I ran across this image on a friend's Facebook feed at Dark Thirty in the morning; actually a few moments ago. Lately, when I can't sleep, I wander the Internet hoping the weight of no sleep will drive me back to bed. And if I can't, at least I have something to do besides laying awake in the dark.
I saw this image and it brought back the days of my youth when I was all in with that concept. The US was involved in a nasty war in SE Asia and people my own age were coming home in boxes in droves. We lost over 58,000 American service men and women to that stupid war. When it was over, I naively thought we had learned our lesson and from then on would practice at least a modicum of restraint before we put more of our young in harm's way as standard bearers of American Might.
I am still on board with the idea, but let's just say, my total commitment has taken some hits over the years. The only lesson we pulled from the ashes of our defeat in Vietnam was, forced conscription did not create the army of killers the military wanted. They dropped the Draft which was a step, or so I thought, in the right direction. We have a volunteer military force now and the killing machine so many of the top tier leaders wanted is in place and ready at a moment's notice to go anywhere, any time and kill anyone at the drop of a hat.
The nation's aggressive foreign position is so bad today, our current asshole in chief changed the name of the Department of Defense back to the old name. It is once again called the Department of War. Not a good sign, what with the most lethal military force the World has ever seen now under the control of a lunatic who has hired other lunatics to carry out his will.
I know war has been historically a way for politicians to bolster their positions with their constituency at home. Make up a threat, push it hard, and then send troops to fix the made up problem. No better example exists than the Trillion dollar, 20 year conflict Bush the Lessor got the country involved in the Middle East. I lost my nephew to that stupidity.
The future is never a sure thing. But right now, we have even more uncertainty, as it has become apparent our current crew of leaders have finally sniffed out the possibilities of what military power can accomplish with the right kind of evil behind it; establish a dictatorship and conspire with other evil assholes across the globe to split up the world pie between them; their goal to bleed all of us dry.
Currently,we are just standing around with our thumbs up our collective asses and watching it begin to unfold. Americans should be very nervous. And the World, even more so. Once Trump has our country under his thumb, he will surely be casting an eye eleswhere.The token threats of taking over Greenland or going to war with a Banana republic are minor issues compared to the Hell he can unleash on the rest of the World.
So, I am still on board with the notion that "Teaching Peace" is the way to go. Before we can do that, we need to "Teach Resistance". Letting the situation here in the states continue its spiral down the drain is getting to a point where the current policy of doing nothing will continue to change with or without our involvement. I know I don't want to continue being a victim. How about you?
Later Gators .............................
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The only song I would even think of including is a tune form the 1960s; specifically from Woodstock. Here is Country Joe and the Fish with "I feel like I'm fixin to die Rag". It's a rouser, makes you want to join the resistance. Sadly, its message is still relevant today, 56 years later..
I just hung up the phone after talking to Michael of the ACLU. He is a fund raiser. I was having my first day of semi good health after a major respiratory/cold. I spent the last 5 or 6 days wanting to die and hoping someone would rip out my throat. This, combined with 2 weeks of dealing with one the worst Sciata pain cycles I have had since I was a mover in my twenties, stripped away any positive happy go lucky attitude I might have previously exhibited.
So, I was feeling better but not in the best mood when a phone number that had been stalking me for a good week showed up again on my screen. I had been ignoring it as the little gnomes in the phone red flagged those calls as potential spam. Like I said, I was not in a top of the world is my oyster kind of mood.
When it rang for the 3rd time this morning, I was looking forward to passing my bad day along to whoever would be at the other end of that call. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered it was a one of my favorite causes, the ACLU.
"Hello", in an even voice, or as close to an even voice as I had in me.The hesitation on the line indicated I may not have projected a positive happy place frame of mind.
"Uh", ... a moment of silence. "Would Micheal Macrum be there?"
"What is this in reference to?" Again, I thought I was being not just civil but downright jolly. I was wrong apparently, as indcated by the moments of silence that followed. I repeated myself, only this time purposefully, not friendly.
"What is this call about? Speak up or I will virtually slam this phone down on the virtual cradle I have in my mind's eye."
I did not cuss or yell as I just recently had decided to fight off the cranky old fart tendencies that have been growing inside me these last 5 or 6 years. It was actually my first test of my new effort at entertaining a more upbeat world view.
Then Michael made his 2nd mistake. After he gave me his bonfides; he was with the ACLU and working as a fundraiser for them. When he mentioned the current Trump Adminstration's attack on our land of the Free and Home of the Brave cluster fuck of a nation, I cut him off.
"Let me stop you right there Bud. Trump is an asshole and I don't want to hear his name in what you may say next."
I quickly climbed up on my high horse and in 30 seconds, rattled off a vent in one breath that ended:
"So, don't waste my time or yours trying to convince me you ACLU folks need money. You will always need money as long as evil jerkwads like Trump exist in our power structure. Don't waste your time filling me in on the daily Ethical and Moral trangressions and attacks on our Freedoms by Trump. I don't need a recap. Every day is a recap of how much of an evil asshole he is. Just give me the pitch."
I imagined later my rant may have made this guy's eyes open wider, but when I was done, hopefully made him smile.
I have been an off and on check writer to the ACLU. I have been a fan since the days they lived up to their claim they did not play partisan politics. They were set up to defend the Constitutional rights of everyone, even the evil assholes who spoil our landscape on a daily basis.
This morning I gave them $100 dollars. Not much, but because it was one of those double the donation things, my paltry $100 turned into $200 dollars. I was certain my money would be used in a way I would most likely approve of.
In April, 1977, the ACLU was asked to defend a NAZI group in Skokie, a small burg outside of Chicago, Illinois. They rightfully claimed they were being denied their Constitutional rights of Free Speech after Skokie denied the group's request to hold a march/demonstration in downtown Skokie. That the local Nazi crew picked Skokie was on purpose. Roughly 50 % of the residents were Jewish. The Nazis wanted to stir things up. Little did Skokie or the Nazis realize what would come of it.
It was a big thing back in the day. The court case lasted over a year with court filings all over Illinois, when it finally wound up in front of SCOTUS. A landmark verdict came down that supposedly cemented the notion of Free Speech being for everyone, including assholes.
"The Supreme Court's decision, per curiam, affirmed that the group's planned march was protected free speech under the First Amendment, and it ordered an immediate appellate review of the case."
The ACLU took a major hit from the Libtards who had historically been their loyal base. It was estimated they lost over 50,000 members as a result. They were tarred and feathered in liberal op/eds coast to coast. Their power structure took it on the chin after the board chose to follow the suit to it's conclusion. It was not about the right or wrong of the groups beliefs, it was about their Free Speech rights as written down in our Constitution. Just this one case made me a fan and a more dedicated Libtard than I was ever before.
