The Ravelin' Man

Some people I have spoken with believe that their lives unravel as they grow older.

Me, I believe life ravels as we grow older...the confusion clears up, that which was indistinct becomes clear, mysteries unfold.

In short, life gets better, easier to understand.

Least, that's how it's been for me, since the age of thirty, the older I get the better things get.

'course, a lot of that thinking can be attributed to the fact that everything before thirty was somewhat crappy.

The Unseen Forces

The world is constantly being roiled by unseen forces. Forces not only unseen, but almost impossible to accurately identify by any known scientific means.

By that I mean that there are quite a few known unseen forces, those forces, such as wind, barometric pressure, magnetism, etc., which can be felt, and the effects of those forces can be seen, and the strength of those forces can be measured.

The unseen forces I'm talking about, the ones that cannot be accurately measured or witnessed, are those created by emotions humans feel.

Not the actions humans take based on how they feel, just the emotions themselves.

Think about it. Every room full of humans has a certain feel, a mood if you will, and in it's simplest form, the planet earth is just one really big room.

With 7.7 Billion people milling about, all feeling something or other, all contributing to the feel of the room.

The mood of the planet.

Egomaniac With A Sourpuss

He had planned on growing up to be somebody
Somebody with a much, much better grasp on things
Yeah, he was going to be a mover, a shaker
At the very least a creator
Lost his way and never was able to get back on track
Too much pride to stop and ask for directions
But when you're just going downhill you really don't
Need a map

When anyone asked if he needed help
He told them he could do it all, and he could do it all alone
Thought any extra hands would just get in the way
Or worse, divert his attention from the grindstone


They called him a loner, or a recluse, an individualist at best
When he was thinking of himself as a maverick
While acting like an antisocial misanthrope
Justifying all of his actions with the claim it was his intellect

The Lost Rave Warehouse Murals Of Denver

Before Denver became the Cannibis Capital of the western world, there were scores of old empty warehouses. Some of these old empty warehouses were transformed into underground nightclubs of a sort, ravehouses if you will.

The decor for these buildings was provided by some very creative, talented muralists, and yesterday I found myself near the location of one of those old underground nightclubs (that was now being used to house a Grow supply wholeseller).

Probably 80 to 90 percent of the murals that were done have long-since been painted over. Those that remained I was given the opportunity to take a few pics of and here they are.

Stop Telling Me How To Drive, I know How To Drive!

                   
                       Then he said, "That tree wasn't there the last time I jumped this curb."

Who's A Good Doggy!

Nothing To Do, Nothing To Do

Kevvy looked at Pete and said "Whatta ya wanna do?"
Pete said to Kevvy, "Man I don't know, it's up to you."
Both of them nursing drinks as if they owe them their lives,
Can't afford to be too hasty in this crappy ol' dive

"Hey," said Kevvy, "Why don't we hit up Wacko Ron? 
I mean, he might be loopy but he always has it going on."
Pete replied, "No way, that dude always wants to fight,
I ain't got time for that crazy hotheaded idiot tonight."

Oh so it went for the rest of the day
Two bored jokers with nothing to do or say
Should we climb up on the roof, maybe steal some bikes
How about we hitch a ride over to Pumpkinhead Mike's

Nothing to do, nothing to do
Two bored jokers with nothing to do

Three & A Half Minute Symphony To The Summer

We were discussing music at the Rose the other day during a rare bit of quiet time, and the question was broached, "What is your favorite song of all time?"

There were quite a few of us present, representing fairly diverse taste from about sixty years of actively listening to music.

Possibly due to the sorta recent release of the movie Bohemian Rhapsody, two people, one in their late twenties, the other over fifty, chose that particular song. 

One chose Over The Rainbow by Judy Garland and another chose Ella Fitzgerald & Duke Ellington's It Don't Mean A Thing (By far the oldest songs mentioned).  

Being a man with wide exposure to an even wider spectrum of cross-generational musical styles and genres, quite a few tunes flashed through my mind as I pondered my response.

For all of three, four seconds, tops.

My choice has pretty much always been Good Vibrations by the Beach Boys for about as long as I can remember. It's the one song that literally has always put a smile on my face and it just makes me glad to be alive.

I know people who hate that song, which just baffles me to no end. Music is subjective though, and different beats for different folks, eh?

The North Eastern European Ancestry Blues

The displaced Norwegian meth-head I met in Kainuu told me over and over again that she needed to feed her kid and I replied (in my pathetic broken Norwegian) that I didn't want any part in what she did - all the European women that approached me seemed to think that all American men only wanted one thing but I wasn't here for that I wasn't here to swing I was here looking for some history I was here looking for some roots and despite the resistance to my queries from officials and women in thigh high boots I was determined to get a few answers I was determined to uncover a few lost truths.

I woke early the next morning

Left without a goodbye

Had three days left on the car hire

Got three hundred miles to drip dry

The first village I hit was an hour outside of Vilnius they had one phone in the post office and it took a ridiculous amount of time to explain to the native Lithuanian clerk who had been taught English by a Russian exactly who I was and what I was there for - she kept wanting to call the police and persisted in that course of action until she succeeded but the young policeman had been raised on American TV shows and understood quickly that I was only there to hopefully find out a little about my family.

