, but it’s raining outside.
I dither, remembering the childhood pleasure of getting wet and delightfully
muddy.
Where’s that book?
The one about finding joy in embracing your inner child?
What a perfect time to read about that!
I begin to look for it
And find, instead
That I am distracted
by the things I’ve brought that are not
books.
Fancy letter writing kit, paper, envelopes pen.
I look at that puzzled, unable to think of anyone to write to.
An old and unused water colour set. Really?
Film camera, in error. I have no film.
Two shavers, one that no longer works.
I stop.
Where am I?
I look around and remember that I have come to here,
this busy and popular cabin resort,
to find solitude in a cabin.
I walk to the window and look out,
and see the lights of the other happy-looking cabins dotting the lake.
This time I see two people,
in silhouette
walking drunkenly along the shoreline.
I can hear the low unintelligible mumble of their voices.
They stop, turn to face each other
and begin kissing and stripping off each other’s clothes like tomorrow
would never be coming.
I turn away.
I sit. I pick up that book on living truthfully. After a few minutes, I set it
down.

And last week I spent time with an old friend and work mate, KT. During our conversation, I mentioned the amazing and fantastic and life-changing book that came into my life, fushigi-like, a few days after I accepted, with full intention, that I would be packing my books and getting ready to move. With that clarity of intention had come the real challenge and puzzle of how to deal with my library. I guess, from the Goodreads library feature, that it is comprised of about 1400 books. The book that came to my assistance at just the right time came via my getting introduced to the KonMari way of folding clothes. That folding clothes would need a method was a puzzle, and some of what Marie Kondo said about cloths and energy and joy caught my ear. And so with some googling I discovered Kondo’s book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. In it I learned how to keep and discard books, as well as all my other possessions. And how to fold clothes and why that doing that well is an important part of expanding joy in one’s life.

So that was a nice little fushigi. (See my blog 2016.01.28 — On Joy, KonMari (Marie Kondo) and Softly Folding Fushigis*.) But it gets better. During our talk I told KT about this book, and it turns out that she knew about it because someone around her had told her about it, just a few days earlier. Nice tiny little fushigi.

What gets really interesting for me was that a part of our discussion was about personal growth and awareness. And this is one of the most important parts of Kondo’s philosophy. And it has been a cornerstone for me, too. And so I cited to her my favourite passage from The I Ching, one I have had pinned around me for more than twenty years:

When we are faced with obstacles that have to be overcome, weakness and impatience can do nothing. Only strong individuals can stand up to their fate, for their inner security enables them to endure to the end. This strength shows itself in uncompromising truthfulness with themselves. It is only when we have the courage to face things exactly as they are, without any sort of self deception or illusion, that the light will develop out of events by which the path to success may be recognized. This recognition is to be followed by resolute and persevering action, because only when we meet our fate resolutely will we be able to deal with it adequately and overcome the obstacles.

My edit, to remove gender bias, from I Ching. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1981. Tr. Richard Wilhelm & C.F. Baynes. Introduction by C.G. Jung. ISBN: 069109750X, #5 Hsu p.25, my emphasis.

And that set up a beautiful continuation of the Kondo fushigis! Later that night, I picked up The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up and read the following:

[W]hen we really delve into the reasons for why we can't let something go, there are only two: an attachment to the past or a fear for the future.

The question of what you want to own is actually the question of how you want to live your life. Attachment to the past and fears concerning the future not only govern the way you select the things you own but also represent the criteria by which you make choices in every aspect of your life, including your relationships with people and your job.

The process of facing and selecting our possessions can be quite painful. It forces us to confront our imperfections and inadequacies and the foolish choices we made in the past [my emphasis]. Many times when confronting my past during the tidying process, I have been so ashamed I felt like my face was on fire. My collection of scented erasers from grade school, the animation-related trinkets that I collected in junior high school, clothes I bought in high school when I was trying to act grown-up but that didn't suit me at all, handbags I bought even though I didn't need them just because I liked the look of them in the shop. The things we own are real. They exist here and now as a result of choices made in the past by no one other than ourselves. it is dangerous to ignore them or to discard them indiscriminately as if denying the choices we made. This is why I am against both letting things pile up and dumping them indiscriminately. It is only when we face the things we own one by one and experience the emotions they evoke that we can truly appreciate our relationship with them [my emphasis].

There are three approaches we can take toward our possessions: face them now, face them sometime, or avoid them until the day we die. The choice is ours. But I personally believe it is far better to face them now. If we acknowledge our attachments to the past and our fears for the future by honestly looking at our possessions, we will be able to see what is really important to us. This process in turn helps us identify our values and reduces doubt and confusion in making life decisions. If we have confidence in our decisions and launch enthusiastically into action without any doubts holding us back, we will be able to achieve more and more. In other words, the sooner we confront our possessions the better. If you are going to put your house in order, do it now (181-4).

What makes this a double interesting fushigi is that one of the points of KT’s and my discussion was the problem or challenge KT was having with having recently received a very large amount of family stuff she’d inherited. The family’s ‘treasures’ had overwhelmed her home, and to a greater extent, overwhelmed her ability to process them. As the sole child from her extended family, she was stuck with having received many family ‘precious’ items from various branches of her family, not just dishes, but also letters and personal histories. Precious to the family, but not to her per se, and which left her unable to decide what to do with them.

And one more fushigi element. During our long talk, KT mentioned with deep love her appreciation for her eighteen year old truck, how well it has kept her safe in bad weather, and allowed her to carry things. She positively glowed when talking about it. Earlier I’d read from The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up the following:

Appreciate your possessions and gain strong allies

One of the homework assignments I give my clients is to appreciate their belongings. For example, I urge them to try saying, 'Thank you for keeping me warm all day,' when they hang up their clothes after returning home. Or, when removing their accessories, I suggest they say, 'Thank you for making me beautiful,' and when putting their [purse] in the closet, to say, 'It's thanks to you that I got so much work done today.' Express your appreciation to every item that supported you during the day.

I began to treat my belongings as if they were alive when I was a high school student. I had my own cell phone. Although the screen was still monochrome, I loved the compact design and pale blue colour. I was not an addicted user, but I liked my phone so much that I broke the school rules and slipped it into the pocket of my school uniform every day. I would take it out occasionally to admire it and smile to myself. Technology progressed and everyone was getting cell phones with colour screens. I hung onto my outdated model as long as I could, but finally it had became too scratched and worn, and I had to replace it. When I got my new cell phone, I hit upon the idea of texting my old phone. It was my first replacement and I was probably feeling quite excited. After thinking for a moment, I typed the simple message 'Thank you for everything' and added a heart symbol. Then I pressed SEND. My old phone pinged immediately and I checked my texts. Of course it was the message I had just sent. 'Great. My message reached you. I really wanted to say thanks for all you have done,' I said to my old phone. Then I closed it with a click.