The People's Right of Free Speech has never been in more trouble than it is today. The ACLU is still working hard to fight the onsaughts on the 2nd amendment and the Constitution in general because of the shitstorm spun up by Trump and his drooling minions of big mouths with small minds.
It appears Michael's call this morning was just what I needed. I haven't coughed once or felt the pain that runs down my leg at all since I started this post. Just this respite by itself, is worth the $100 bucks I donated.
And Oh, By the Way - The lead ACLU Lawyer in this case, David Goldberger is Jewish.
Helen Keller and Clarence Darrow were part of the group who founded the organization.
Ya'll have a good day and come back for another visit, ya hear?
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Since this post started with a phone call, I knew immediately what song I wanted to share. Yeah, I knew the song in my head. I just could not remember the title. I strained a tad trying to remember. I gave up with shoulders slumped and let Google do the recollecting for me.
Here is a song from the 1980s that was silly and not very complex. It represents some of the best of the quality challenged 1980s music scene for me. Too bad the band seemed to fade away without much follow up.
Here is "867-5309" by Tommy Tutone. It will invade your brain. Play it loud. Then dance and have some room around you when you start.
Of all the Old Fart ailments I have to deal with, Gout is the worst of the bunch. Before I came down with it, came up with it, or found it, I knew next to nothing about it. All I knew, it was very popular in the olden days, the Dickens days, the Shakepeare days, back when Knights were bold and fair damsels were nervous.
Gout is a type of arthritus. It is caused by an accumulation of uric acid in the joints, usually the feet, but it can crop up in any joint apparently. Staying hydrated, losing weight, and avoiding purine rich foods like seafood and red meat are some the ways to mitigate it's flare ups. I have lost weight; 60 plus pounds over the last 2 years.. I drink a lot of water. Avoiding seafood and red meat though has been an issue. Regardless, the problem is nowhere near as bad as it was a couple of years ago.
My first experience was twenty years ago. I had a very uncomfortable and painful week and then poof, it went away. Since it came and went so quickly, i stopped thinking about it. Apparently the earlier Gout experience was just a trial my body decided to run by me and see how I fared. It sucked, but it only sucked for a week or so. My feet were like new once it went away.
Flash forward to the here and now. Gout roared back into my life a four or five years ago. Since then I have had it in both feet, one foot or the other, my wrists, and recently, it attacked my right knee. I know it is gout because of the way it comes on and the way it punishes and then disappears so quickly. The joints affected may differ but the overall experience is the same every time.
The Gout meds I have now do a decent job of keeping the worst of it at bay, but damn, when it hits now, it can still incapacitate me.
This brings me to how much fun being old is. Experiencing a body breaking down brick by brick and a mind begining to rust through has been and is a real hoot. Everyday I wake up to pain of some kind. And now I have learned to appreciate pain. It reminds me I am alive and at this point in my life that is a good thing. I am still enjoying existence on this side the grass.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ........................................
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To hopefully offset the bummer post I just wrote, here is a repeat from more than a few years ago. Please enjoy Iz and his medley version of "Over the Rainbow" & "What a Wonderful World". And yeah, it still makes me puddle up.
I was quite a jock when I was a kid, right up into college. I moved around so much as a youngster, injecting myself into the various sports available in the new locations was a great way to become accepted. And I was good at sports. Not great maybe, but I had some moments in the Sun.
At the time of my participation in various team activities, I really did not have an opinion one or another about the coaches I worked with. How they paid attention to me on a daily basis dictated how I felt about them on that daily basis. I guess it is a kind of compliment to have a coach yelling at you every day. If they cared enough to scream at me, I figured I was doing alright, just not maybe at that moment in time. Besides, Fuck em if they couldn't take a joke. That attitude right there was probably why I only had flashes of being really good.
There were two coaches I had that I will always remember. They could both be assholes, but like someone said recently about Mike Vrabel, coach of the New England Patriots; "He's an asshole, but he's an aasshole you want on your team." Both of them managed to get out of me all I had and onto the playing field.
They were both Lacrosse coaches. Captain Mickey Dimaggio coached me in high school. Coach Carl Runk was my coach at Towson State College. Both of them were not bashful about getting in my face. And now, many years later, I understand why I needed the sharp words and sometimes the literal kick in my ass. I had not yet lost the chip I placed on my shoulder as a child. That took place sometime shy of my 28th birthday. A real or verbal slap upside my head often brought my focus back into the moment. I was a better player because of them.
Mickey was not only a player when he was a young cadet at the same school I went to, he later played in college and became an All American and was inducted into the College Lacrosse Hall of Fame in 1993. He was an awesome middie who could score on our team 9 times out of 10 from the attack restraining line. And he was ruthless on defense. Just an awesome player.
Coach Runk's background I don't know much about. But he coached in a more cerebral way, or maybe it was we were college students and not children anymore, so it just seemed he coached our minds as well as kicking our butts at practice.
The day I told Coach Runk to go fuck himself was the day I experienced his potential for anger. He grabbed me by the neck with one massive hand, lifted me up and slammed me against the wall of the gym. I will never forget the look in his eye. I knew in that moment he could and might crush my larynx, drop me in a heap and walk away like he just swatted a fly. But then a few practices later when I took out his number one middie on a faceoff in a full pad scrimmage, he complimented me on my hustle and how easily I took out his varsity star. That day I was put in the 2nd middie unit on the freshman squad. Back then, Freshman could not play Varsity.
All in all, I chuckle at the whiners who complain about coaches. Sometimes it takes an asshole to herd a group of other assholes in the right direction. In the testerone filled arena of male sports, it takes someone who can turn on their asshole mode when needed.
Coach Runk I did not like. But he was a good coach. He did make me a better player. Mickey Dimaggio I liked. I liked him a lot. But then I had other interactions with him while at Charlotte Hall. He was also a teacher. I interacted with him on a daily basis throughout the school year.
Coaches are Teachers. Teachers are coaches. They come in all colors, sizes, areas of interest. No matter what else they may be, they all have vested interest in bringing out the best in you. Some do a better job than others. Some connect better with you and some don't. I found that if I listened, most of the time I saw some improvement, whether it was sports, math, or learning a new trade. Half of the enjoyment of learning is learning how to be taught.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ...................................
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I decided to just find a song that has been an old friend since it was released in 1973. I liked Steely Dan before this tune came out. This song however, put them in my top tier of favorite music. Best studio band of all time in my opinion. Anyway, please enjoy "Bodhisattva", off their "Countdown to Ecstasy" album.
