tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31941774861438625492024-03-27T01:36:57.509-05:00Grasp Words and ArtUdo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-29886034495401073232022-12-20T16:42:00.002-06:002024-03-25T17:36:23.530-05:00Haiku: On Buddha I <div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #454545;">I woke up today.<br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #454545;">I will wake up tomorrow.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Beyond, it’s unclear. </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Knowing existence, </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The Buddha had pretty teeth-</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Vanity distracts. </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My teeth are on fire.</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">They distract form the peace around. </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It is hard to chew. </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Water and fire</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Are more than we can control, </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And yet we want more. </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Violence in the mind</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Shows by violence in the world. </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Make peace in your head. </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I am not your light.</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">You must find it within you. </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">You can teach yourself. </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Upon his last breath, </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Flowers fell on Buddha’s body-</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">On his face a smile. </span></div>Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-11283928891442209572021-10-22T18:59:00.007-05:002023-04-02T08:53:33.168-05:00Poem: Wrong Way Earthworm<p></p><div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 29px; text-align: left; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sitting on the front porch during a rain, <br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">a long earthworm meandered out of the irises onto the concrete. </span></div><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">Knowing that they can drowned like the rest of us breathers, </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">I did not interfere, only watched. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">In my time that has been much longer than the life span of a worm (so far),</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">I have seen many wriggle upon concrete </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">only to die away from native earth and dry in the sun.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">This one made it several feet away from the soaked ground</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> only to stiffen a little and reverse its course back to moisture.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">As it turned back, it lost the way</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;"> and moved closer to the bricks of the house. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">From my point of view, it seemed<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>confused. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">Do I help it or let choice take its course? </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">For a time it sought shelter in a crack between the concrete and the bricks, </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;">but was too large to fit. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">It gave up and moved on, the concrete drawing away the water from its body. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">The trail it left glistened. Then </span><span style="font-family: arial;">it turned and moved back toward the rain. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">A question of conscience arose. Knowing that higher ground was so near,</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">do I help? </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">If it received help, would it expect the same help in the future? </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">What if I wasn’t near? </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: arial;">Is there something above me watching with the same conundrum?</span></p>Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-78783538234731790562021-10-15T17:37:00.001-05:002023-03-06T17:26:07.708-06:00Poem: A Living Ghost<div style="background-color: white; color: #201f1e; font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> <span color="inherit" style="background-color: white; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit;">I am a living ghost. <br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">A walking memory of someone else who says, “Remember when he—“<br /></span><span class="x_s2" color="inherit" style="border: 0px; font-family: arial; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I engage with and move past other ghosts, but they have stronger ties to existence. <br /></span><span class="x_s2" color="inherit" style="border: 0px; font-family: arial; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">They do not know that when they go, others will continue. <br /></span><span class="x_s2" color="inherit" style="border: 0px; font-family: arial; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I know. I have. I will. Until I do not.