A few minutes later, I opened my old phone and was surprised to find that the screen was blank. No matter what button I pressed, the screen did not respond. My cell phone, which had never broken since the day I first got it, had gone dead after receiving my message. It never worked again, as if the phone, realizing that its job was done, had resigned itself from its post of its own accord.

Of course, I know some people find it hard to believe that inanimate objects respond to human emotion, and it could indeed just have been a coincidence. Still, we often hear about athletes who take loving care of their sports gear, treating it almost as if it were sacred. I think the athletes instinctively sense the power of these objects. If we treated all things we use in our daily life, whether it is our computer, our handbag, or our pens and pencils, with the same care that athletes give to their equipment, we could greatly increase the number of dependable 'supporters' in our lives. The act of possessing is a very natural part of our daily life, not something reserved for some special match or contest.

Even if we remain unaware of it, our belongings really work hard for us, carrying out their respective roles each day to support our lives. Just as we like to come home and relax after a day's work, our things breathe a sigh of relief when they return home to where they belong. Have you ever thought about what it would be like to have no fixed address? Our lives would be very uncertain. It is precisely because we have a home to return to that we can go out to work, to shop, or to interact with others. The same is true for our belongings. It is important for them to have that same reassurance that there is place for them to return to. You can tell the difference. Possessions that have a place where they belong and to which they are returned each day for a rest are more vibrant.

Once my clients have learned to treat their clothes with respect, they always tell me, 'My clothes last longer. My sweaters don't pill as easily, and I don't spill things on them as much, either.' This suggests that caring for your possessions is the best way to motivate them to support you, their owner. When you treat your belongings well, they will always respond in kind. For this reason, I take the time to ask myself occasionally whether the storage space I've set aside for them will make them happy. Storage, after all, is the sacred act of choosing a home for my belongings (168-171).

And is not her experience with her cell phone also a fantastic fushigi, given that fushigi is Japanese for ‘mystery’ or ‘magical event’?

And there have been many more small fushigis that have come from this amazing book.

2016.01.24 — Today I Wrote a Short Poem Tanka Style — Resonance

Well, to honour my effort at reviving my blog, what better way to hinder that, not much less than not posting at all, but to post a short poem. A poem I wrote today for Week 296 of Poetry Stuffage in the WSS in Goodreads. And if you could follow that sentence you get my highest praise and respect, because could I have written a more convoluted and horrible one?

The topic of the week is The Space Between. (If you read these before Jan 31 2016, write a poem and enter it just for fun!)

Anyway, here is a some words in the shape of poem styled in the English version of Japanese Tanka:

Resonance

There are no more words.
The silence has stony weight
So precarious
That what had been seen as sound
No longer has resonance.

2014.10.02 — A Milestone, Secrets Like Gravity, and a Nice Little Fushigi*

Where to begin? At the beginning of course! But what if the beginning is outside the proper sequence of time? Hmmmm. So I will begin with the poem I wrote while I had a friend in mind. I submitted that poem to Amy King’s October Poetry Contest in Goodreads. It managed to receive an honourable mention.

Secrets Like Gravity

We carried secrets
That like stars their gravity
Have moved and bound us.

Their weight guides our paths
With such soft unseen fingers
That we are like breath.

The breath that finds skin
And caresses it even
As the stars watch us.

SMALL MILESTONE in a minor key in this Song of Life

My pair of blogs passed 60,000 page views today! :-) LOL! Sometimes it is the small things that bring to our faces a smile. And as a friend likes celebrate these things, Snoopy Dance!


Nice fushigi.
At the end of August my yoga instructor closed her studio. And, on my last day there, she calmly extended to me two yoga mats. “Give these to M.” And I took them, her statement seemed to not allow me to refuse even though I didn’t know M’s address, phone number or last name. I stuffed them in my car, and waited, confident that I would see her.

Friday last I went to see my chiropractor. He is in the process of correcting my posture and ease some discomfort in my neck. He was preparing for a day long seminar the following day, and after he gently helped me, said ‘Wait up. I’ll come with you. I need to get a cable for my projector for tomorrow.” He was going to the store downstairs, and so I waited for him.

In the lobby of the small mall, I grabbed my smart phone to call my wife before braving the pissing rain. As I’m talking I see M, who is carrying three boxes and some bags. It was obvious M was getting ready to walk home, so when I waived M to stop. And thus I came to relay to her her mats, and have the pleasure of driving her to her house instead of getting drenched. Such a small event, but oh so delightful.

2013.08.04 — Plumbing a 5-7-5 set that Tanka-ed and a *Fushigi re-started

So, two posts two days in a row! [Snoopy Dance! as a co-worker is want to say.]

I wrote some poetry humour today in the less then reputable 5-7-5 format. I'd call it Haiku, but that would be wrong. I'd call it Senryū, but would be wrong too. But the post will truly bottom out when it tankas. So, if you have been able to brave that onslaught, here is some 5-7-5 / 5-7-5-77 that plumbs the depths of how low verse can go. Note: I've extracted these from a continuation set that takes its inspiration from the previous entries. To see these in context, please go to Belly Petersen's brilliant post, good with the pipe in the Haiku thread in the Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company.

pizza by the peace pipe

'Where is the towel?'
I wipe tomato and grime
into my work shirt

from under the sink
I pull the once white towel
and give it to her

but she demurs for
a quick rub on her own shirt
takes from me a slice.

And, to continue the theme:

romancing the pipes

She sits down with me
to survey the sink's bottom.
She touches the new pipes.
'You are a man, after all,'
she says before I can belch.

And, yesterday I posted a small fushigi involving a company by the name of BA Blacktop. In it I stated that I'd not seen the BA Blacktop truck on my street since the day of the initial fushigi. Well, this morning, coming back from the morning's grocery shopping chores, and a few hours after posting that blog, I saw that same truck parked beside my parking garage's entrance. And I smiled.

2012.12.17 — 30k and Counting to Pi and Puke, Naming and a Coq fushigis*

On December 14, 2008 I posted my first blog with the inauspicious title 2008.12.14. That means I've been blogging for exactly four years to the week, despite my expressed concern on that blog about not having anything to say because everything that can be said has already been said.

Well, this morning, 4 years and 3.14159 days from that first blog post, my two blogs have had, combined, the 30,000th page view. Thirty thousand! When I first started, I was ecstatic with even one! Thank you everyone for making this happen, the one time hitters and especially the regulars who, with an apparent streak of masochism and/or a perverse humour, keep coming back. [I just checked the count before posting this: the official count is 30, 089.]

I was going to just post the milestone, but a small fushigi jumped in to pervert that. Okay, that and the funny fushigi that it was early in the morning 3 days after the 1 year anniversary, (3.14159… days? LoL!)