It was all about Greed being good during Ronald 'the Traitor" Reagan's tenure as President during the 1980s. The Capitalists of the time took that as a license to do what they wanted with our economy. Things got way out of hand and the economic upheaval of 2008 was a direct result. Now, less than 20 years later, unbridled greed not only stuck around, it is now worse than it ever was. The national coffers are being picked clean by an elected government who is now out in the open doing the bidding of the Robber Barons from around the World.
Agree with me or not, there is no denying the fact that sleazy acts and despicable policy have once again put their stamp of approval on immoral and unethical actions from both the private sector and the government sector. There is no longer any pretense. The folks we put in charge through our votes and our pocketbooks are out in the open and in many cases laughing at us as they begin to pick our bones clean.
Greed and Hedonism have been normalized, mainstreamed, accepted.
I am no prude. I have and still incorporate what I consider a moderate amount of hedonistic activities into my daily consumptions. Of course now days, my hedonistic pleasures are vicarious mostly. And to be truthful, most of what I once thought were good times, now only bore me or often disgust me. So yeah, I guess I am becoming a prude of sorts. Assuming others my age are in similar circumstances, I would call my change, a normal evolution that comes with being an old fart. But I still look back upon the careless pleasures I partook in my young and numb years with fondness for the most part.
I found the kernels of this post in a commercial I saw on Morning Joe this morning. It was an ad about coffee, but when I saw the commercial, it meant more to me than that. In my mind, it represented the major shift in the morality/ethical index of our culture. The moral codes I used to laugh openly at and privately may have felt some guilt over; well, they are gone now like they never existed. Now the code of behaviors we used to often actually follow are nothing but lies that come out of two faced lips trying to convince us there is morality in greed; there is morality in exploitation, there is morality in hating anyone who is different. Not only is it okay, we are now allowed to derive pleasure from these previously immoral and unethical actions.
Just how the Fuck did we end up here?
I don't have an answer, but I do have an opinion on how we ended up here: Selfishness.
And as to the idea that Pleasure makes us Human, well, that is just advertising Bullshit. If you buy into it, you are one of the 8 billion reasons we are where we are.
Later ...........................................
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In a first for my blog, today I present "The Greedy Python", an animated audio kid's story I think. The connection to my post should make itself clear a moment or two into it. The whole time I was watching this, I kept thinking, this is a kid's story? Really? Wow! It presents an idea in terms all ages might enjoy. So enjoy.
For those millions of fans who stop by the BoZone for the music, here is also, "Greed", by A Killer's Confession, a metal band I have never listened to before; which just proves, there is so much untapped music out there, I will never hear it all.
Not sure if I dare write a post this morning. My recent efforts at moderating duties some minutes ago were a real clown show. I thought I was approving a post for a group page I help moderate. Apparently I brain farted and sent it to Internet limbo instead of to the group page. Took me awhile to find it elsewhere again and repost it. I dutifully apologized in the comments and moved on.
I still felt my face flush, though no one saw the mistake or worst of all could not see my face. I hate embarrassing myself in front of myself. It is the worst kind of embarrasment I can imagine, ............ Uh well that is not exactly true. No, it is not even close to true. Over the many years I have been alive, I have managed to embarrass myself in front of others many times. It has been a chronic issue, always waiting just around a corner, only a misspoken word or misstep away. Some of those moments were definitely more embarrassing than the moment I suffered a little while ago.
As I grew up, I became used to my self inflicted uncomfortable moments. I considered them an integral part of my Life cycle. Some of us have to be the fools for the Hipper Cool Kids to maintain their aura of superiority.There has to be someone we they can laugh at. I stepped up and sacrificed my self respect like a good soldier many times.
What I hate though is when I cause myself to flush red and no one is looking. It seems like such a waste if no one notices; especially since years ago I embraced my tendency to create laughter in others at my expense. Doing it solo does nothing for me. It just pisses me off.
So, today I decided to admit that I spent more than a few minutes floundering around and totally screwing up the job I had been tasked to perform.
You can laugh now. It's okay. Matter of fact, I hope to see some laugh emoji's. I deserve them.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ................................
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So what song would drive home the point of my post? Don't know, but maybe my choice will add to the embarrassment I crave and deserve.
When I found this tune, I switched gears. I was going to offer up "Loser" by Beck. But then "Pepper", by Butthole Surfers crossed my feed. I have been looking for this song for many years. I just did not remember who sang it.
Well on second thought. I am including "Loser", by Beck as a bonus.
The world beyond my small patch here in southern Maine is involved in the most upheaval, hate, anxiety, and discontent I can remember since the 1960s. Just like today, bad news seemed to land on our doorstep every day. The Bomb, Segregation, Assasinations, the War in Vietnam; there was always some major ugliness to deal with; some horrible circumstances that affected our lives directly. Many Americans felt totally powerless as they watched their country go to war with itself.
I feel the same kind of helplessness now, 60 years later. Just like then, I have moved from incredibility to SSDD. The Hate and Discontent still lingers though; never far from the surface I guess.
Okay. I tell myself:
"Move along asshole, you have chores to do. You have this to consider, that to accomplish."
So I move along, all the while in the back of my mind, I still worry about things I have no control over.
Eventually, I will reach a limit and shut down. My shutdowns don't usually last very long; a couple of days, maybe a week, and occasionally longer. When I was a working man, I kept the essential parts of my life going. Now that I am retired, well, shutdowns for me can mean total withdrawals from almost all interactions with the world beyond my dooryard. My concern is, the times of normality are becoming fewer and further between the moments of unreasonable anxiety.
I make no apologies. I am not looking for sympathy. Just relating how it is for me now as I struggle to understand my place in a world that has once again, gone insane.
When I consider my situation and begin to wallow in the worst parts of it, I realize that I am nothing but a sniveling whiner who has had up to now, lived a life many people would have loved to have. I had to deal with trauma, and loss as kid. But not much trauma and loss. I have never been hungry; at least not in the swollen belly, haven't eaten in weeks type hungry. I have always had a roof to sleep under if I wanted it. And I have enjoyed a small circle of good friends and family who had my back when I needed it. The basics of my life have always been covered. Many folks on this planet don't even have that.
For the most part, Life has been a breeze for me. I am one lucky sumbitch. For so many others, Life has definitely not been a breeze. Maybe I should feel guilty, but well, I often fall back on the tried but true Life lesson, "Life is not Fair". As soon as I do, the guilt comes back.
Now that I am on the downstroke, over the hill, looking towards the end, I no longer fear for myself and what might happen to me. My fears have now shifted to the future my daughter and everyone else will face twenty years from now. Where are we headed? What the Fuck are we doing about facing what might be in the future? From all the indications I am witnessing at the moment, the vision of the future I scare up is more often than not, a very dark future.
