Superman grounded

•May 7, 2019 • Leave a Comment

He traveled in his head to the corner market
Hoping to find something to ablate it
No matter how hard he tried
There he sat trying to fight it
The rise of anxiety at opened doors
The want and desire of something more
An ambitious fire that can’t be put out
No matter the yells, no matter the shouts
No matter the beatings no matter the bouts
He sits on a dirty floor in his superman pajamas
With a towel he got from his mama
Tied it around his neck to help him fly
So he flew in his head but not to the beaches
Not to the hills, not to far reaches
But Someplace make believe
Where Superman flies and Lois is true
He knows he is a fool, he knows the truth
You can see it in his eyes
At only eight he knows that Gravity kills when you try to rise
So he sits hoping to get lost Like a crayola under the couch
Not to be seen or heard from, never open his mouth

Till a drink and a puff
Ransacks the house moving Furniture about

With the yells and screams from the other room
Walls as thin as that mans patience

She said it’s okay to cry with her fingers in his hair
But he just sat there and continued to fly


Rebellion is for the Intelligent

•June 14, 2011 • 6 Comments

I generally hold still

Till I am expected to

Then I am running fast

Like running down hill

Too cool for a caption

I rebel. Against almost everything. I don’t know if you (the reader) noticed but there is a quote over my picture. It states “Rebellion is for the intelligent”. I said this to a workmate of mine one time and she said, “Rebellion is for the stupid”. Okay, not very articulate but I understood what she was trying to say. It could be that she just wanted to argue with me. I am always up for a debate! As I pondered what she said I realized something. She is a Christian. This means she is a follower of Christ. Wether you believe Jesus was the son of God or an amazingly good man, you must also realize he was a huge rebel! He rebelled against almost everything. Why didn’t she see it that way? Jesus didn’t just pet lambs and play with small children. He stood up against kings and clergy of the time. Got angry and over turned tables in rebellion against the order of things. “Christian” means to be, “Christ like”. So with that in mind, shouldn’t Christians be doing a lot more rebelling?

Joan of Arc- paid dearly for her rebellion. Was it worth it?

Now that I think about it, throughout history, iconic men and women have ALWAYS been rebels. What historical figures are popping into your head right now? Seriously, please tell me. Tell me why you think they are or are not rebels. While you are doing that I am going to continue with my diatribe. You don’t mind do you? Doesn’t matter I will do it anyway. (See!? Total rebel!)

Now I know that not all rebellion is good. (Okay honestly, I am just starting to learn this. (Yes, I know I’m a late bloomer)) Just like a controlled fall it should be regulated. I catch myself rebelling even when I know I shouldn’t. That the advice or rule (oh how I hate rules!) might be in my best interest doesn’t always seem to make a difference. Often I hear from my friends, “Okay, just do as they say and it will work out.” Being told what to do and follow blindly is a huge pet peeve of mine. I just cannot do it. Is this a trust issue? Is this just me?

One of my favorite rebels-Napoleon (Not dynamite)

Some of my closest friends and the people I look up to are rebels in their own right. Questioning everything, thinking outside the box and reinvention are some of the qualities of these rebels. Is that so bad? Our nation was built by rebels. Where are they now that we need them most? They are not in a suit and tie standing behind a podium. They are the builders, teachers, firemen, engineers, plumbers and all the people that ACTUALLY make this country work. These are the people that need to speak up, get angry and rebel!

What do you rebel against? Maybe a better questions is, what should you be rebelling against?

Note: Patience is an excuse

•June 11, 2011 • 4 Comments


I am an impatient person.  I feel that patience is an excuse and a waste of time. I will sometimes tell people that I’m frustrated that things aren’t happening when they should and they tell me to be “patient”.
Bad advice!!
Get it now!
Try harder to have it now! Getting it “someday” or “soon” is not good enough. We know in deep that chances are slim that if we wait for the “somedays” and the “soons” that it will ever happen. Don’t be patient. Throw a fit if you are not getting what you want.  So when someone says “be patient” tell them that they can be patient because you will not be. (Blame it on me if you need, I can handle it)
Life is short and if tragedy happens much shorter than we plan.
Are we are who we want to be now? Are we proud of who we are? We are full of mistakes, me especially. Let’s own them. Let’s own the good things in our character along with the bad. If we are not who we are or where we are right now don’t wait, change it. Do it.
I know that I stepped up on the soapbox a bit here but I think we are all close enough now that I can trust you with my random thoughts. Can’t I?

First ride of the season. Denim style

•June 7, 2011 • 5 Comments

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Fact or Fiction? Andrea Rossi and the Energy Catalyzer (via Christian Gladu)

•June 6, 2011 • Leave a Comment

A respected colleague of mine posed a great question that I would like to pose to my readers as well. Read, watch and tell me what you think. Of course I have my opinion and will share it. You all know I love to share my opinion!