And, okay, my going back to re-read that blog created in itself a small fushigi. Doubly funny because the fushigi's genesis came from the amazingly talented Gregory Charles. (I loved his radio show, one of my all time favourites ever!) The show he broadcast on that day had as its theme Secret, during which Charles discussed that (some) ancient philosophers posited the existence in the universe of a secret melody. And why I find this doubly funny, is that my previous post, 2012.12.16 — Pi Fight it? 3.1416 Fushigis* and an Also Ran Poem, had a fushigi-connection to my current favourite CBCR2 show, The Signal and the number pi and the music of pi and a movie about a musician who falls in love with a girl named Pi.

When I looked for the musical expression of the number pi because Laurie Brown of The Signal had played it, I came across a peculiar YouTube video called The Miracle of 528 Hz Solfeggio and Fibonacci numbers. It makes the argument that certain secret 'musical' frequencies, once 'lost' (????) but now un-lost, are being used by scientists— [interrupted @ 3:30pm by ML to prep oranges and then make supper.]

Now supper is done, and the dishes too. Question: how to write this next bit? While cutting the peel off of a bag full of oranges and then cutting them into chunks, ML turned on the TV. She was watching trailers for future movies on the movie channel.

One of them was for an Alvin and the Chipmunks' movie. I wasn't paying attention so I didn't know until later that it is for something called Chipwrecked. What caught my fushigi-ear was when one of the monks, not Alvin, said "I'm going to puke". What was fushigi significant about that is that I was flipping through my stacks of fushigi stickies and near the top of the pile was one about, of all things, puke from various people and of different kinds. See image of fushigi sticky note.

@ 7:05pm I interrupted this blog write in order to write a letter to RoMA in Goodreads. He had replied to my request to post some of his Haiku, and I wanted to acknowledge his okay. While writing the letter he commented about having seen only two of my shortlisted poems. So I mentioned 'Cotton for Comfort', and that I'd recorded it. I went to SoundCloud to get him the link. In my SoundCloud list, I have two readings of Comfort. R4 didn't satisfy me and so I listened to R3, which I like better. As I was creating the link and the text in the e.mail to RoMA the next reading in the list played. And so I listened with half an ear while composing my letter to what I think is one of my better poems, What Cannot be Expressed. And as the end is coming up, I am surprised to remember that the narrator pukes! The poem's last line is .../as my body heaved its stomach wordlessly into the muck and its mud splattered books." This poem was published and originated from a photographic prompt in the Houseboat Blog, for December 19, 2012. There was created another poem from that image, which is very fine. Anyway, here is the text of:

What Cannot Be Expressed

Far from urbane strictures, while in yet another distant and impoverished land,
I was contentedly alone and self-contained in a noisy crowded decrepit bus when,
as if from a great distance, I thought I heard a kind of drumming I did not recognize.

I paused, stopped reading, marked my page. I looked out the dirty window and,
unexpectedly, I remembered the wet summer day I read on a VW van's bumper sticker
'live life as a tourist.'
I was a young man then. Because I could read, I thought I understood.
And, when I did become that well-booked tourist, I thought I was happy.

The bus slowed at a corner crowded with colourfully-dressed ebullient villagers.
Behind them my word-drunk eyes mistook the makeshift grain-bag windbreak as a soiled deconstructed yin-yang art-piece.
I laughed at how easily the eye is fooled by false appearance and because the book in my hands was the I Ching.
With a bemused shake of my head at this odd coincidence I returned to the book, where I read

Writing cannot express words completely.
Words cannot express thoughts completely.

At that moment the stony weight of verbiage I had made myself blind to fled my fluttering heart.
In an animal panic I pushed my way past the press of shoulders and jabs of elbows.
With my hands grasping my mouth and books I stumbled down the bus's step-well
and crashed though the rickety doors to splash down on the rain-soaked earth.

Now silent, the villagers' heads turned and their eyes watched my hands flail uselessly
as my body heaved its stomach wordlessly into the muck and its mud splattered books.

On the sticky note I have noted M's 'puking cat Haiku.' When I went and did the research, it turns out that that was a funny addendum, because he'd written them a couple of months before the date on the note. But the Haiku are funny, nonetheless, so here's the link to them for the curious: 2012.06.19.

2012.12.19 Addendum
I sat down after supper and turned on the TV to see if there was anything interesting being broadcast. Eventually I stop on a Sarah Jessica Parker movie I Don't Know How She Does It. The best of a poor listing! I think the movie was about halfway through. The character played by SJP has been scratching her head during some kind of sales pitch with Olivia Munn to Pierce Brosnan.

She gets a text saying her child has been found to be infected with lice. When SJP's assistant, Olivia Munn, learns that, she say's 'I think I'm going to puke.'

And, now, near the end of this post, I return to the Gregory Charles' Secret frequencies fushigi: the claim made on the video is that particular frequencies use by Gregorian chanters can promote health and other physiological effects. They make specific reference to scientists using a frequency to heal DNA (I think). Anyway, a subtle aspect of this fushigi is that, if you haven't heard him, Charles is a musical prodigy: he, like a magical sponge, remembers every note of music he hears, it seems, and can replay it. Listening to his show was like listening to pure musical genius, musical magic, if you will.

2012.12.18 Post 17th Addendum.
I had meant to blog this yesterday, but as it was being written yesterday's post went sideways. So, here is a post post fushigi addendum, comprised of some of what I'd wanted to blog originally.

2012.12.15-16
I visited my one 'secret', meaning private, Goodreads' membership, called The Boathouse, which is a collection of about 20 amazing poets, some famous, and by some weirdness in life, me. I have been so busy with work and with the WSS that I've not been a regular there. However, on the 15th, I popped in because, I guess, the WSS was slow and because I am on vacation and had some free time. So I visited a post by Ruth Bavetta.

She was looking for our response to a list of proposed titles for a book of poetry. I had a bit of fun with the list, and morphed some of the elements from the various proposals into one title, on the 15th.

The next day, I continued my perusal of Stanley Park, and was bemused to read of a series of critical path issues, i.e. a list, associated with making happen the opening of a restaurant. But that isn't what caught my fushigi-ear, originally. Only was when I was re-hashing it while doing this blog that I caught that. No, what originally caught my fushigi-ear is:

Critical Path Issue #2 had been fabrics, a half-hour discussion that evolved directly into yet another debate about suitable names. This topic had been open for days, but market research had come up with a final proposal (294-5).

And what Ruth had been doing, of course, was critical debate and market research, because the group was being polled for their opinion.

2012.08.29-30
And, I've thrown this one in here,

despite the odd date, because the fushigi sticky note was attached to the cover of Stanley Park as one I hadn't got to yet. I attached it to the book yesterday, when going through my old fushigi stickies because it is about food and SP is about a chef and food and cooking. Anyway, way back, on the 29th of August I saw on the TV show Chopped one of the contestants make coq au vin.