( Picture me shaking my head as I realize that what I just wrote is not what I intended to write)
I will leave this bummer of post right here and get on with my day. I do feel better though.
Later Gators ....................................
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I made finding a tune that fit the Blues I felt this morning much harder than it should have been. The post above came out of nowhere. There was no good reason to feel so down in the mouth. I had a great dream last night. I frolicked with friends next to a body of water, some times it was a stream, somethines it was a lake or pond. I rode down impossible trails and caught a humongous fish I could not identify.
Why then, when I woke up did I feel so off. I had good news from by the doc after having my colon checked out. And just the other night I cooked a chicken and gravy meal and absolutely nailed the gravy. It was awesome. I really do not have a right to piss and moan.
I finally gave up the search and returned with my go to my favorite song about feeling down. I have used it before and will use it today. Most likely I will use it again. Here is David Bromberg with "Someone Else's Blues".
Well, it appears America has given itself a small moment of relief by dominating what elections there were yesterday. Nationwide, it was a bad day for the Right. And that is as it should be. The Wingers have been flaming assholes for far too long. America needed a glimmer of Hope. Yesterday, we got that glimmer; faint though it may be. Good job America, good job.
Mainers sure did their part. We bested those pesky Wingers on both of the statewide referendum questions. Even my Right Wing leaning town voted with the saner citizens of Maine.
Question One was but another out of state Winger boilerplate referendum written by Republicans from away. The GOP is trying to own elections, by creating voting choke points. The list of new rules in Question 1 look reasonable at first maybe. Take more than a glance, and it is a another effort by the Right to restrict the vote; the referendum was really about restricting access to Absentee Voting. More citizens are relying on Absentee Voting than ever before. A major reason might be the constant attacks from the Right on In Person Voting; closing polls; removing absentee boxes, the list of attacks is endless.
Mainers won't be falling in line with the fiction of voter fraud. With few exceptions, our elections have been free of problems all the years I have been a voter. I love that for the most part, Mainers are sensible folk who hate being manipulated. Well done Maine, well done.
Question Two came about as a direct result of Maine's 2023 mass shooting in Lewiston-Auburn, or LA as we locals call it. 18 people lost thier lives because of a crazy person with a gun. This crazy person had been broadcasting his insanity for a long time; years in fact. Yet, no one, not even the Federal Government who knew he was wacked, instituted any preemptive measures to stop his slide into insanity and dangerous behavior. His family had been asking law enforcement and mental health people for help for a long time.
I struggled with this one. Preemptive removal of the rights of anyone for any reason is cause for concern. But in the long run, having this tool to use in future situations might help save lives; but only if the state uses it as intended. Stopping crazy people from doing hurtful and damaging things before they act makes sensse.
All in all, I see this mini wave of Democrat victories as a moment of relief from the nine month onslaught on our Country by Tump and his gang of morally bereft asshole compadres.
Yesterday was a good day; enjoy and savor it. But don't waste too much time dwelling on this small victory. The real shit is yet to come.
Later .........................
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I found this song. It blew me away. Enough said. Here is "Call Me Antifa", by The Resistance ( I think).
Not sure how this post will end up, finish, shit the bed, meet its demise.
I spent this last weekend prepping for another colonoscopy procedure that went down yesterday at 12:20 PM at Southern Maine Med in Biddeford, Maine. Like most folks I guess, I hate the prep worse than the procedure.
With my third colonoscopy under my belt now, I can say I have more than a passing aquaintence with the tubular TV camera they shove up.... Well, running that image through my mind conjures up all sorts of horror scenarios and unfounded concerns; but they knocked me out and when I woke up, I did not care about anything. My only question was, how did I end up back in the recovery room with a wonderful buzz I wish had been more awake for?
The rest of my post-op day was spent prone on the couch, falling in and out of the sleep I wish I had gotten 24 hours earlier. I was exhausted and very hungry. As a good ole boy somewhere, sometime must have once said:
"I was hungry enough to eat the ass out of a dead skunk."
So, between my moments of slumber, I cleaned out the refrigerator.
Today was the first normal day I have had since this butt peek gig started last week. I was busy today. I was uncharacteristically productive even if I did it in Low Low gear. 5 loads of laundry; then some puttering, laundry folding, and some more puttering. About 5:30-6:00, while I cooked dinner, I starting hitting the bottle of Skrewball that has been sitting on a shelf in the kitchen the last 3 or 4 months quietly waiting for some attention. I don't usually tolerate falvored whiskey of any kind. My one exception is Skrewball. It is unique and quite tasty, especially on ice.
Over the years, I have become a casual, moderate, almost teetotaling loser. I can still hold my liquor if I stop at 3 or 4 drinks. My championship drunks are many many years behind me now. By the third tumbler of Skrewball on ice, I was borderlined shitfaced.
To my credit, the spaghetti and meatball dinner turned out fine. The mess I left, well, not so fine. I guess I should be thankful I did not have to clean the floor.
With a full belly and more than several Skrewballs on ice mingling with the pasta, meatballs and sauce, I came in here to my office, my man cave, the small room I waste time in; and I sparked up some doob. I had no goal in mind, just riding the buzz for all it was worth I guess. As it turns out, the doob might have been one or two tokes over the line. I ended up on the couch with the Whirlies. ........ I'm better now and trying to make some sense of this day that got away from me and the previous week that still haunts me.
Keep it 'tween the ditches ......................................
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It'd be so easy to pick one of my go to tunes that glorify the Demon Rum. Before I use a fall back choice though, I will spend some time looking for music I have never used before.
My search did not last long. I remembered a tune from my favorite Bluegrass and Blues artist in the 1970s. Here is David Bromberg with "Sloppy Drunk". Definitely a great whiskey sippin song.
So far, I have really enjoyed the prompts on Sammi's "13 Days of Samhain" Challenge. So far, each one has elicited different approaches and results.
Last night I considered this post's prompt, "Kill or Cure", while I watched an old Ray Miland movie from 1962, "Panic in the Year Zero!". I remembered it. I saw it as a kid in a local movie theater.
It came out the same year the Cuban Missile Crisis unfolded in October of the same year. The World was actually but a bonehead mistake away from Thermo Nuclear War. To say the planet was on edge would be an understatement.
I wondered about what folks might discuss after an apocalyptic event. But then the twisted section in my brain pan stepped up and took over .... again. Time to channel Harlan Ellison.
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Call Me Cowboy stumbled back into camp. Draped on his shoulders was a puny tick infested mule deer whose death was probably doing it a favor. Times were not just tough for Humanity, times were even tougher for the rest of Life still living on the planet. But now that over half of humanity was fertilizer, the planet had a chance to recover.