<br /></span><span class="x_s2" color="inherit" style="border: 0px; font-family: arial; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Made of star stuff and touched by an angel is all bunk. <br /></span><span class="x_s2" color="inherit" style="border: 0px; font-family: arial; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Some say that energy cannot be destroyed, and we are energy. <br /></span><span class="x_s2" color="inherit" style="border: 0px; font-family: arial; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">They mix science with religion and comport being now with being after. <br /></span><span class="x_s2" color="inherit" style="border: 0px; font-family: arial; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I do not feel like energy.<br /></span><span class="x_s2" color="inherit" style="border: 0px; font-family: arial; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I feel like the empty space between a nucleus and its electrons. <br /></span><span class="x_s2" color="inherit" style="border: 0px; font-family: arial; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">There are forces and particles moving through me, but I am zero space. <br /></span><span class="x_s2" color="inherit" style="border: 0px; font-family: arial; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">At least, I am a location. <br /></span><span class="x_s2" color="inherit" style="border: 0px; font-family: arial; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This place is haunted by me. </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #201f1e; font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="x_s2" color="inherit" style="border: 0px; font-family: arial; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">For now.</span></div>Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-44394010974346275102021-03-18T18:26:00.005-05:002021-10-15T17:41:51.020-05:00Poem: The Unseen Construction<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Surely as the red fox walks our streets at night and doesn’t realize that humans built the houses and made the roads, there are constructions in our world built by others that we do not recognize, but just as assuredly we walk through and ignore the builders thinking only of the moment and our stomachs.</span></span></div>Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-83425828266908520042020-10-08T09:56:00.004-05:002021-10-22T19:03:02.847-05:00Haiku: On Death I<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Leaves fall from the tree.<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">Existence is all I have known.<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">We are not the tree.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Food gives no pleasure<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">When someone you love suffers.<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">Tears salt everything.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Go out with a bang, <br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">Or go out with a whimper,<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">It is all the same.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-17320726858256157642020-06-28T17:40:00.004-05:002020-10-08T09:58:23.585-05:00Halfway<span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: arial; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Sitting under a redbud tree looking at a branch from the underneath, silhouetted against the clouds, I see an ant making its way toward the end of the branch and wonder how that little body could contain enough energy to complete its journey; because unknown to it, it has traveled to the end only to realize it is halfway back to the beginning. </span>Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-56668216558548334422015-03-25T14:03:00.003-05:002020-10-08T09:59:55.499-05:00Poem: Blooming out of Place<span style="font-family: arial;">In the garage you smoke a cigar<br />
Outside there are several inches of snow<br />
You look at the lemon tree that you stubbornly keep alive through the winter<br />
By installing grow lights and a heater in the garage<br />
Lemon trees do not grow here but neither have you<br />
You've planned to move back to where you call home<br />
But things and events conspire to keep you here<br />
Like the tree, you resist putting down permanent roots<br />
You see the beginnings of flowers, little buds of white<br />
The tree has found a way to bloom out of place<br />
But you have not.<br />
</span><hr />
Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-17849410145082238912013-07-01T10:35:00.001-05:002013-07-01T10:35:47.801-05:00Short Fiction: Luther's Long Locks<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: auto; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">A fun challenge. Write a short using all of the words from (hover mouse for definitions): </span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: auto; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<a href="http://designtaxi.com/news/352936/Illustrations-Of-Unusual-And-Rarely-Spoken-Words/" target="_blank">Illustrations Of Unusual And Rarely Spoken Words</a></span>