On the 30th I was standing in line behind a man in a wheel chair. He

was having a struggle with getting his groceries attached to the back of his wheel chair: the cashier was having a hard time figuring out how to get everything hung without the bags rubbing against the wheels. During the course of the engagement he mentioned that he was going to the wine store next to get the wine he needed to make coq au vin. In 35 years of buying groceries I've never heard any mention making coq au vin.


So, a bizarre, interweaved, nonsensical story that goes nowhere, like the end of pi. And that is, I believe, a perfect celebration of my blogs' milestone.

2012.10.29 — Another Brush with Success: Newton's Figs. — The Latest Last Place Poem

A while ago, in one of these blogs, I promised myself I would blog poems that achieved some kind state of publication, near or otherwise. Well, I was pleasantly surprised when out of the blue a 'throw away' poem I posted in Amy King's (Goodreads') Monthly poetry competition was in fact shortlisted. Callooh, callay, oh frabjous day!

Well, it appears that I only farted. Again. My latest shot at reaching the top in final round competitive poetry will have to wait for another day. I am a dead and distant last in the voting. And so as needs be I will take whatever solace I can, and some sense of accomplishment, at being picked from over 250 other entries. So here is:

Newton's Figs.
I know, I know, I've bleated this blah blah before.
Your eyeballs roll backwards yet again.
No more will I pray to reason's god
for a chink in its armour through which
we can squeeze the motes of living unpredictability.
The strength to be still,
the courage to mute unsounded truths
that ache with a heart's loss,
not to the flatulent many,
but to the miasma of a squared world
well rested in Newton's figs.

This was a poem I tossed off as a mild rebuke to a group within which I am a member, and which had become bogged down with trying to 'logically' choose new members. I found the conversation had been enervated by trying to build a 'rational-focused' review best of and voting methodology. I suggested that what might be interesting would be something grounded in the same kind of synchronicity that was very much a part of this group coming together in the first place.


No, my idea was rejected with silence. Twice. Newton's Figs. is my homage to William Blake's Newton's Sleep:

Blake tried to show the blindness of this [Newton’s] orientation to nature; and nowhere did he say it better than in his verse letter to Thomas Butts (1802):

Now I fourfold vision see,
And a fourfold vision is given to me;
‘Tis fourfold in my supreme delight
And threefold in soft Beulah’s night
And twofold always. May God us keep
From single vision & Newton’s sleep!

Berman, Morris. The Re-Enchantment of the World. Toronto: Bantam Books, in conjunction with Cornell University Press, 1984, pp.122-3.

2012.03.28 — Published: A Sonnet & a Haiku

Enough of those dumb ass fushigi blogs. Now for a dumb ass blog of web-published creative writing.

The multi-media and very beautiful and engaging Houseboat blog and its multi-talented creator, writer/artist/photographer Rose Mary Boehm, has graciously published two of my poems in the last few days!

The first one is a Shakespearian sonnet that I wrote several years ago. Imagine that, not only is there at least one nut bar writing sonnets in the world, still, but there is also extant someone willing to ask my okay to publish it!

In Black, Shadow Puppets Dance - A Sonnet
       inspired by Kimberly Keith & Revised 2011.12.29

In black, shadow puppets dance with the light
That leaps in bounds to fire a new year born.
Wicked stories fill with dread an endless night
Of starry dreams dreamt once but now stillborn.

But how the gilt flames leap over these limits.
They tickle open hearts with glittering scenes
Of thick plated truths, gold carded credits,
Hard hitting livers and bilious spleens.

I stare and stare. To my dark eyes' chagrin
Sharp smoke caresses them and makes them tear.
I blink through brine and my mind starts to spin
A tale of two halves — my mask-face and fear.

     The flickering night has caught spots in my mind,
     Spots black in my mind my mind minds to find.

Now I have mixed feelings about the 'goodness' of this effort, but I think that at least a couple of the parts in it are more than acceptable.

Of course there are those in the world who viscerally loathe this format, like it was ipecac. Okay for those people they will be spared looking at the next poem that Rose published. That is in the even more despised Haiku format. This one came to be as an expression of my reaction to a subject photograph Rose published in the Houseboat to stimulate poetry.

Here's what I wrote.

I am a white dog
playing in the dirty snow
of late spring.

Hmmm. Now that I've written that — and the sonnet before that — you may be dis-inclined to visit the Houseboat blog. !f that is your feeling-reaction, please reconsider. HB has truly great poetry and visual art from real and seriously published writers, poets and visual artists like Joan Colby, Jefferson Carter, Ruth Bavetta and brilliant new poets like Sara Clancy and Danny Earl Simmons, Naomi and others.

2012.03.12 — Movement to King's Pawn Gambit

Today I decided to celebrate a small accomplishment: the web-publication of one of my poems.

I've had this kind of success before, but kept that publication to myself. I'm not sure why. Perhaps to keep myself from giving the appearance of bragging. Really!? I get a poem published on the web, and I'm afraid of looking like a braggart?! WTF? That might be the most prideful idiocy I've read in a long time. And it came from my own finger tips! Egad.

OKay, I'll look for some other kind of rationalization, one less brutal. Perhaps I've kept these tiny achievements as small as possible, to keep my Self as small as possible. There may be some truth to this. But again, how small can that thought be? Not any smaller. And it is actually more pathetic than the last one.

Enough flagellation.

The poem arose from the creative picture of Rose Mary Boehm's blog Houseboat.

Movement [later changed to King's Pawn Gambit]

The day is overcast.
The men stand still
in a square of squares.
What movement there is
needs to be weighed
and found sound.
There is implicit a generosity
of time, an unconscious
resting into a distracted mindful now.
What movements there are
are prompted by quiet pieces,
without ultimate meanings.
Life is alive in the stillness.

Please visit the Houseboat blog to see not only my poem, King's Pawn Gambit, in context with the photograph and to see the other great poems, beautiful photographs and art.

2011.08.20 — Miss Me, Jann Arden & a fushigi*

The other day — August 18th, to be precise — I visited my friend Miss Me's blog. She'd finally posted something new — she is a bit of an intermittent blogger — and so it was with anticipation that I began to read School and the Gapsers.

MM with colour and eloquence shares her feelings and concerns about going to college:

…School isn't exactly tailored to the spirited. I want to be running and jumping through life, constantly in motion even if it's just mentally. Some would see school as this, and I even did a long time ago. But the changes that have come over me are difficult to tailor back into a major and a minor, humanities courses, math and psychology.