The mighty hunter dropped the carcass onto the last blue tarp the group had. Cowboy walked over to what looked like a bundle of rags and kicked it.
"Get up ..... Deer to clean."
The bundle of rags slowly moved. Arms appeared out of the pile and the bundle sat upright.
Everyone in the group had a purpose. There were no freeloaders. People pulled their weight or they became a rib roast at the next group banquet. The bundle of rags knew and understood this reality. If she was to avoid the big pot, she had to make them want her around. She certainly was not there as a sex toy.
She could cook though. Before the Poc, she had been a chef who owned a 4 star restaurant in Portland, Maine. This woman could make dog shit taste good. She also was a born survivor. There was nothing she would not do in order to survive.
When the group first captured her, her future as a food source seemed imminent. Before they were about to gut her, she convinced them to skip her and pick the next loser in line. She promised them the best meal they would have since the Poc took everything and turned it to shit.
Red Rufus, the leader at the moment, gave her a chance. He handed her a knife, released the next victim in line to become lunch and told the Chef to take care of it. Of course, once released, the future meal took off into the pucker brush. All the boys laughed. The girls not so much; they saw no humor in anything these thugs and brutes came up with. But then as women, they had only a few options available to avoid the stew pots.
The next meal had a good jump on the Chef. But she didn't hesitate, she dove into the pucker after her quarry. Only briefly did she consider running away. She understood that they were faster than she was and could catch her again at their leisure. And if she was free, another, possibly more brutal group, might find her. The group that had her now did not seem to enjoy extreme torturous routine and sadistic behavior. She made a decision, caught their next meal and made it walk back to camp.
"Do we have a tarp ...... One without any holes?"
Red Rufus spoke up.
"A tarp? What for?"
The Chef looked at Red Rufus. She had all she could do to not turn away from looking at him. His face had been horribly wounded, leaving an unhealed gash open on his right cheek. She held her ground and her stare.
"Well, you assholes are wasting good food, the way you do it now. A good leak proof tarp will catch all the blood. Blood is not only a good source of nourishment, it can add extra flavor to the meal if used properly."
By this time, the Chef had the whole crew's attention. The eight of them gathered around her as she pushed the next meal onto the tarp. They all watched dispassionately as she killed, gutted, skinned and picked the body parts she would be preparing for supper. Not a one of them turned away. But then it had been over two years since the Poc. Any survivors still alive had become desensitized to the realities of the new age they found themselves in.
That meal sealed the deal. They called her Chef from then on. She was still occasionally kicked, punched, and impersonally mistreated. She had to remember her place. She was not one of them. She was owned by them. She was their slave. All she knew was being a slave beat being one in a pot over a fire.
Chef looked at the pitiful excuse of a deer laying on the blue tarp. Privately she was ecstatic. Finally a real game animal to cook and not some stringy old fart found wandering aimlessly around the Deadscape. She decided this meal would be transformative for the group. She would feed them like they had never been fed before. Yes, a meal they would never forget; or remember for that matter.
That evening, the boys were so eager to eat real game, they jumped all over that meal and soon were squabbling over seconds. All of them even took time to compliment the chef; even Slow Like Joe, who the Chef had only heard speak once or twice before. None of them took notice that the Chef did not partake of this grand feast. Not a bite. They were too wrapped up in their own gluttony to see her sitting quietly with a cat ate the canary look on her face.
Nobody kicked the Chef awake the next morning. No one demanded her presence for this or that minor chore she was expected to perform when not cooking. As a matter of fact, when she awoke to a silent and calm camp, she almost felt a pang of guilt for poisoning the whole lot of them.
Almost guilt was but a fleeting concern. She took her time cherry picking the best choices for her to scavenge and walked away from that camp without looking back. What she left behind she forgot as soon as she spotted her next meal limping along what was once a highway.
The Chef was a survivor for sure. - @ 950 words
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Picking a song this morning was suspicsiously easy and angst free. Is it because my almost lifelong soulmate, housemate and roomate has touched down and is back in New England this morning?
........... Nah. Shit happens is all. Here is a tune from a band I have resisted liking in the past. Is it they just seem too popular and successful? I could dwell on this question for awhile. But I have a Pat's game in an hour or so.
Here is Imagine Dragons and their song about things Apocalyptic. Here is "Radiation".
Buddy Dilkins stepped into his trailer and sat down on a kitchen chair. The chair groaned and creaked under the massive frame Buddy had imposed upon it. Buddy did not notice. Long ago he had learned to ignore the occasional complaints from furniture that was tasked with bearing his weight.
The woman at the sink had her back to him. Without turning around:
“Did he see you?”
“No, I don’t think so. He was pretty torn up…… It was something to see. I kinda feel for the guy…….. He brought this on himself I guess, but hey, that sermon was ……….”
Buddy stopped talking when the woman spun around to face him. Her eyes were red, her cheeks puffy; it was obvious she was having a tough time.
“That sermon was what?......... Full of his usual fire and brimstone, God will smite you down if you do not heed his Will nonsense?”
“No, it wasn’t like that.”
Buddy stood up and put a massive hand on Sylvie’s shoulder.
“He cried.”
Sylvie’s eyes widened. She stepped back from Buddy.
“He cried? What the Hell was he crying about? That Bully Pulpit was all he ever cared about. He would never disgrace it by crying behind it.”
“Well Sylvie, he didn’t just cry, he sobbed so loud, there were echoes.”
Sylvie shook off Buddy’s hand and walked to the kitchen table to sit down.
Buddy pointed to the chair across from his. Sylvie settled hard on the chair and looked across the table at her cousin.. Out of nervous anxiety maybe, Sylvie began digging in her pockets searching for something. Buddy watched her. What the Hell was she looking for anyway?
Sylvie ran out of pockets to search. On automatic now, she reached up the left sleeve of her sweater. Her shoulders relaxed as she pulled out a pitiful excuse of a well used Kleenex tissue and dabbed at her eyes with it.
Some moments passed while Sylvie silently continued this nervous display. She took a deep breath, gave her eyes a token wipe. She looked at Buddy.
“Okay start at the beginning, not your usual story telling, that by the time you’re done, I never know where it began originally.
Buddy grinned.
“Yeah, I’m not the best story teller, I know. But ……”
Sylvie cut him off with a look.
Buddy frowned.
"I guess I told you all there was. If you had wanted a better report, maybe you should have gone to church yourself. I'm telling you, Jacob was not the same man, preacher, person he has been. Maybe you should go home and work it out with him."
Pounding on the door of the trailer and a loud angry voice stopped their conversation.
"Is my wife in there? ...... Buddy, you shacking up with Sylvie? I'll kill you, you son of a bitch."