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: auto; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: auto; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">Walking slowly by a penny arcade gazing at the machines <span style="text-decoration: underline;" title="Mentally or emotionally distant; absent-minded.">yonderly</span>, Luther's neck was hurting, and he felt in a <span style="text-decoration: underline;" title="A position in which any decision or move will result in problems.">zugzwang</span>. As an <span style="text-decoration: underline;" title="A Person whose hair has never been cut.">acersecomic</span> his burden had become great, and was afraid that it would be his <span style="text-decoration: underline;" title="The character flaw or error of a tragic hero.">hamartia</span>. He was trying to suppress <span style="text-decoration: underline;" title="Possessing a violent desire to write.">scripturient</span> feelings, but as he walked the <span style="text-decoration: underline;" title="Bring omens or unnatural or supernatural manifestations.">ostentiferious</span> clouds seemed to darken with each step. Even though he often regarded such machines as <span style="text-decoration: underline;" title="A person who gives opinions and advice on matters outside of one's knowledge.">ultracrepidarian</span>, on a whim he approached a fortunetelling machine and supplied it with a penny. In a glass container, the upper torso of a crone in the posture of issuing a <span style="text-decoration: underline;" title="The casting of an evil eye.">jettatura</span>, spit out a small slip of paper into a dispenser. With reservations, Luther retrieved the message and read, "Hair binds you. Cut it and be free." The words were a <span style="text-decoration: underline;" title="A knockout punch, either verbal or physical.">recumbentibus</span> to his very way of life. Upon recovery, he rubbed his smooth chin and decided to take the advice and to take up <span style="text-decoration: underline;" title="The act of cultivating, or growing and grooming, a mustache, beard, sideburns or other facial hair.">pogonotrophy</span> instead.</span>Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-22240896775892000072013-02-07T12:01:00.001-06:002013-02-07T12:01:30.235-06:00Poem: Binary Poem<code>
01010111 01101000 01101001 01101100 01110011 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101000 01110101 01101101 01101111 01110010 01101111 01110101 01110011 00100000 01101100 01101001 01101101 01100101 01110010 01101001 01100011 01101011 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100001 00100000 01100011 01110101 01110010 01101001 01101111 01110101 01110011 00100000 01101101 01101111 01100100 01100101 00001010 01000001 01110011 00100000 01100001 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101101 01101101 01110101 01101110 01101001 01100011 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01110100 01101111 01101111 01101100 00101100 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100001 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101101 01110000 01101100 01100101 01110100 01100101 00100000 01101100 01101111 01100001 01100100 00001010 01000110 01110010 01101111 01101101 00100000 01100001 00100000 01110011 01101001 01101101 01110000 01101100 01100101 00100000 01110100 01100001 01100111 00101100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100010 01100001 01110010 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110100 01100011 01101000 00100000 01100010 01100101 01100101 01101110 00100000 01110010 01100001 01101001 01110011 01100101 01100100 00001010 01001000 01101111 01110111 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01110101 01110000 00100000 01100001 00100000 01110000 01101111 01100101 01101101 00101100 00100000 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101111 01110101 01100111 01101000 01110100 01110011 00100000 01110011 01110000 01100101 01100100 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01100011 01110010 01100001 01111010 01100101 01100100 00001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 01101110 00100000 01100100 01101001 01100100 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101111 01101110 01100011 01100101 00101100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01110110 01100101 01110010 01100010 01101001 01100001 01101100 00100000 01101100 01101001 01100111 01101000 01110100 00100000 01100010 01110101 01101100 01100010 00100000 01100111 01101100 01101111 01110111 01100101 01100100 00001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110010 01101000 01111001 01101101 01100101 00100000 01110011 01101000 01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101110 01110110 01100101 01110010 01110100 01100101 01100100 00100000 01101001 01101110 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100010 01101001 01101110 01100001 01110010 01111001 00100000 01100011 01101111 01100100 01100101 00100001 00001010 00001010
</code>Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-38031705673059612232012-06-06T09:37:00.001-05:002012-06-14T15:57:17.794-05:00Book: Thwarted by Packaging - a previewA recent book by a friend... <br />
Purchase: <a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/ken-muessig/thwarted-by-packaging/paperback/product-20140690.html">Thwarted by Packaging</a>
<script src="//static.lulu.com/shop/template-resources/20120601-1504/js/lib/jquery-1.5.1.min.js" type="text/javascript">
</script>
<script src="//static.lulu.com/shop/template-resources/20120601-1504/js/preview_book.js" type="text/javascript">
</script>
<script type="text/javascript">
$jq = jQuery.noConflict();
</script>
<br />
<div id="previewblock">