And so I wrote a quite long response, in part because the way MM expressed herself reminded me of something I'd just read about how school saw a girl as touched when in reality she was a dancer. (I've been wracking my brain to remember where I read that. I wonder if it was in the Globe & Mail?)      P.S. 2011.08.28 It was a TED lecture by Sir Kenneth Robinson. Very funny, but to the point: the purpose of school is to kill imagination and creativity.

So, typical of the quietest fushigis, not too exciting so far. However, when next I comment she is excited because I'd recommended that she give Jann Arden a try: Jann's CD came up in my wife's car,

and I'd forgotten how much I enjoy Good Mother and most of her other songs. And I immediately thought of MM.

But what got her excited was not just that she loved JA, but that the week previous she began watching for the first time via Netflix the old TV series Dawson's Creek, a show I've never watched, but which features a Jann Arden song in the opening credits!

Until last week MM had never heard nor heard of JA. (This exchange took place on the 18th.)

And that certainly warrants it being a nice little fushigi, but that is really just an hors d'oeuvres, because it began to get even a bit weirder. In the Goodead's group Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company the topic of the week posted 2011.08.19 is [alarum) "College Life". Hmmm. Okay, both the moderator, Alex, and MM are college age, but still. Certainly fushigi-ish. Note: I've not seen MM post in the WSS group, nor has she mentioned such a group; nor has Alex mentioned MM in the time I've been there.

But now it gets truly weird.

MM and I continue our exchange. I comment on the fushigi-ishness and ask if MM would allow me to blog this. She gladly agreed, and then added (on the 20th):

Not at all, please do!! I know how much you love these fushigis, it truly is wondrous. I also bought Memories, Dreams, Reflections by C.G. Jung just a week or so ago, but that's because I know how highly you recommend him and have wanted to read him for awhile now. :) Not really a fushigi except that you commented on my blog...

So, the final straw, the one that got me to write this thing, was that I'd just finished writing a poem for WSS about 'College Life". It ends with me dreaming I'm a bookish butterfly. Here's what i wrote:

Flutters By Books

I used to think I was unlucky,
sitting alone,
     reading alone,
          thinking alone
while all around me there sounded
the high walled, open quad's reverberating voices
of excited echoed learning
amidst the musty scent of gym bags and hormones enraptured by,
     lost in,
          the mysterious other that was disguised — almost!
by the breaking out of inky scented
     newly printed
          pre-bought
               pre-digested
ideas
and their naïve promise of understanding,
     purpose,
          meaning,
               pelf.

Not wisdom.
How to teach that to the arrogance of youth?

It took ten years
to shake from my mind
the schooled limits I selflessly embraced.
And I was one of the lucky ones.
Many around me seem —
are asleep
     in their thoughts
as they blithely allow learned
     inertia
          to carry them forward
                    into something
other than what they
     think
          they
               are.

Sometimes I dream that I am a bookish butterfly,
fluttering freely
     from leaf
          to leaf of
               ancient texts
                    and an increasingly empty wallet.
When I wake,
I wonder
     Am I
          still
               asleep?

And truly, how do I know — how can I know that I am not now in a dream, from which I (or someone else) will awaken, and proceed to forget.

An entertaining fushigi.

2011.02.05 — Economics, Society, Greed and ... (from Goodreads)

I am participating in a thread in the Goodreads book/writing based social networking site. It began with a comment by Rose about the generally poor state of education. One thing lead to another, and an ideologue ranted the American dream after I suggested that her comment was logically flawed. It was fun, and even more ideological than her original idealism. At some point, as if to make her argument sound reasonable, she had the acumen to call me dumbo! That was amusing, but the level of delusion she expressed, and the vehemence with which she expressed it, for some reason inspired me to write a satirical poem on the state of the world's wealthiest (but now most indebted) country. (Warning, there is some foul language, for those sensitive to it.)

The Deserving

The tse-tse fly, and malaria mosquitos,
cold viruses, tapeworms, and ticks,
rabies, and skunks, cancer, HIV and Ann Coulter;
gonorrhea, poisonous spiders and snakes,
killer bees, army ants and termintes, too;
mutant bacteria, black flies, horse flies,
athletes foot and herpes simplex;
farting dogs, halitosis and gum disease,
diverticulitis, cholesterol, and pernicious anemia;
all are alive on this planet with me.
Their presence in my otherwise perfect life,
even if kept out there, somewhere, away from me,
away from my perfect hair and manicured fingernails,
gives me indigestion and not just a few sleepless nights.
From the deepest place in the darkest corner of my self serving heart,
I want these things dead, and polio too.
Kill them, I cry, kill them all and make my little life a little nicer.
I even give money to my favorite evil killers
with well deserved pride and hope and pride
that these evils will be extirpated once and for all.

It has never crossed my mind that these malevolences
do not deserve to be alive on this planet with me.
I most certainly don't want them here, with me — especially Coulter!
but given that they are one of nature's natural abominations,
what does my judging them to be undeserving of life mean,
even if I'd thought that way?

As I muddled my way round these thoughts,
I stepped around a beggar, so filthy and foul smelling
I couldn't even tell with confidence his or her sex.
It's hat was between its legs, obscenely half crossed legs,
wherein I could see a few coins.
I spat at it,
and thought,
get cleaned up, you bum;
until you do, you don't deserve my charity, you haven't earned it.
Are you that stupid, you lazy fucking bum, not to realize that
you would get much further ahead by simply getting clean?
Are you so fucking lazy, you fucking bum, that you can't even
keep your lazy, stinking, fucking ass off of my street?
Why would you expect me to give you anything,
you undeserving, lazy, fucking bum, leaching my taxes by
befouling the street my taxes pay to keep clean?

I walked on, annoyed that such an undeserving human remnant
had nerve enough to sit in my city, on my sidewalk.
And I spat again, and thought about all those stupid food banks,
and poor houses, and goodwill charities.
Without them, these fucking ne'er-do-wells would learn their lessons,
the hard lessons, the real economic lessons,
of life or death and economic truth.
And then I realized that the dumbo do-gooders trying to help these wastrels
were just a big waste of human effort squandering
my taxes, and the so-called goodness of Christian charity.
All those fucking liberal do-gooders,
don't they realize that you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink?
And if the dumb ass won't drink, then they don't deserve to be alive,
let alone leaching away from me
my — the — American dream,
the dream I have worked hard to get and which effort has entitled me to it.
I spat.

The unease I'd felt at seeing that bog of human excrement passed.
I felt again the glow of pride in my accomplishments,
and that settled my stomach, that
and the full knowledge that I had gotten from life what I'd deserved,
by my own efforts, as do all those whining, lazy, stupid, fucking panhandling bums.

And so I walked by,
head held high enough above its self-inflicted suffering
to render it invisible to my eyes, eyes that filled
with the primrose glow of my well deserved moral rectitude.

