SHOPPING AND CHOPPING LISTS

  What if it is all is part of a plan?

  I’m not talking about the big ‘ole God’s Plan for all of us specks. Nope. I’m talking about all things in an area having no value other than their use for the moment. Other than that, the stuff (when it is not being used) is just stuff that has no real value. Like a fork in a drawer, a hammer on a shelf, or an apple that has fallen from a tree in the middle of nowhere.

  What if people fall into this concept of stuff. What if each of us isn’t the center of the universe? We are only grains of sand on a very big beach. If someone needs some glass, then some sand gets scooped for the furnace. Those grains are serving a purpose. The rest of the grains just soak the wind, water, sun, and bird poop.

  This leads me to a question: is ‘good’ pointless, or is it a kind of weakness? With a ‘toolshed’ point of view of us mortals awaiting their job number to get picked, the concept of ‘good’ fails when set outside of the immediate group of human ‘tools’. The only answer that comes to mind is a kind of question: Is ‘goodness’ / morality a kind of control mechanism, like an adaptable lynchpin that keeps all the cogs spinning where they are supposed to? I suppose that the ‘Greatest Good’ would be either the clockwork frame or the clockmaker itself.

   OK, I’ll come back down. Here’s the deal It’s just that I’ve been unable to connect with folks around me very well as of late. My oldest was happy about getting some rollerblades the other day. No… ecstatic would be the better term. You know how they act; all fidgety and talking a mile a minute.

   I felt nothing. Just another thing to watch out for. This new ‘sport’ was something for me to schedule into my day…

#14: Clean the gutters out.
(adjustment) #15: Teach the kid to rollerblade.
#16: Put up the snow gear…

   So I’m moving to zero on the sliding scale of empathy. Looking at the ‘to do’ list, I suppose I still have a decent amount of compassion. I don’t think I’m autistic. I don’t overly fixate on stuff. Most of the time, I’m just trying to clear out whatever problems are messing up my day; like a fighting-flight response or something like that.

   That’s why I’m stuck writing the dreams down. I just want them gone so that I can move on with my life. Clear the white noise and all of that.

- I.K.

The Smoke Clears

  I missed last weeks blog.

  Sorry about that. I had been electrocuted and am currently tending to the burns. It is amazing that we meat sacks made it out of the wilderness.

  In the quiet hours before I passed out last night, I found myself wondering about parallel universes. Is there another me / another set of ‘me’ who did not walk away from that zap? One parallel me suffering heart seizure, another me put into a coma, another me trapped in the resulting fire as the building came blazing down…

  Nah, it wasn’t that bad for me. Well, for this me. Some idiot journeyman electrician kicked on a fuse while I was wiring in the mainframe. I got hit by the 220 and my right hand locked onto the jolt. I screamed and the other guys got on the horn to shut the line down. The EMT cleared me after salving the burn. The mainframe didn’t make it.

  Someone is going to pay for that bit of bad news…

  My money is on the idiot at the fuse box.

  Well, it looks like winter is finally letting us go from its icy grip. At least the temps aren’t below zero anymore. Shoot; I actually got the kids to go take a bike ride. The house was quiet and that is just the way this old bear likes it. Made it through the cold with only a dead battery and no real property damage to deal with.

 

   Looking back on the last blog, I also have to say that I'm Baaack! I kind of quit a couple of weeks ago, but the dreams sure as hell didn't. Nope. They just kept rolling in; repeating like some old CD set on replay. The nice thing is that once I put them down on my little scrap of digital paper, they begin to play less frequently.

 

   Interesting thing about the electrocution and this writing; I'm finding it easier to write death and corruption pieces within this little cell of homework sign-offs, dumping garbage, and listening to everyone else blather on about their problems. Like I can fix their stuff. Sheesh. There are times that I watch the mouths move but I cannot fathom the noise that is coming out. It might as well be horns honking in a traffic jam. What's the point? Just deal with it and move on, people!

- I.K.

Stuck in the Muck

  This book may not happen. It’s like a diet. I’ve made it past the first month and have started to realize that this is a lifestyle change.

  Shoot, I’m just a guy in a house in the middle of a town. If this thing isn’t written, who will know? If a thing isn’t made, then folks aren’t going to miss it. I’ve got some soul searching to do, I guess.

 Let me bring you up to speed. I had another recurring dream last night.

  I wrote it down in the journal that I’m keeping at the bedside. That was dream number five. From the journal, I copy them into the short stories / book thing that I’m putting together.

  Looking through the journal, I continue to have this weird feeling. The dreams feel… sent. Or received. How can I describe them? OK, think in this way: You are walking down a path in a park and you find a phone lying on the ground. It’s one that can take pictures and film stuff. Giving in to that moment of weakness, you discover that the phone isn’t locked, so you dig in. You find some files that have been filmed, and you check them out.

  Who’s going to know, right?

  After a few of them, you start to feel funny about what you are watching. It’s like the scenes that were filmed were real. Normal people. Normal environments. Normal reactions.

  The problem with the scenes are the fact that they are filmed at all.

  Every one of them is a unique moment. Like a garden party where the fountain sprays the guests with wine, and the camera is there at the right moment. Or the guy jumping off the diving board and the board breaks, and the camera is there at the right moment.

  But the camera has a LOT of them on file. The date stamps are too close for comfort too. See what I mean?

  Too many coincidences.

  ESP? Time travel? Great set ups, actors, and scripting?

  Anyway, that’s the way these dreams are starting to feel.

  Too coincidental.

  Too real.

  Too terrible.

  Ultimately, I have to remind myself that they are dreams. None of it is real. Like a thriller flick or a TV show done right… and that’s the thing. I’m not sure the writing is the ‘right stuff’ for… anything. I’m thinking about mothballing this whole project and getting back into Real Life. We’ll see how things go next week.

-I.K.