Monthly Archives: January 2010

Jan 23 2010

Impulsive Writing (20)

A Poet’s Epitaph

He brushed his teeth
with a hacksaw until
he had no smile.

Then drove his buggy
with a tiny whip until
he’d walked a mile.

There were other things
he might have done to
dust his hands of sense.

But that he felt was
quite enough to gain
eternal recompense.

May God rest his pen
‘neath winged Seraphim

Jan 12 2010

Graphic Stimulation (04)

Kim Possible

A 100 words or less.

She ran into the bathroom, closed the door, stuffed teddy into the toilet, then closed the lid and flushed. But teddy was too big to flush, and the toilet began to overflow. Frustrated, she opened the lid, pulled teddy back out, ran into the hall, and threw him downstairs. Which was too bad for kitty, who was sleeping on the bottom step, and caught the full brunt of teddy’s fall. Hearing kitty screech, Mom immediately dropped the egg she was holding and ran from the kitchen to see what happened. And dad, dozing on the front porch, also heard the noise and came rushing in. What they found was startling. At the bottom of the stairs lay a soggy teddy, and up above, hand on hip and glaring down at them, was their six-year-old daughter Kim.
.
.
“So, how’s that for a start?”

“Come on Dad, that’s stupid. Besides, it’s way over 100 words!”

“Look, you asked me to write a sample story to go with your drawing. So I did. I’m sorry it’s too long. But that’s no big deal. Just find some words you don’t like, and erase them. Or, even better, write your own damn story.”

“Very funny. Could you at least give it an ending?”

“Sure. How’s this?”

Kim looked down at her parents, shrugged, then returned to her room, packed some clothes, and left that night to join the circus.

“You know what, Dad? You’re an a**hole!”

“Maybe. And that reminds me…do you think she’ll need money for bus fare?”

* * *

I have to credit my six-year-old daughter for the “Kim Possible” drawing, which she did a few days ago. But I’ve been instructed to point out that she was not a participant in the fictional ‘drama’ depicted above. (Which, sadly, consumed 239 perfectly good words in the telling.)

Jan 11 2010

Impulsive Writing (19)

What IS it?

Who knows? I’m only conscious of my thoughts after they’ve been ‘thunk.’ and envision my conscious ‘self’ as though a camera, clicking pictures of what’s happening within a narrow field of view. And only after the fact.*

Much like a computer monitor, which displays just a tiny fraction…the ‘viewable’ portion…of countless terabytes of digital processing taking place, unseen, within and beyond the computer. None of which depends on whether the monitor is displaying anything or not…or even if it’s turned on, or off. But ask the monitor, “who’s running the show?” And it’s likely to reply:

“It. Is. I.”

Yet the keyboard and mouse are not so easily dismissed. They are the input devices…without which the computer has no way to receive computable instructions. And they often rely on the monitor, (an output device) to provide either the stimulus or feedback needed to decide what they should input for processing (like get another web page, or email…or respond to the one displayed). So if you ask the keyboard or mouse who’s running the show, they’ll look at you like you’re nuts and say, obviously…

“It. Is. We.”

Eventually I’ll tire of ‘computing’ and decide to quit for the day. I turn it off and start to leave. But before closing the door, I generally look back to say good night to the computer (which resides under the desk and ‘mindlessly’ does what it’s told to do, sight unseen), and the monitor, keyboard and mouse…who live ‘atop’ the desk, and are always in view.

“Goodnight kids. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And you know what? They never acknowledge, or answer me. Of course I assume that’s because I’ve turned them off. I mean, after all, I’m the one who’s in charge here.

So, my answer to the question?

“IT. Is. Me.”
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