<object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" height="800" id="preview" width="500">
<param name="movie" value="http://www.lulu.com/viewer/flash/doc-viewer.swf?version=20120605120227" />
<param name="wmode" value="transparent" />
<param name="flashvars" value="fCID=11589520&fWidth=500&fHeight=800" />
<!--[if !IE]>-->
<object
name="preview"
type="application/x-shockwave-flash"
data="http://www.lulu.com/viewer/flash/doc-viewer.swf?version=20120605120227"
width="500"
height="800">
<param name="wmode" value="transparent" />
<param name="flashvars" value="fCID=11589520&fWidth=500&fHeight=800" />
<!--<![endif]-->
<h2>
This content requires Adobe Flash Player version 8.0.0 or greater. <a href=http://www.adobe.com/go/getflash/ target=_node> Get Flash </a></h2>
<!--[if !IE]>-->
</object>
<!--<![endif]-->
</object>
</div>Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-5781446009358461962011-12-09T12:21:00.000-06:002012-01-18T12:31:54.980-06:00Poem: The Torture of Less-ThanNo one celebrates Salieri, the tragic hero of the less-than.<br />
The man who wants more than he was given by definition,<br />
who wants more than he can have through his own creation.<br />
No manner of teaching or torture can gifts be gained or affinities acquired.<br />
The genius of the naive is adored, and the work of the less-than ignored.<br />
<br />
A cobble under the carriage of the mollycoddled, the ground wishes to be pure sky.<br />
Those conveyed by gift's glory never know the jealousy of clay or the weight of air.<br />
Just good enough to know that he's not good enough-<br />
No one celebrates Salieri.<br />
<br /><hr />Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-57490880134141030132011-10-11T06:50:00.000-05:002012-01-18T12:31:37.906-06:00Haiku: On Extinction - I<br />
Giants walk the earth.<br />
Slow thoughts process blinding light.<br />
Futures become dearth.<br />
<br />
The red sky, it churns.<br />
Food and breath are hard to catch.<br />
Ow, extinction burns.<br />
<br />
Scaly and hungry,<br />
Earth has lived another life.<br />
The product? Oily.<br />
<br /><hr />Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-16454619302889246222011-09-30T12:17:00.000-05:002016-10-14T16:19:17.171-05:00Essay: The Seat of Consciousness<br />
<div style="background-color: transparent;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I considered myself lucky; I could see the bus stopped down the street which would give me just enough time to park my car and be out at the next stop before it got there. I work at a university that has removed all parking near campus except for the disabled and the wealthier of the staff and faculty. Of course I don’t have a beef with the disabled, but as for the others...pure classism. I’d coined the term (not literally of course, I’d read about it somewhere) to address my and others’ particular situation in many conversations over the year with fellow staffers in the same predicament. Being a middle-aged Euro-descended male, monetary classism was the only kind of prejudice I’ve ever had direct experience with - and it pissed me off. I try to understand the plight of others, and I do my personal best not to participate or proliferate prejudice in the world that I have direct contact with. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With money so many of the drudgeries of daily life just become non-problems. If you think about it, it’s amazing. If you can buy more food than you can eat, then the worry of how will I feed my family; should I pay the electric bill or buy groceries; if we only eat every other day will we become nutritionally deficient; those are just non-issues for those with more. If I could park outside of the building I work in, I wouldn’t have to wait for and ride a bus; I wouldn’t need to think about carrying an umbrella; I wouldn’t have to limit my accourtre to the amount of stuff that I can comfortable carry. I could leave it all in my Denali, Navigator, Escalade, or Hummer parked outside, and pop out to enjoy the wet-bar in the car for a moment when my day became excruciatingly impinging.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If I lived in a big city, I could understand the situation. But here in the mid-south, there is plenty of land to clear and pave over for parking. When was the last time you went to Wal-Mart and couldn’t find a place to park? It just doesn’t happen. I pulled into the only spot left for staff, hopped out gather my laptop bag and my sack lunch, packed in a used Wal-Mart bag, and rushed across the street to await the bus. When I boarded, it was already half full. So as the bus began to jostle down the street, I held on to the rails near the ceiling and made my way to the back. Along the back wall there was a row of five seats and two groups of three seats facing each other along the sides. The three seats on the right were occupied by two guys with big backpacks. And along the back wall there were two students together against one side. But the three seats on the left were unoccupied. As I shifted my gait to aim for the empty group of seats, I noticed that the four people there seems to be slyly watching me. I looked down at the seats and saw that each one had a puddle of what I assumed to be water in them. The middle one was the largest, maybe a full coffee saucer amount with a small dark, presumably oily, dot floating in the middle of the puddle.