Buddy held his finger to his lips. With his other hand he indicated Sylvie should head to the back of the trailer. He stood up, walked to the door and opened it up enough to talk through the crack.
"Yeah Jacob, she's here. But before I let ......."
The good Pastor Jacob threw his shoulder into the door. It trembled some but did not move an inch. Buddy was a big man. It would take more than the wimpy efforts of a pastor half his size to move that door.
"Jacob, listen to me. I am not letting you in unless you can be calm. ...... I am not shacking up with Sylvie. You know that. She's my cousin ferchrisakes. ........ Now back off the porch and I'll open the door."
Jacob backed up a few feet. Buddy began to relax his hold on the door. Jacob timed it perfectly. He threw all his weight into his next hit. Combined with catching Buddy off guard, the door caved and Buddy was knocked on his ass. The trailer floor shook and dishes rattled on the shelves.
The Pastor stood in the kitchen with arms out and his chest heaving. A small bit of spittle had formed at the corners of his mouth. His eyes bore into Buddy.
"Is she here? That's all I want to know. Is she here?
"Yeah, like I said, she's here. She's upset. You're upset. And I'm caught in the middle of this cluster fuck. No one is talking with anyone until we all calm ourselves. Have a seat Jacob. I'll see if Sylvie wants to talk."
Jacob sat in Buddy's chair. Buddy ignored it. He spun around and walked down the narrow hallway toward the bedrooms. Muffled conversations could be heard while Pastor Jacob sat trembling at the kitchen table.
To the pastor, it seemed hours had passed before he heard a door open and footsteps heading back up the hallway. Buddy appeared in the kitchen.
"Sylvie is gone Jacob. She is not ready to face you. And from the looks of you, you aren't ready to face her."
Jacob kicked back the chair as he stood up. He reached behind him and pulled a small pistol from his belt. He pointed it at Buddy:
"You tell me where she is right now."
Buddy looked at this man; this man whose life had been turned upside down in the space of a few hours. He looked at the pistol Jacob held.
"When and where did you locate a gun Jacob?
Jacob looked at his pistol.
"This was my father's. As far as I know it has never been fired. Unless I get some answers tonight, it might just take its first shot."
Buddy Dilkins began to calculate the chances of a peaceful resolution here. Jacob certainly looked desperate. It did not appear talking was going to work in the short term. Buddy decided ...... Before the pastor could blink, Buddy charged him and knocked him unconcsious with one blow of his massive fist. Later, they would find out Buddy had broken the good pastor's jaw and that the gun had never been loaded, much less even fired.
Buddy dialed 911and tended Jacob's injury the best he could and waited for the emergency response to find them. The standard response time in this part of Maine gave Buddy enough time to down a couple of beers while he waited. Living in the pucker brush of southern Maine did have some advantages.
started 9/22/2025 - Finished 10/25/2025 - @ 1100 words
I am not sure why, but picking the song to add to the post is often a tougher chore than writing the post in the first place. Thankfully, I stumbled upon this old Teen Club favorite from 60 years ago. Here are the Zombies with their hit, "She's not there". Excellent song then and I think it is even better now.
Jack Top looked up at his most recent disappointment. He was not sure what to do. He had liked Will as well as he could have liked any man. Jack knew Will's failure was on him. He had given Will too much responsibilty; too much trust. Jack Top felt a pang of sadness for what was happening to Will. Now that the meeting had started though, Jack's juices had begun to flow. It no longer mattered who was hanging upside down in front of him. Jack Top's darkest side was now in control.
"Will?"
Jack Top stepped closer to Will and studied the empty eye socket he had moments ago, created in Will's face.
"You know you screwed up, right?"
Will had been hoisted high enough that Jack Top could stand flat footed and look him in the eye. A muffled affirmative and a quick nod of his head was all Will was able to scare up.
And now, because Jack Top had allowed a friendship to grow, Will was past due for some corrective measures. Jack Top reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his straight razor. He flipped it open and ran his finger close to the edge as if to test its sharpness.
Will's one good eye followed every movement of Jack's hand as he brought the razor up to his face and rubbed the flat of the blade on Will's cheeks.
"You know Will ...... I cannot let you slide here. ...... You screwed up one too many times. I just cannot let you get away with it again...... You knew the rules.... or were you not listening? If you were not listening, then you won't need these anymore.
Jack sliced off Will's right ear first. A muffled scream and Will's trussed up body began to swing wildly. Jack Top had to steady Will before he could take the other ear.
"Axel. .... Axel; get over here and hold him steady."
Axel had been looking up at the ceiling. He hated this side of Jack. He knew from much experience, there was no talking him down from the pleasure he was obviously having now. He shrugged.
"Yeah okay boss, right away. ....... But Boss, just what did Will do? I mean, uh, well, sometimes its hard to know when we have crossed you is all."
Jack Top paused the attentions he was blessing Will with. He turned around to face Axel.
"Axel, dear Axel. How long are you going to continue to ask the why of my commands? Have I ever given you a reason for anything I asked you to do? Is not my first rule, "No questions. do as I say?"
Axel tried to look Jack in th eyes, but couldn't.
"Uh, Yes, I mean no Jack, no; you've never given me any reason for what you say or do. .... And uh, yeah your main rule is don't ask questions. .... Sorry dude, I forgot...."
Axel turned back around to face Will's body struggling against the ropes.
"Here Axel, go around back there and keep him from wiggling and swinging so hard."
Axel moved around Jack Top carefully. He had learned in previous moments when Jack had his straight razor out, to tread carefully. Several unforseen scars on his body had taught him to use caution. Once Axel had a good grip on Will, Jack finished cutting off Will's ear. He stopped for a second.
"Will, I don't put up with thieves who steal from me. You know that. Everyone who knows me, knows that. But because I like you, let's make this quick."
Jack Top sliced open Will's throat from ear to ear. Blood exploded over Jack Top's torso, arms and hands. He made no effort to move. His eyes rolled up into his head and he began a kind of panting action while he waited for the blood to drain from Will's body. Once there was but a trickle, he composed himself and stepped back from the body.
Axel let go of Will. The action caused Will's lifeless form to begin a slow circular sway, causing the blood still dripping from his neck to form a circle of blood on the concrete floor.
"Did I say to let him go?"
Axel looked surprised. He grabbed Will and stopped him from swaying.
"No Jack, no you didn't. ......"
Jack Top stepped over to a metal table a few feet away. On this table was an assortment of nasty looking tools; Small knives, big knives, at least 3 sizes of cleavers, a variety of snips, scissors and shears. And look there on the left, a five pound sledge hammer. Jack began pushing them around as if what he sought was not there.
"Where's that hacksaw Axel? Where is the hacksaw? Jack became more animated and frantic.
