Of microbes and men......

A microbe has a better chance of grasping the nature of a human than said human does of grasping the nature of God.
A microbe, in fact, has more in common with a human than a human has with God.
The only real difference between microbes and humans is pretty insignificant when you think about it......
Humans can write poetry about fucking, and eating, and either running away from or killing anything that appears threatening to us.

Thus endeth the entry.........

Bozean Dictionary........#2

Addiction: You know it is killing you (or some part of you) but you feel like you are going to die if you don't have it. Not by definition or effect confined or limited to drugs and alcohol.......it can involve almost any activity or indulgence; sex, food, people, religion, recreation....ad infinitum. Percieved of as a dire need, it is often confused with love. However, as a percieved need, it necessarily initiates a program of behavior designed to gain control or power over its' source.......which precludes love. Inherently dishonest, it may not be trusted, further precluding the possibility of love. It may be accompanied with or marked by lust, which is likewise confused with passion but is in fact only a form of greed. It can be presented in such a way as to appear quite normal and may create a temporary state resembling happiness. However, it destroys freedom and thereby precludes happiness.
See also.
True passion arises only from love.
Passion doesn't come at the expense of another's freedom or happiness.
Love doesn't cause pain.
Love gives back more than it takes away.
Love and passion don't exhaust and spend; they energize and recharge.
Love may be freely given a figurative or literal martyrdom or sacrifice.........love never requires a martyrdom or sacrifice.
Love and trust are so intricately intertwined as to be functionally synonymous one with the other.
Love and trust don't frighten; they inspire.

Thus endeth the entry............

A word is worth a thousand pictures.........

Most of my younger correspondants on the internet use one of the various dictionary services to look up words.....(those who bother to look up words at all that is).

I do so myself from time to time..........but I always find something lacking in the experience and always return to the lifelong habit of using a real dictionary.

I have, in fact, a dictionary within easy reach of my desk...it weighs, easily, in the neighborhood of 20 pounds and contains 135,000 entries. It is well worn, which should come as no great shock to those who know me. The much loved dictionary we had at home when I was a kid comprised over 200,000 entries.

I have suffered much in the way of good natured taunts and jibes from young friends....... I've been labeled dinosaur, fossil, Thesaurus Rex......etc. You can imagine....and maybe I deserve it. It does seem an arcane and inefficient practice to turn from a computer that you are working at to muddle through an unweildy and enormous tome ("as I pondered weak and weary over many an ancient volume of forgotten lore") in search of a word you can have at the click of a button without even having to have the beginnings of a clue as to how to spell.

I've given it some thought lately...but today, something happened that clearly illustrates the value of (and perhaps even the reason behind) my peculiar preference. Certainly it explains the feeling of being less than satisfied by the practice of looking up words on-line.

As I "honed in on" a word I was looking up, I realized I was casually taking note of the words that caught my eye along the way. Occasionally I would stop and read the definition of a word I was unfamiliar with as I neared the particular word I had gone in search of.

I can't, off-hand remember what I had started to look up....but in addition to having found my word, I learned a whole new useful word.

Ladies and gentlemen.........I give you:

grangerize. To illustrate, as a book, with additional prints or engravings taken from other books; to mutilate by cutting out photographs and illustrations.

Remember that the next time you have to spend an hour in a doctor's waiting room with nothing to do except browse through a stack of outdated, grangerized copies of Outdoor Life and Better Homes and Gardens.

*grins*

Thus endeth the entry............

"List, list, O, list!"

After a brief respite through the month of March, I'm back to a sleeping pattern of short naps interrupted by aspirin snacks and cigarette breaks. I'm roused to some degree of wakefulness just short of a full cycle and driven, stumbling, from bed to walk off the worst of the discomfort and give the aspirin time to take the edge off the rest......smoking a cigarette and doing a quick tour of e-mails and blogs helps to occupy and ease me. After all of which, I can settle in for another chunk of sleep.
I don't dream much......I think that is the part of the cycle that gets cut short....but lately I've been roused to wakefulness (or something like it)by a dream bit.
Of the three I remember:

one was nightmarish........a Randall Flagg type of face appeared at the back door in the middle of the night.
He said:" This is what it means to piss off a killer."
Whereupon he shot me in the forehead.
I remember thinking, before I slipped into blackness: "......but I've got children."

One involved a couple of naked, Suzy Creamcheese types (I think they might have been sisters), an old house and oral sex.

....and one involved someone who may or may not be pleased or comfortable knowing that she is the subject of even an unconcious erotic imagery on my part (.....but she has great lips and the kissing was really nice).

In the case of the latter two, I was sorry to find myself awake.

I get up pretty early in the morning........Friday I was up and making coffee and rolling my first cigarette of the day at around 430am. I drafted a bit of a lengthy e-mail, drank coffee, and visited the pot garden to check the babies.

I spent a part of the afternoon with Cheyenne and then came home.

Last night was one of those ridiculous, Hobson's choice, merry-go-round situations wherein which...

if I tried to read, write or watch T.V. I started to slip into a semi-coma.