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Instantly, I understood the attention. They were watching to see if this old guy was going to puddle himself. I stepped past the seats and settled into a window seat along the back row. I slid on my sunglasses and pop in my earbuds and resumed listening to the short story podcast, I had started in the car. At the next bus stop there were enough students waiting to fill the seats and still have a few standing. As the students filed in, the empty seats in the front filled up first. Students made their way to the back talking and distracted as so many of them are. I was looking out the window when I noticed the first young woman to sit in a puddle. She sat in the seat closest to me, one of the smaller puddles, half the size of the saucer full in the middle. She was wearing shorts, of the rejuvenated style from the 70s (the runners’ shorts with the piping across the edges and the side seams) and was carrying on a conversation with another young woman in similar shorts who sat down next to her in the seat with the big puddle. It was difficult to remain expressionless. I wanted to say, ‘hey you just sat in a puddle!’ but I didn’t. I nonchalantly glanced around at the expressions of the other four who I know were also keenly aware that she just sat in a gross puddle of liquid with a little dot of greasy looking something floating it, and they too were stone-faced. This was one of those moments shared with strangers where you know absolutely without doubt what they are thinking but no one voiced a peep. It was a collective thought-shout of, “Gross!” that rang through the stale, shared air in the back of the bus, over the loud drone of the straining diesel engine and the munged, indiscernible words of twenty simultaneous conversations.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even though we five played poker with our faces, we all frequently glanced at middle student with intense interest waiting for the moment of recognition. I think we each wanted to be the first to see her expression change. The reorientation of her attention to the growing wetness on her bottom. I suspected it would start with the realization of the wrongness of moisture; that would quickly translate into a fright regarding the source of the moisture. When she had completed a rapid bodily inventory and realized that she, herself, was not the source, the fear would morph into a list of possible amalgamations of liquid: water, a spilled drink, abandoned bodily fluid, and the list would continue.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But there was no recognition at all. No shift in posture; no questioning self-reflection facial expression; no bolt-upright jump accompanied by frantic butt wiping; there was no tell at all. I was astounded. How could someone be so disconnected with their own body as not to notice that their shorts had just adsorbed an amount of liquid equal to but not less than a full coffee saucer? For the next ten minutes of stop signs and busy traffic, the two of the them kept talking without any apparent notice. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I became increasing existential in my thoughts about the situation. In the relatively incredibility short time that we have been </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">homo sapiens</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> we have become amazingly cerebral. We can ignore much of the physical world around us and dwell more and more in the constructed space of our thoughts. We are becoming true spiritual beings; perhaps soon we can evolve beyond the need for a physical support system to house our personalities. As free-form thinking entities experiencing the world without physical limitation we could travel the universe and know all of existence.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The bus finally reached the main terminal on campus and the people nearest the doors exited first. The five of us who had participated in the same thoughts earlier waited to look at the empty seat for the confirmation of the liquid adsorption. As the two young women stood up and walked up the aisle to the exit door, we all looked at their asses. The dark color of the shorts and poor lighting revealed nothing. We looked at the seats where they were, also nothing. Perhaps we had a collective hallucination; maybe the previous puddles were a mirage caused by some solar anomaly projected through the tinted windows of the bus? </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Walking out into the day, I blinked against the sun invading my eyes around the edges of my sunglasses, and I held my breath trying to avoid breathing in the awful exhaust of the bus' engine. I watched the group of passengers split into their separate destinations, and spotted the two young women walking. I saw the taller one, the one who sat in the middle seat with the largest puddle reach back and touch the lower middle of her butt with the palm of her hand. She twisted around trying to see it. Her friend looked at her butt and touched it with her hand too. Finally, they both showed realization and disgust. I Iooked around to see if any of my thought-compadres shared in the culmination of the situation.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I felt vindicated and disappointed; I would not be able any time soon to escape my body and exist as a free-form being of thought. Also I still wondered what the oily substance was.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<hr />
Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-46509463175313455102011-07-01T06:15:00.007-05:002011-07-20T12:46:37.086-05:00Poem: Little Edie BealeIn secured scarves but not skirts,<br />