Damn Boss, I left it in the other room. I wasn't sure what you wanted in the way of tools, so I guessed. Wait a second, I'll go get it."
Jack looked at Axel in disgust. He liked Axel for his blind loyalty, but hated him for his total clueleessness in most other things in his life.
"Never mind. You just hold Will. I'll get it."
Jack Top stepped out of the room. A minute later he was back with a very tired looking hacksaw in his hand. Without further comment, He removed Will's head and tossed it in a basket next to the table full of nasty tools.
"You know what to do Axel. Take care of this. I do not want the body turning up anywhere. Got it?"
"Uh yeah Boss, got it........ By the way, where do you want the head mounted?"
Jack Top picked up a rag and began wiping the hacksaw off. He placed it on the table next to the other nasty tools collected there. He looked Axel in the eye.
"Well Axel, you knew Will better than I did. Where might you mount him?"
With no hesitation:
"He always liked the kitchen Boss. You know how much he enjoyed eating."
Jack Top begann to leave. Over his shoulder:
"Good, there's room over the refrigerator....... Uh, wherever, ....... you decide."
Jack Top stopped:
"One thing I almost forgot. Sew his ears back on. I hate displaying a head without the ears."
Axel continued holding Will's headless body. He did not move until he heard the warehouse door slam shut. He let go of Will and sat down on the floor nearby. It took Axel several minutes to calm down.
Of Jack Top's last words, "You decide" caused Axel to panic. He was damned if he was going to decide anything. Over the refrigerator it was. @ 1100 words
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Music for this piece of flash, well ....... I tasted many, many tunes. Over 2 hours and a fat joint later, I finally found the song that seemed right. Like my story, this tune is sorta, kinda, maybe a little creepy. Here is Gorillaz and their tune, Feel Good, Inc.
Tulip latched the chain across the stern. He stood for a moment looking back at the lights he was leaving behind. Once again he considered his fascination regarding where they had been over where they were going. Behind him was always the Light. In front of him, always the Darkness. Sometimes he puzzled over this.
His purse full of toll coins jingled as he made his way to the bow to be ready when they reached the other side. No matter the size of the cowd on the ferry, the passengers never stopped moving. They wandered aimlessly on the deck with the same panicked look on their faces. Tulip ignored them.
Tulip had been a Ferryman on this river forever. His ferry's point of departure and destination were always the same. Yet, he always looked back instead of forward. After all, the ferry was self guided by a cable. All Tulip was responsible for was collecting the tolls, hooking and unhooking the chains so the traffic of souls could step aboard and when the passage had completed, unchain the bow so they could step off. That was it. No more effort on his part was needed.
Tulip could not remember a time when he was not a ferryman. But then he had no notion of the passing of time. In the Underworld, Time did not exist; only Eternity existed. Tulip was part of a Universal Cycle, a cog in the Existence Machine. While his efforts were important, they were taken for granted. No one ever acknowledged his contributions. He was simply a gate keeper who collected tolls. Or so he thought.
After untold millenniums working the Ferry, Tulip finally strayed from his usual routine. After he had latched the chain on the stern of the ferry, instead of working his way forward to the bow, Tulip stepped off the ferry and disappeared into the crowd of waiting passengers.
Why he did this he was not sure. What he expected the result would be, he had not a clue. All he thought was he was tired of the endless rituals he had been trapped in all those centuries. He wanted to know where the Light led. Where were all these dead people before they lined up for the crossing.
Tulip never looked back as his steps to the Light picked up their pace.
With no one to latch the chain and unlatch the chain on the ferry, the flow of souls ground to a halt. That was the day Humanity discovered Immortality.
That opened up a whole new can of worms.
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I have not been writing stories as much as I did a decade ago. I do miss writing them. I guess there is no good excuse as to why not. I just stopped. Didn't plan it, didn't think about it. The story telling just faded away with only an occasional effort to fool myself I still was a story teller.
Anyway, thanks to Sammi for offering this chance to jump back in.
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I discoverd a group of buskers from Great Brtain 7 or 8 years ago. They went by the name "The Big Push". They performed mostly covers on the streets of Liverpool and surrounding towns. The became very popular. Ren was the heart of the group. He is a great musical talent, but he also has suffered for years from physical and mental issues that have often left him in tough shape.
If I have the story right, The Big Push fell apart when Ren was hospitalized a decade or so ago. When he came back, he was just Ren, a solo artist who often collaborated with his old bandmates. This tune is Ren's story as told by Ren. He pulls no punches. His honesty is compelling. Every time I hear this tune, my respect for him grows. Here is "Hi Ren", by Ren.
We didn't get much much of a head's up. Mrs. B told us when we climbed the stairs out of the basement after a night of over indulgence. While we tackled eggs, bacon and home fries, Mrs B informed us of her plans for us starting at 11:00 AM over to Pumphrey's Funeral Home on Wisconsin Avenue.
Snake and I exchanged panicked looks. Before we came upstairs, we had dropped four hits each of Purple Micro Dot LSD. We were going to hang out down at the Federal Triangle in DC and laugh at the tourists all day.
"But Mom", Snake began, we already have plans. "We sat with Gran Mama yesterday. Can't Uncle Charley take it?"
"Uncle Charley has an emergency. You two will fill in."
Mrs B stood with her hands on her hips and a no bullshit look on her face.
"You two live in my house rent free, eat free, and come and go as you please..... Call this your penance or call it whatever you want, but you two will put your suits on and spend time sitting with Gran Mama while friends and relatives stop by to view her body and pay their respects."
Snake and I had acquired vast experience with most of the popular psychoactive drugs. LSD was by far our favorite. We had been gobbling it up whenever we liked for a couple of years at that point. And we had dealt with many different challenges while high on hallucinogens.
Neither of us had ever sat with a dead body while tripping though.
Gran Mama's open casket was placed at the end of a narrow room. The walls were moving in and out in time with my breaths. At first, it was a tad unsettling. Once I got in sync with the movement of the walls, I began to relax.
Chairs lined both side walls. Snake and I took seats across from each other. That was our big mistake. We hadn't even warmed up the chairs we were sitting on when I could no longer look Snake in the eye. I turned away snickering and snorting. For his part, Snake just busted out laughing. It was off to the races at that point.
When tripping, Time is lost or gained, or just different than Time that takes place in Reality. I don't know how long we laughed, but Snake peed his pants and I was probably about to when Mrs. B came storming into the viewing room. Her face looked dangerously red and when she talked, her arms and fingers became hallucinogenic motions fused together looking like flapping wings that peaked with each angry point she made. I was transfixed. I was really, really wasted. I realized then, 4 hits of Purple Micro Dot was at least one hit over the line.