That night I was pleased that I was able to sleep like a baby,
soundly, deeply and at peace;
I was able to keep the abominations of nature out of sight and out of mind,
and the undeserving, too.

So, a bunch more discussion, and at some point Poppy asked me "... is it different anywhere else? Is this an American problem or a HUMAN problem?
And I found myself unable to not answer verbosely. So verbosely that it wouldn't fit inside the Goodreads' comment window, so I've posted it here. (Those who followed this here from the Goodreads thread, can click the link for From Goodreads continues here to go straight to where it continues.) Anyway, here is what I wrote:

Poppy, you have posed an interesting question, involving philosophy, sociology and history. And I've been thinking about how to answer it for much of the day, between work, making supper, etc. I was kind of hoping someone else would have stepped forward, but since they haven't, here goes.

I would say it is a human problem, but one made by human choices and as such excludes or precludes other choices that may have equal validity. (Kind of like Euclidean vs. non-Euclidean geometry.) Primitive hunter-gatherer (HG) societies do not have the problems within their social organizations that have been discussed in this thread, in our schools or in the media. Their economics is based on an immediate-return (IR) as opposed to delayed-return (DR) dynamic. Money as a medium of exchange is basically meaningless in IR cultures because their members do not delay the satisfaction of wants/needs. Without the delay the need for money is largely precluded.

Likewise nomadic societies. And I'm not saying these are Edenic constructs, they have their own problems but not the economic ones facing the 'affluent developed countries.' Julia Roberts participated in a documentary about Mongol nomads that, when looked at from an economic perspective, is very interesting.

An excellent read about these kind of economic dynamics is Marshall Sahlins' book Stoneage Economics. (For a taste of his argument, see 'The Original Affluent Society' on the web.) You will also learn that HG societies work on average about 2 or 3 hours every second day to meet the nutritional requirements. Agricultural based economies are the ones with brutal work demands. See Margaret Vissar's interesting book on the social and economic history of food in Much Depends Upon Dinner, especially the chapter on rice. And in Daniel Quinn's interesting (not great) book, Ishmael: An Adventure of the Mind and Spirit the narrator observes that the book of Genesis is a cautionary tale against forsaking a nomadic life style for an agricultural one: the story of man's expulsion from the garden of Eden is people choosing to turn away from a relatively easy life for one of penury. I was surprised at that observation, because I'd never heard it put that way, but once I did his observation is not easily dismissed.

Both Visser and Quinn infer that the decision to become dependent on cultivated food was a choice; they were not victims of economics, as such, but participants.

Morris Berman explores these ideas from a philosophical/sociological perspective in his excellent book Wandering God, which is the third in his worthwhile trilogy, beginning with The Reenchantment of the World, then Coming to our Senses. Also important is Twilight of American Culture, in which Berman explores the consequences of greed-based economic activities and their inherently societally destructive effects.

Near the end of the very interesting documentary, Manufacturing Consent: Noam Chomsky and the Media, Chomsky is asked for examples of societies that were successfully non-capitalistic. Chomsky suggested that Spain was beginning to achieve that before that movement was killed by the fascists, with the support of Britain and other western powers. He also suggested that the kibbutz model in Israel was also very successful and non-capitalistic. In other works, Chomsky suggested that Nicaragua was having some success that way before the US destroyed their economy and installed a puppet dictatorship there which has since impoverished the population while providing the affluent countries access to cheap food and resources.

Is this a human condition, or social conditioning? An interesting Solomon's-baby split, but one in which choice is involved.

I have come to the conclusion, rightly or wrongly, that the development of agricultural based societies is the foundation upon which 'greed' based economies in their various political guises, are built. The storage of food that agriculture predicates creates the basic split between those who have and those who have not. Protection is required to keep the outsiders from raiding the stores, and so militaries are built. S/he who controls the military controls the economy. HG societies simply move to find new food sources, and if they cannot find them, die.

Invariably those who control the army succumb to greed's siren call, and increasingly divert the wealth, in whatever form it takes, to themselves at the expense of those who do not have enough. How much is the US spending invading other countries right now — in the name of protecting the demos — while the workless, and homeless and imprisoned continue to grow at an increasing rate? Does this mean give charity? No, I suggest that work is far more valuable, but one that is comprised of building schools, hospitals, educated people, instead of single use bombs, aircraft carriers, Star Wars hardware and prisons. It is simply a matter of how the government chooses to fund the economy — through building armies and armaments, or schools and teachers.

Agricultural based societies eventually fail when the hungry become the majority, and at some point become angry for being dismissed by the usually obscenely wealthy who are the minority. (98% of America's wealth is controlled by 5% of the population.) John Ralston Saul, in his important book Voltaire's Bastards: The Dictatorship of Reason in the West, provides an interesting short analysis of the French Revolution. When looked at in this way, some of the aggressive World Bank actions in Latin and South America take on an interesting perspective, as these countries struggle to pay the West (via the World Bank) by growing food and flowers and coffee and coco and hardwood that the resident peoples are barred from consuming. In such politico-economic structures a clear split between the haves and the have nots is created. And, oftentimes, like in Chile and Nicaragua and many other places, those structures are achieved with brutal (and underreported) aggression and support from the West because the people do not want to live under an oligarchy.

So is greed the human condition, or conditioned by the society? Well, I suggest both. And as proof I cite that cautions against greed have existed since the very beginnings of the formation of human societal structures and are delineated in all the important religious texts. HG societies do not in any circumstance allow a member of the society to keep more than his/her share. The rules against are very strict, even to the point of banishment and death. Fairy tales, old and modern, warn against both the stupefying effects of greed (Midas, the Golden Goose), and its effects on a society (dragons sleeping on their hoards, while razing the community and eventually killing the humans offered it by their leaders as palliatives for being poor.)

JG called my critical caricature of the method of our societally ignoring the destitute 'disgusting.' Is that, I have wondered, because I used the 'f' word, or because I was describing what I, and the society of which I am part, do everyday — let others die needlessly of exposure, malnutrition, and inaccessible health care as we walk on by with 'diamonds in the soles of our shoes'. How many have died, needlessly in Canada and the USA because of our societal choices to fund war and not hospitals during the course of this thread? That is a choice, in the same way that I have a choice to give or not give money to the two beggars I stumble across regularly. I do not give, with the rationalization that I prefer my charity to be anonymous. But if I am brutally honest with myself, I will notice that I am quite happy to give to the buskers who entertain me, and so see my own hypocrisy. How can that charity be okay with me since it isn't anonymous? As to the beggars whom I walk by, and to ease my own hypocrisy, I add the rationalization that there are too many for me to help, and so I become helpless. That is, again, a choice — my choice, about what I believe is my role, place and power within the society.