Edie sings and prances from her past<br />
drinking and divulging the High Life.<br />
<br />
You ought to be in pictures;<br />
you're wonderful to see.<br />
You ought to be in pictures;<br />
oh, what a hit you would be.<br />
<br />
Edie grouses through the Grey Gardens.<br />
A prisoner of mind and mother,<br />
she is a daylily three days gone.<br />
<br />
<hr />Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-68191746815044687302011-06-09T07:09:00.004-05:002011-06-09T07:09:00.197-05:00Poem: Monkey too Hot<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Monkey always gets too hot sipping tea in the summertime.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">A cool drink is what he'd rather, but that's not refined says hippo.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Etiquette and proper tea are necessary and to be taken seriously</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">for polite society, and you may swim after tea, hippo says to monkey.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">If we do not sip searing tea then we will not get hot, then we will not</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">need to swim in crocodile's pool to get cool, reasons monkey.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">But hippo will not hear of it. A cup of tea and a biscuit at noon</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">is what we do; I cannot soon conceive of a reprieve, hippo replies.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Crocodile agrees, we cannot be cultured if we are not conventional.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Precisely, says hippo tending the tea pot and pointing to the table.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Sullen monkey stations the cups and saucers out for the three</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">and a box of biscuits in the middle for each to politely nibble.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Monkey is hot from sipping tea and slips from the proper into the pool.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Pretentious protocols do not appeal to monkey or appropriate actions make.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">In a lapse of decorum, monkey is captured and consumed by crocodile.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Better he than me; now, that's polite society, says hippo sipping tea.<br />
<br />
</div><hr />Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-62567882104268387812011-05-26T06:34:00.002-05:002011-09-22T16:40:59.384-05:00Poem: Ophiocordyceps camponoti-balzani for AllPossessed by a foreign agent,<br />
we all zombie through life.<br />
Selfish genes guiding our urges,<br />
or a mind controlling fungus<br />
either way freewill is tossed.<br />
<br />
From our short existence,<br />
another life extrudes into the future.<br />
Offspring to their own recognizance<br />
or spores released to the wind,<br />
the future is a culmination of singularities.<br />
<br />
Given the context of the end,<br />
the location of the gave is inconsequential. <br />
An ashy disturbance on lake,<br />
or rigored tightly under a leaf<br />
makes no difference to my mood.<br />
<br />
<hr />
Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-63811739500840948922011-05-26T06:33:00.003-05:002011-10-10T11:03:00.999-05:00Haiku: On a Plane - IThe clouds from above<br />
have the structure of mountains<br />
breaching a still lake.<br />
<br />
I prefer silence,<br />
public spaces crowd my thoughts.<br />
My seat is too small.<br />
<br />
A mist of vapor,<br />
we are pointless as a cloud<br />
except less buoyant.<br />
<br />
<br />
In an airtight can,<br />
A swarm of wet molecules,<br />
I blaze through the sky.<br />
<br />
<hr />
Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-35549938123098513622011-05-11T06:56:00.001-05:002011-05-11T06:56:00.509-05:00Poem: To write (For Jim Whitehead)He was known as Big Jim for most of his life. <br />
Standing six feet plus a few and well…big. <br />
He played college football further down south,<br />
and ended up an English major–then professor. <br />
<br />
In the halls he’d ask, “Going somewhere?”<br />
“Headed that way,” was my pat reply.<br />
He was really asking of my conviction to the word–<br />
to writing. <br />
He had seen my weak heart and weak pen in class.<br />
His method of motivation was honesty. He would say,<br />
“This is God damned terrible, rewrite it!” <br />
<br />
I don’t imagine Big Jim looking down on me with favor <br />
or scorn from a cloud up above; I don’t believe in such.<br />
But, when someone asks me, “Going somewhere?”<br />
I now say, “To write.”<br />
<br />
<hr>Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-73291009825466747232011-05-09T06:22:00.002-05:002011-10-10T11:03:11.579-05:00Haiku: About Bonsai - IBonsai, tree in pot,<br />
Can out live their creators.<br />
Family tree, heirloom.<br />
<br />
The roots, so shallow<br />
On my weeping fig, I dream<br />
At night it dances.<br />
<br />
Every Autumn day<br />
The tiny trees feel the change<br />
But in a small way.<br />
<br />
Hands hold the blue sky,<br />
Green leaves cradle the white clouds,<br />
Slow muscles stretch bark.<br />
<br />
Pruning a Bonsai<br />
Teaches one to look forward<br />
And forget the now.<br />
<br />
The Colors of fall<br />
Reflect ever so slightly<br />
On a potted tree.<br />
<br />
<hr />
Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-20102217021699847362011-05-06T06:49:00.000-05:002011-05-06T06:49:00.356-05:00Poem: I Can Move Things With My MindAnd I live by myself.<br />