Ok, I am going to take a different tack on this blog; I need your help. I have been reading about  E-Catalyzer and Andrea Rossi all over the internet and I am stumped.Is this for real? The dramatic presentations, the secret undertone and to be blunt technology that I don’t understand makes me skeptical, however I would be lying if didn’t say that I have hope for the silver bullet solution to the world energy crisis. Please view this v-blog, searc … Read More

via Christian Gladu

Note: A man in a room (misplaced comma,)

•June 1, 2011 • 6 Comments

Imagine a man sitting in a chair
A Leather bound chair, brass buttons
Arms on the rests hands flat palms down
fingers curling over the edge
Dusty suit, dandruff on the collar, pant cuffs tattered
Room filled with bookshelves inturn filled with books.
Lightly lit.
Dusty guitar. In tune.
Photo album opened to a page that has clearly been opened many times before
This room has lots of wood trim. Wood wainscot. Wood cove molding. Wood window. Wood door.
It is hard to tell which side of this door resides the lock.
Wooden floor boards that creak, moan and bow from the weight of the room.
Stern face deep lines. That started from laughter and ended in sorrow.
No light from the window. The window is just for looks that no one can see.
New shoes worn through.
The smell of mahogany and something else. Something else…near
Something else that should never be seen
Feels of resigned desperation in a clenched fist in a deep pocket. Hidden. Passive.
Are the boards creaking and moaning under the weight of the room or of the man’s thoughts?
Or his determined spirit to break the rusty chains that bind his hands and feet?
Oh the chains are there my dear friend.
They creep slowly
Creepily, pay attention…
Are they creeping on you now?
Look at his face again
Can you see it? The glint.
In his eye.
Maybe, just maybe…
He is not even close to beaten.

The Sin of Giving in… (unrequited)

•May 23, 2011 • 15 Comments

I had a dream last night That haunted me through jaws clenched tight

Black suit with derby I wore, Dark gray skies…..behind me, the shore

The large raucous waves bent on destruction, Rocks to sand…

is clearly its intention

Before me… a colorless scene, sand to street…waves to city

Of all cities this one, the most… I pity

Drab store fronts and concrete walls, there are no people within lining its halls

Of all the windows and all the doors no lights on…minus one…but no more

This lone lamp, the darkness, it shines through

Is calling me like a beacon, of which I knew

That although its light shines purposeful and bright

Comfort will not be something it provides for me tonight

Above a stout and sturdy door, this lamp sat summoning me to it, but I do not want that!

But, as if of their own accord my traitorous feet began to creep forward

I look down at my disloyal appendages wondering why it hurt when street and feet meet

No socks or shoes did I have on they are as bare as the day I was born on

No matter though, my feet continued to tread regardless of the orders coming from my head

Towards this lamp and towards this door further and further away from the shore

Closer and closer I come to my forced destination as if spurred on by divination

Up the steps one, two and three…

The cracked and coarse door is now before me

My hand moves forward… inside it a key

Tarnished brass, heavy and thick

Into the lock, tumblers drop… click… click… click

The door groaned loudly like a cranky old man

Opening slowly wider, I stepped right in

I get a feeling of overwhelming doom

Intuitively I know I am not the only one in the room

I look about searching for the unseen presence

My pupils enlarge and my muscles grew tense

I see three dusty skeletons lying prone

I stop moving, breathing, still as a stone

I hear percussion… a beating … a rapping that sounds like tin

The hairs stand up straight off my skin

The figures begin to shake and shiver raising off the floor with a rousting quiver

Their hollow eyes gazed at me knowingly

And they began to move to the beating rhythmically

As I watch the skeletons prance I become familiar with the jig they dance

It’s a dance I’ve seen before choreographed upon the devil’s dance floor

Then with light hearted big ole grins they begin to narrate all my sins

“Lie cheat lust and steal never holding true to any deal

Thinking Grace is only something to fall from

Forcing your red beating heart to go numb”

As I watch them dance and sing I began to notice something

With a quizzical cant of my head I begin to analyze this picture of dread

How they are able to speak so eloquently without anything to help them vocally

Bleach white bones moving about sans ligaments tendons leaves little doubt

That this macabre vaudeville enactment is meant for me and they will mean what they meant

I notice that although this seems so dire I am not yet buried deep in the mire

I ask, “Why do you sing and dance so happily about these sins you prosed so cleverly?”

In unison they all chimed in,

“You have yet to become entangled in the worst of all sin.”

“What is the worst of all sin?!” I shout curious to know what they are talking about

They just continued in this morose ballet, singing and dancing as if at play

Laughing at the knives of anxiety driven into my back

Obviously aware that patience is something I lack

I waited painfully for the come what may

Do I run or do I continue to stay?

“That is the sin of giving in”