Is this new, the starvation within a wealthy country of the undeserving? No, it is happening now (Egypt, Brazil, Argentina, etc.) It also happened just a few centuries ago in what was then the wealthiest country in the world. If JG thinks my little effort was disgusting, I suggest she read Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal, with his brilliant solution to the deaths by starvation of the thousands of Irish children in his time as the wealthy were driven by in their horse drawn carriages and accompanying livery. Or read William Blake's descriptions of the brutalization of children who were forced, sometimes naked and with fire burning their feet, into flues as small as four inches in diameter, whose bodies became deformed and often developed melanomas and deadly respiratory diseases.

[From Goodreads continues here].

Robert commented that greed is the foundation of capitalism. That is a commonly accepted palliative used by the wealthy to assuage their consciences while being the owners of slaves, or when forcing children into flues. But it is actually not the case. Oddly enough, it is trust that is the basic building block of capitalism. Without trust, people will not allow others access to their money for the purpose of capital ventures. Max Weber, in his fascinating book The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism suggested that is was the Christian ethics of trust and frugality that built capitlalism, not greed. Frances Fukuyama makes a similar argument in Trust: The Social Virtues and the Creation of Prosperity. Fukuyama examines societies that had greater or lesser success in developing capitalism with a look at the nature of those society's sense of social trust. And even Adam Smith's much vaunted 'invisible glove' that guides the market to its most efficient distribution of commodities is none other than the Christian values of frugality and integrity. [Side note: The Chicago School of Economics and their ilk cite Smith as the founder of free enterprise, but skip over the observations he made that they didn't like: for example on labour. Both Smith (Bk. I, Ch. 8, “Of the Wages of Labour” par. 12 in An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations) and John Stuart Mill (Bk. V, Ch. 10 par 32: Principles of Political Economy with some of their Applications to Social Philosophy) were strong proponents of unions, arguing that labourers were not just without power but frequently subjected to brutal state power. Furthermore, because they had poor access to information it was by necessity and intelligence that they needed to combine their resources in order to ensure that the free labour market did not underpay them for their efforts. Both Smith's and Mill's discussions are very interesting in light of how the corporate press presents itself as being pro-democracy by being anti-labour.]

In Trust Fukuyama cites an interesting study which suggests a clue to how choices are made: choices follow belief. We make choices based on what we believe, and what we believe is dependent on what we are taught and what we perceive. (That is the first lesson of the Buddha, who left his opulent life when he saw the truth of the poverty and brutality outside his castle's walls.) The study was conducted on university students who were asked what they would do with a windfall of $100. The majority would spend most of the money doing something basically altruistic, such as buying gifts for friends or family, or throwing a party for their co-eds and the like. Except for economics students, who chose to spend majority of the money selfishly. They had learned the truths about human nature, and so acted on those beliefs. (I saw this in action when I got my minor in economics as an adult. When I talked with the graduates who had gone straight from high school into economics, they were not open to questioning the validity of their assumptions about human behaviour, or the quality of GDP as a measure of economic well-being.)

And I'll finish up by observing that the USA and Canada are not examples of democracies, but of oligarchies. From Aristotle:

... The words constitution and government have the same meaning, and the government, which is the supreme authority in states, must be in the hands of the one, or of a few, or of the many. The true forms of government, therefore, are those in which the one, or the few, or the many, govern with a view to the common interest; but government which rules with a view to the private interest, whether of the one, or of the few, or of the many, are perversions. For the members of a state, if they are truly citizens, ought to participate in its advantages. Of forms of government in which one rules, we call that which regards the common interests, kingship or royalty; that in which more than one, but not many, rule, aristocracy; and it is so called, either because the rulers are the best men, or because they have at heart the best interests of the state and of the citizens. But when the citizens at large administer the state for the common interest, the government is called by the generic name - a constitution. And there is a reason for this use of language. One man or a few may excel in virtue; but as the number increases it becomes more difficult for them to attain perfection in every kind of virtue, though they may in military virtue, for this is found in the masses. Hence in a constitutional government the fighting-men have the supreme power, and those who possess arms are the citizens. Of the above-mentioned forms, the perversions are as follows: - of royalty, tyranny; of aristocracy, oligarchy; of constitutional government, democracy. For tyranny is a kind of monarchy which has in view the interest of the monarch only; oligarchy has in view the interest of the wealthy; democracy, the needy; none of them the common good of all (From Book 3 Chapter VII pp69-70). Aristotle. Aristotle's Politics and Poetics.

I highly recommend that at least some Aristotle be read, because it is amazing to think that the issues we're flopping about intellectually today are basically what the philosophers questioned 2000 plus years ago.

So, Poppy, I have no idea if this has truly answered your question. But I hope that it provides some food for thought, as opposed to ideological rants.

The problem is choice, but, more fundamentally, what we believe to be within our power to choose. And the problem of what we believe is that our delusions are hidden from us and completely evident in only our enemies. We cannot change anything, until we see with clear eyes, what is before us. The I Ching puts it very well:

Weakness and impatience can do nothing. Only strong people can stand up to their fates, for their inner security enables them to endure to the end. This strength shows itself in uncompromising truthfulness [with themselves]. It is only we have the courage to face things exactly as they are, without any sort of self deception or illusion, that the light will develop out of events by which the path to success may be recognized. This recognition must be followed by resolute and persevering action. For only those who go to meet their fate resolutely are equipped to deal with it adequately. Then they will be... capable of making the necessary decisions and surmounting the dangers (p.25).

2011.01.23 — On Obedience to Authority A Fushigi*

Okay, fushigi-philes, get ready for a rough ride. This is an elaborate one that begins innocently — as they always do! — with my transcribing (via scanner), on this Sunday afternoon, from Chomsky's Language and Responsibility his strong criticism of the poor quality of empirical thought in psychology(48-52). (That I'd read this at this time was a near fushigi because I'd posted Jung slagging psychologists for their lack of scientific acumen and practice earlier in the month.)

So, after supper, and before finishing with Chomsky, I meandered into the Goodreads poetry threads via my e.mail of the group summaries, and stumbled into:

"There is a psychological experiment that has been repeated many times with the same result. An unsuspecting subject is placed with a group of people who appear to be strangers but in fact are part of the experiment. A simple question is asked, such as "What is 2 +2?" Each person is then asked to give the answer, leaving the subject until last. If every person before the subject gives the wrong answer, the subject will usually agree with the group and give the wrong answer as well."

While I've seen group experiments that support the idea that people want to fit in with a group structure, I have never seen that need so strong as to completely alter someone's grasp on what is mathematical fact. I really would need to see that study. This is off-topic I know but I'm incredulous.

(Here's the link to the comment, and the author is J.)

It is interesting to note that he acknowledges that his post is off topic — which it is, because the thread had wended down the subjective/objective discussion.