If I had succumbed, even briefly, to a nap I'd have been condemned later to an exhausted wakefulness until 3 or 4 in the morning........the end result of course being to further fuck any hope of restoring a reasonable pattern of sleep into a cocked hat.

In effect I spent last night fighting sleep until 1000pm, incapable of doing anything constructive to keep me awake, so that I could, maybe, get a little bit of sleep.

I usually find myself up and wandering around wrapped in a camo blanket about an hour after I first lay down........after that, it's normally some combination of the 12 o'clocks, 2 o'clocks and 4 o'clocks........skipping the odd hours for some reason.

Last nite I was up at 340 am.........so maybe I've just been assigned a split shift or something and just don't know it.

Like the ghost of Hamlet's father..........

"Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night."

I appreciate those who comment, e-mail or post late at night or in the middle of the night........it gives me something to look forward to.

Thus endeth the entry..........

Perspective..........

I remember how much fun it was to play with sparklers when I was a kid.

Running around in the yard like little apeshit comets.........with tails a million miles long. Twirling them in the air, spinning around with them, dropping the spent ones in the yard, and racing back to a bottomless sack for another and another and another. The only token nod to reasonable caution being that we had to let a grown-up light them........

Last night I cringed as I watched my granddaughter running around with a piece of stiff steel wire in her hand........coated with a substance burning hot enough to weld with. The whole while holding my breath and praying that she didn't set herself on fire, or give herself a 3rd degree burn, or trip and run the fucking thing 6 inches into her head through her eyesocket...........and wondering to myself what kind of numbskull could possibly think something like that was a suitable or safe toy for a child under any concievable circumstance.

Have a Happy Independence Day.

Thus endeth the entry...........

Life after death.........

[A note: I wrote this, after yet another sleepless night, in the form of an e-mail. It occurred to me that it wasn't a bad place to start by way of a return to regular entries. Erasements and obscurations have been substituted for names and references by way of confounding knowledge of the identity of the recipient.]


Dear ***,

Little bits...

Among other things, I finally got most of my veggies
potted ........a cucumber, two peppers, and two
tomatoes. I need more dirt to fill pots for two more
tomato plants. I need to plan a "dirt raid"......you
wouldn't think it would be that hard to acquire dirt
in the middle of umpteen bazillion square miles of
corn field.........or make you feel like
Jesse-fucking-James to go get some.
At any rate, when done, I'll get to refer to my pot
garden with a wink and a twinkle.......whilst doing my
best old hippie impression.
I watched "Napoleon Dynamite" the other night. Cute
movie......everybody's ice cream dreams came true.
In an odd twist of casting irony, some day when you
think of it watch "Real Genius" (1985..Val
Kilmer)..........check out the part played by Jon
Gries (Uncle Rico) in that movie.
As I watched Napoleon, I kept wondering where I'd seen
"Deb" before.
It finally occurred to me that she was the 10 year old
girl in "Water World" (one of the Costner epics that,
like "The Postman", no-one except me liked) that had
the map to dryland tatooed on her back.

I asked about the messenger thing because I'm always
logged into Yahoo Instant Messenger.......whilst
linking about in your pages a day or so ago I came
across a reference to a yahoo screen name for you and
left a message there.......S** just
about broke me of any desire I may have of sitting and
typing to someone for any length of time....though I
have since enjoyed a lengthy cam and voice session or
two with various of my internet
acquaintances........at least you get to hear and see
(albeit in diluted form) some sensory informational
input.
All things considered, however,I still like face to
face best for any kind of in depth exchange insofar as
it allows all the brain's devices for gathering data
to bring to bear on the situation. What a marvelous
mechanism.....how marvelously adapted and
adaptable.....how marvelously automatic in its
infinitively intricate function.
I don't think I told you but I really liked the "igloo
of books" remark........
Papa Cecil would like to hear from you even if
Cheyenne wasn't here to say Hi to as well..and I'm
pretty sure I'll be here all day Sunday.....(unless
I'm off on a dirt raid).
Seriously, kiddo...........you can literally call
anytime.
I'm sorry your ** are bothering you.......
I hope you'll forgive me for refusing to believe that
God had anything to do with it (outside of perhaps
allowing it and observing the choices you make in the
light of that as a reality in your life.)
Even now, Dear ***, with the ashes of the only son
I'll ever have still cooling in their urn, alone most
of the time except for pain like a toothache somewhere
on me 24/7, sleepless, cut off from resource,
uncertain of where tomorrow will take me or what new
monstrosity it will introduce to me.......there is
still you and Cheyenne, and.......well lots of little
and big things......and most of all.......I'm still
alive and can breathe and eat and drink and fuck and
laugh and dance and sing.
No vision of the life after death of any religion I've
ever encountered as a study or a practice, has ever
held enough appeal for me to consider for a moment
that I would prefer it to the one I'm living
now...........not even the Moslem paradise of a
bottomless sack of primo hashish and a never-ending
stream of hot and cold virgin whores.
.......but that is a rant and I really need to end
this and decide whether to send its particles into
oblivion or send it to you..........can I trust you?
I really need to get back to blogging
Be well, Sweetheart.......

Yours always,

Cecil

Thus endeth the entry........