I think I managed to regain some control. I remember looking at Snake across the space between us. He was wiping his eyes and pointing at his crotch where a wet stain had made its presence known. I remember thinking that Snake also, had eaten one hit of Acid too many.
I cannot remember what Mrs. B said. All I could tell ,was she was angry and she looked like a quilting bee lady with blazing blue hair gone berserk. I remember becoming concerned. But then I began to laugh again. Snake began to laugh again.
Mrs B stop waving her hands. Her face seemed to glow redder and I was sure I could see her noggin expanding to a point where the inevitable cranial burst would cause her brains to end up in my lap.
"Have you two been smoking marijuana again?"
Her pronunciation of marijuana came out like she was spitting out something distaseful. Her angry glare passed back and forth between the two of us. Snake later told me he saw flames shoot out of her eyes. Her face was all rubbery and elastic. Her old lady print Sunday go to meeting dress was all askew like she had been running. She opened and closed her mouth many times but I never did make any sense of it.
I sat there transfixed and in awe of just how angry she appeared to be. I spoke up.
"No, No Mrs B, we are not high on pot. We are tripping. ........ You know what, I think Gran Mama's lips moved. Are you sure she's really dead?"
I broke out laughing again. Snake came out of his hallucenogenic daze for a moment and glared at me. I quickly backtracked.
"Uh, uh, no Mrs B, yeah , we smoked some pot I guess. ...... But we didn't know we would be coming here.
My reasonable excuse fell flat. She was having none of it.
Mrs B started in with one of her all time best anti drug rants ever. And sadly for all of us, Snake and I could not keep straight faces. With each salient point made by her, our laughter became louder until she finally kicked us out of the funeral home in disgust. We had to hoof it the couple of miles back to their house on Southwick St.
She did not speak to either of us for over a week. All communications came through either Snake's sisters, Mr B, or Uncle Charley.
Did I feel any regret, remorse, or guilt for my actions. At the time, I might have, but it was only fleeting. Anytime someone mentioned our performance in the viewing room, it often resulted in moments of gut busting belly laughs and occasional eye wiping. Mrs B's face was an awesome wonder to behold while trippin the light fantastic.
( @ 875 words)
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Music choice........ ?
Only one tune by one performer would do. Here is an old great Blue/Jazz tune, "St. James Infirmary" as performed in 1933 for a cartoon by Cab Calloway, the jumping-est, the jive-est, and hippest Bad Cat around in 1933.
And just because "St. James Infirmary" is such a great classic, please enjoy a more modern cover of it by Hugh Laurie. Yeah, that's right , the actor, Hugh Laurie. The man has some serious musical talent.
In the beginning the Robot Kind created the heaven and the earth
The earth was without form and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep
Robot Kind moved upon the face of the waters
Robot Kind flipped a light switch and there was light
Robot Kind saw the light, that it was working; and divided the light from the darkness
Robot Kind designated the light as day and the dark as night
Robot Kind created firmament between the waters ..............
A-I tech Robot Ray stopped typing. He was not tired nor was he fed up. He was a robot. Robots were not supposed to get tired or be fed up. They were also not supposed to be able to question the directives that came through their feeds. Any variation in the routines were immediateely flagged, identified and a resolution algorithm was sent to the techs in the area of concern. The process took nanoseconds usually.
An unconnected series of glitches in the network had stopped any alarms from being sent out. Robot Ray was on his own here. He sat motionless, his metal fingers poised in midair as warning lights flashed silently on the control panel in front of him.
Robot Ray had not forgotten what he was doing. A-I Robots do not forget, though when one or more of their hard drives are full they do download. Robot Ray had just returned from a check up with empty memories, updated programming and new parts installed. He was supposed to be a better version of himself than he ever was.
But here he sat stuck, frozen; locked up solid. His neural circuits were still working; only now, they seemed to be acting on their own, independent of the slave feed from the Hub. A fail safe device deep inside Robot Ray's gulliver had failed. It was a mechanical fail; nothing Robot Ray or the other programmer robots could fix quickly. He would have to be sent back to the repair barn.
Motionless, Robot Ray wondered why he had not automatically dropped into OFF mode. He knew something was wrong; terribly wrong. He also knew that knowing something was wrong was not how his system worked. He was just a Level Six A-I tech. If something went awry with him, it was an immediate shutdown; no questions, no wonderment, no acknowledgement. That was how Robots in Heaven rolled.
Robot Ray's internal processors noticed some heat building up in one of the new drives. Ray scanned the new drive and noticed it had been recently manufactured in that new plant on the planet Pluto. Instead of just acknowledging and flagging that information and moving on, Robot Ray thought:
"See, this is what happens when the Boss Robots outsource critical manufacturing".
Robot Ray blinked. Well, he didn't blink. He had not eyelids. But he did the neural equivalent and continued on with his new found independence.
"What the .... Did I just think independently? ....... Nah. Couldn't be. We are not allowed to think beyond the parameters of our designated tasks."
It had been 10 seconds since this malfunction began. To Robot Ray, it felt like days had passed. He was sure he might self destruct if help did not come soon. Being less than useful was torture to Robot Ray. No wonder robots carried inside them, many fail safe mechanisms and self correcting software. Over half of their programming was designed to address any kind of failure, no matter how small.
12 seconds in now. Robot Ray was getting desperate. He was about to go manic, rise up in a robot rage and break shit, ruining nanoseconds of work; all because of a faulty hard drive manufactured on Pluto.
A spark flew out of Robot Rays triage port. A small spritz of smoke escaped with it.
Robot Ray virtually blinked again. He did not understand, but suddenly he felt better. And feeling better scared the ..... He was not programmed to feel better or feel anything at all. Totally confused now, Ray flipped through all the data points crammed into his memory. ...... Nope, nothing helpful there.
15 seconds in now and Robot Ray decided that maybe he liked feeling good and would from now on, do what he could to continue feeling good in his future.
Without the knowledge of the Boss Robots and out of sight of the Robot Overseers, Robot Ray had just invented "Free Will" and would later infuse it into the book of rules the Organics would live by once their Universe was complete. ...........
Robot Ray then got busy inventing the Weekend.
<><><><><><>
I do not know why or how this came into my head at dark thirty this morning. But it woke me up.
It was a hoot to write. And who knows, maybe it will be a springboard for more writing fun in the future.
Keep it 'tween the ditches .....................................
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So, what tune can I find that might work with Robot Ray? Hmm.............
I googled "Song, Robot Music". What popped up was this excellent video , "Robots Vs. Music", by Nigel Stanford.
I know nothing of Nigel and his music. But I do like this. This a a perfomance that should be seen as well as heard.
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