I replied to the post with the suggestion that J might want to read Stanly Milgram:

You may want to read up on Stanley Milgram's experiments on human behaviour in his book Obedience to Authority: An Experimental View.

C.G. Jung talks frequently throughout his works about the problem of the group on the individual, and refused to consider as helpful to the individual any therapy beyond one-on-one.

(The link to it is here.)

After I wrote that, I realized that Obedience to Authority: An Experimental View is a book I haven't added to my Goodreads' library. So I proceeded to do so, and wrote a review, too:

This is a powerful cautionary tale about the nature of the human sheep. I see this book as an impetus for those truly interested in their own true individuality to begin the challenging, even painful, task of examining themselves in order to see and even understand where it is within them. Especially where they don't expect it, in the unconscious accepted truths of some so-called authority that they are following but which are invalid and destructive either personally or socially.

This book was one of the most important ones I read in that it began in me the unstoppable need to question the authority of the media. It raised in my mind the strength and impetus to really see the nature of how the media presents its 'truths,' and the the truths of those who support their corporatist owner's ideology. What do I mean by that? Just listen to the parade of experts and so-called experts that they use to influence every human behaviour from buying the right hamburger or the right government, to agreeing to seeking WMD's in a foreign desert or abolishing civil liberties in the name of terror. (I didn't discover Chomsky until about ten years after first reading Obedience.)

I read Obedience the first time in 1981, and then re-read it in the 1990s. As I get older, and as I see countries like the USA spend their wealth building bombers and invading other countries instead of keeping band classes in their public schools, or rebuilding the lives of their own countrymen devastated by hurricane Katrina, it strikes me as an even more accurate testament to human sheep-dom than I had originally feared when I read it even fifteen years ago. It is with great authority that their governance justifies impoverishing the population and the greater social infrastructures for the sake of greater goods and so-called homeland security.

Obedience to authority is alive and well. And so it is that when the one enlightened lemming stumbled into the other enlightened lemming, it said "We're going the wrong way!" Between breaths, the other agreed, "Yes, yes we are!"

So, in typical fushigi fashion, this is all, well, how do you say it, boring. But now things get interesting. Immediately after writing my review, I recommenced with my quick skim through Goodreads's summary, and came across a new entry by Danny Earl Simmons, who quite often has fun challenges, and/or very good poems that he posts looking for critical comments. Was I surprised to read the following:

A blog I visit sometimes (http://rallentanda.blogspot.com/) put up this quote as a poetry prompt: “we had been given our own small version of Paradise” - "Clean Straw for Nothing" by George Johnston. I thought it might be an enjoyable prompt for us. Here is my stab (yes, yes, early draft, but excited to share).

Paradise
      by Danny Earl Simmons

We had been given
our own small version
of Paradise
and it came
with rigid rules
and shameless shuns
and petty guilts
and caramel apples
served up as answers
for every difficult thing.
It came with mindless
smiles and mindless
obedience and mindless
nods that never
ever stopped.
It came with Faith.
We had been given
our own small version
of Paradise
and I said,
“I'll take Hell.”

          (Here's the link to it in Goodreads.)

Now, if that isn't a real fushigi, then I've never come across one.

Oh! And I enjoyed 'Paradise,' although I don't think it is the best I've seen from DES.

2010.12.22 — A Litmus Tested Slightly Acerbic Fushigi*

Earlier today I was playing with verbiage on goodreads.com, a reader/writers' social network. (Quite a good one, actually, I think.)

Specifically, I contributed a poem and discussion on a thread within the poetry string within goodreads. How it began is when one of the inquisitive regulars, who wants to learn to be a poet, proposed an exercise to use a word-of-the-day word to create a poem. The word he supplied was caliginous, adj. misty, dark. From that prompt a few of us created poems and commentary.

As usual with a fushigi, some elaboration is required, although this time, it is almost done. The key is Jefferson Carter. He is a regular contributor, published poet and retired community college chair and composition instructor. I've clipped the beginning of the entry Jefferson made for this exercise, which includes the title, 'Caliginous.'


Entitling his poem 'Caliginous' was his method of using the word 'caliginous' in a poem. This has the appearance of being a bit of a cheat, except that Jefferson actually made the poem work quite nicely with the title. Here's his poem:

CALIGINOUS

Quiet! I'm taking
a litmustest.

The rumble strip
startled me awake.

Please flush toilet
after voting.

Jefferson's poem brought to my mind, instantaneously, a bunch of images. With his permission, I wrote them down. Here is what I wrote:

A litmus test is to test for level of acidity. The challenge of Dan's WotD is a kind of test; given what I have seen of the nature of your nature, Jefferson, your challenge is how to make 'caliginous' clearly acerbic.

You have done this quite well by making three clear statements (oddly linked in number to the three levels of acidity - alkaline, neutral, and acidic), which are not clearly linked.

However, litmus is often (usually) on a paper strip, and this provides an unstated verbal link between the first and second stanzas. The 'rumble strip' is a man-made bump in the road designed to alert inattentive drivers, but the sound construction of 'The rumble strip' I also associate to things like 'Sunset Strip', or 'The Strip' as a place to hang out, party, have a good time, drink too much.

The toilet flush is the day after fun on the strip. The gag reflex I feel about voting these days, creates in my mind the link between voting with vomiting, with a kind of alliteration. And thus the need to vomit after having fun on the rumble strip is hinted at.

Because vomit is now firmly associated with the toilet flush, what ties that back to the first stanza is the litmus test — vomit is comprised of acid destroyed food. The medicine to help an upset stomach is alkaline in order to re-balance the stomach's pH level.

And there you go! The power to make anything out of anything! And put into your verse a caliginous connectiion.
Hope this was as much fun to read as it was to write.

I find it very funny that as I wrote my bit in the thread on how Jefferson's poem's imagery played with 'acidity' in my imagination, I did not even make the fushigi association it had with my blog! On the 20th (into the 21st) I blogged my description of the process I have chosen to undertake in order to change the alkalinity of my body. I titled that blog Acid Wit Begon, to Wit, an Alkaline I'll Become.

Thus, even after having spent a few hours on a big blog in which I write all about acidity, I did not see the connection the next day as I also spent a substantial amount of time writing about acids and pH and litmus in another page. In fact it did not occur to me until very late this evening.

Thus I have included this as a fushigi because of the time proximity of the word litmus coming to me from completely disparate directions; and because it was by chance, more or less, that I even went into the 'Caliginous' poetry thread in the first place; and on Saturday (18th) I purchased for the first time in 50 years of being alive, litmus paper.

Oh! I might just as well contribute my own little poem, even though it contributes nothing to the fushigi:

On being asleep

I thought I was awake, when I woke.
Odd.
So I wrote that down
and wondered,
in a half awake caliginous way,
what the day would bring.
Would I find myself waking up again,
Or dozing with Jack,
my calico cat?