My dead grandfather watches me<br />
through house flies.<br />
I have many books on parapsychology<br />
and the occult.<br />
His audacious flies harbor the wanting<br />
to touch my face.<br />
I haven't had a girlfriend in six years,<br />
not even on the Internet.<br />
When I found him dead, he had flies crawling<br />
over his mouth and slipped upper denture.<br />
They came in through the hole in the window<br />
following the scent of a free meal.<br />
The flies want inside my head to tongue my grey<br />
and tell me about the afterlife of decay and dissemination.<br />
He used to talk to the chickens in the yard<br />
and keep a hand written daily record of the weather on spiral bound, single subject, college rule, notebooks <br />
with red covers.<br />
<br />
<hr />Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-42323402389056898902011-05-05T06:45:00.000-05:002011-05-05T06:45:00.295-05:00Poem: Jazz-Fusion is the musicAt odd syncopated moments,<br />
braless in a tank-top, and long hippie skirt,<br />
she would bend knees and bob her head forward<br />
like a hungry chicken pecking the yard.<br />
A lean young man in a back turned cap,<br />
and long T-shirt spots her dancing <br />
and bounces over, hands in the air, waving <br />
(not caring).<br />
They synchronize movements;<br />
she pecking, and he waving.<br />
<br />
<hr />Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-16593725582536489032011-05-04T06:43:00.001-05:002011-05-04T06:43:00.247-05:00Poem: Circle of ProteinAll life takes a breath<br />
Under rainy earth the worms<br />
Wiggle up to gasp<br />
<br />
Opportunistic<br />
Robins enjoy a plump feast<br />
Hop, stare, grab, and slurp<br />
<br />
Gorged, too fat to fly<br />
Robins huddle boughed by shrubs<br />
Unaware of threats <br />
<br />
Crouched in the wet grass <br />
Tabby watches for a chance <br />
Stuffed birds are tasty<br />
<br />
<hr />Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-74486437840366465922011-05-03T06:40:00.001-05:002011-05-03T06:40:00.597-05:00Short Fiction: Red Light, Blue LightTwo guys are in a car. The passenger's phone rings, "Hey man, what's up?"<br />
<br />
"We're on our way. Yeah, Chateau le Terrace."<br />
<br />
"I know all the number are missing. Neighborhood kids keep stealing them off the doors."<br />
<br />
"I don't know what for; look man just look for the door with the green light. Right?"<br />
<br />
"What do you mean there are five of them? Dammit! That's my thing; I was first."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, I know I could get a different color. That not the point man. It's that I was the first green one."<br />
<br />
"I know that's not helping you right now. I guess I could get a blue one; that'd be pretty cool too."<br />
<br />
"What? No. I didn't consider color blind people. Look, man just wait in your freaking car til we get there okay?"<br />
<br />
The passenger turns to the driver, "Can you believe that shit man? What an asshole. Hey man, the light's blue; you can go!"<br />
<br />
<hr />Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-48540185096686621522011-05-02T06:22:00.001-05:002011-05-02T06:22:00.688-05:00Poem: AbuseA sunbeam has weight;<br />
can you feel the pressure?<br />
Speed is defined by the photon;<br />
reactions by nature must be slow.<br />
<br />
Silence has depth;<br />
can you see the bottom?<br />
Isolated by fathoms of quite,<br />
muffled voices still cut through.<br />
<br />
A thought has dimension;<br />
are some too large?<br />
If you cannot contain a concept,<br />
then you are defined by its opposite.<br />
<br />
<hr>Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3194177486143862549.post-15294432460395020342011-04-29T06:28:00.000-05:002011-04-29T06:28:00.748-05:00Short Fiction: When Fashion Leads"Hello Dr. Grey, I got your message," Sierra said.<br />
<br />
"Good news Ms. Madison, the new models of heart valves just came in," he said.<br />
<br />
"That is good news; tell me about them," she said.<br />
<br />
He shows her some 8x10 color, glossy photos of different heart valves and points to different ones as he describes them. "This one more closely resembles your other valves; this one comes in pink; this one has little lace-like scalloped edges around the diameter, and I have it on very good authority that this one was recently implanted in one of the real housewives of L.A. It's dainty and sexy; don't you think?" he said.<br />
<br />
"I'm confused. Will any of these valves last longer than the one I currently have?" she asked.<br />
<br />
"No," he replied slowly.<br />
<br />
"Are any of them more efficient than the one you surgically replaced in me last year?" she asked.<br />
<br />
"No," he replied.<br />
<br />
She could detect a little confusion in his voice.<br />
<br />
"But this one comes in pink," he said.<br />
<br />
"Why would I care what color my heart valve is? No one will see it," she said growing irritated.<br />
<br />
"But you'll know, and color coordination is important," he said.<br />
<br />
"Is there something wrong with the one I have?" she asked.<br />
<br />
"No, but these are the new models," he said.<br />
<br />
"Is there a medical or health reason that I need another open heart surgery to replace my new valve or any other?" she asked.<br />
<br />
"No, but this one was designed by Mischka," he said.<br />
<br />
<hr />Udo Pastilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11139760295964721482noreply@blogger.com1