That night I was able to find lodging

In a Bed & Breakfast of sorts

Run by a widowed woman and her son

Who stared at me as I ate my dinner of borscht

Patternless Waves & Skimming Sea Birds

Bomb Cyclones Keep Falling On My Head...

Self Indulgent Self Righteous Love Song For The Sad Day Dreamer

Out of touch
Out of my head
Things happening all around me
But nothing interesting is being said
Can't find the common ground
That I used to believe I had
With my fellow disbelievers
With the friends I use to have

Going blank
Going blank
Going, going blank

No use for any more knowledge
No use for any more entertainment
It's all stale rehashed sermons
It's all just mass appeal enslavement
Can't break free of the mindtrap
That I walked into willingly
With my mind wide open
With my filters all shut down

Going blank
Going blank
Going, going blank

Misdirection By Mislabeling

He had been known as Arnold the Blind, primarily because his vision was shot and not even the most powerful lenses available could help him see more than two inches past his nose.

Or at least that is what he allowed everyone around him to believe. The truth was, he could see quite well, but he feigned having poor eyesight as it allowed him to closely observe those who served him without appearing intrusive.

He coupled that ploy with pretending he couldn't hear without his horn, which again worked out in his favor as most people, once they were sold on the disabilities he was selling, would speak in his presence as if he were invisible.

The information he gathered, especially information as to the personality quirks and shortcomings of various officials in his government, he used to steer the ship of state, so to speak, with the assistance of a number of extremely low-ranking members of the bureaucracy who also were extremely loyal to him.

He was able to do this for well over two decades, years that were remarkably peaceful and prosperous. That did not come without costs, of course, but in the Kingdom that Arnold ruled the costs were borne by those who could most readily bear them, and who most deserved to have to bear them.

King Arnold was a rare sovereign, for he had no patience for court intrigues or Machiavellian machinations. He awarded various positions of authority to people he thought were well-suited for responsibility, and the first time he received verifiable word that one of his trusted officials was abusing their position in any manner, he quietly made them go away.

Sometimes they were simply dismissed from their positions, sometimes they were exiled to a far away land, and sometimes, in the instances where not only was a position used for personal gain but people, innocent people, were harmed in the process, well, sometimes those officials fell deathly ill, or disappeared while out at sea or on a diplomatic mission.

For early on King Arnold had learned to be decisive, and that being thought of as being incapable of making clear distinctions was a decidedly ingenious method of being decisive with being disrupted.

Stumped

The SS Waratah has never been found. Not a trace. Disappeared off the coast of Africa in July of 1909. There was a great effort made at the time to locate the ship, but no wreckage was ever sighted and not one identifiable bit of the ship ever washed ashore.

211 souls were onboard the SS Waratah when she disappeared. Some have speculated that a rogue wave capsized the vessel, while others claim it was most likely a coal dust explosion.

Still others insist the explanation for the SS Waratah's disappearance is an other worldly one. These people claim a sinister force was at work off the coast that night, a dark, mysterious force.

Those people need to find better things to do with their time.

Containing The Damage

Kinda like the way this pic came out - the light was perfect

Dropping Anchor

The lee side of the large green island was calm, as expected. 

We had encountered dark skies that warned of a coming squall only a day before, but the Skip was familiar with the islands and knew that once we had skirted southwest we would be out of harms way.

The islands, most of which were the result of volcanoes that had burst from the sea eons ago, were spread out along a three-hundred mile chain, and we never seemed to be out of sight of at least one of them as we sailed through the azure sea. 

Navigation was easy as we were running with the wind, and at this time of year the wind favored our course.

Which was by design. There would be no point in taking a sloop out to spend it in irons, and as close as we would get to that state would be a couple of corrections that would have us at ninety degrees off the wind for a short while.

We had been on the water for most of the day and as the sun started to drop we made for a harbor under reefed sails. 

The large island had been known as a welcoming rest stop for sailors for a few hundred years, and a modern dock awaited us, complete with a laundry and hot showers - all the conveniences in fact, even a fancy restaurant.

After securing a seat at the long bar and placing an order for dinner and drinks, I took a good look around at the packed alehouse. 

There were men and women of every strip to be seen - weary crew who had been out at sea far longer than I could imagine, still trying to find their land-legs. Tourists posing for pictures in front of the open windows that overlooked the bay, and locals dressed up for a night out with their friends or family, along with a fair number of rough looking characters no doubt there looking for prey.

Just as I was about to turn back to the bar I caught sight of a small figure sitting in a corner near the kitchen, almost hidden behind a towering palm tree. She was staring at nothing in particular and as I focused my attention on her a cold chill raced down my spine.

It was her, no doubt about it. It was the one woman I never thought I'd ever see again, not in a million years.

Except a million years had yet to pass - It had been only eight years, not the million I'd hoped for.

Desperately, I searched my pockets for my gun

The Temporariness Of Now

Had an idea, a sparked thought if you will.

But I cannot recall what it was, and I didn't write it down.

So it's gone, gone, gone.

Try as I might I cannot recall at all what the idea was, I just have the nagging feeling it was a great one, and it was something along the lines of making the world a much better place for everyone.

That's how it goes. All the altruistic notions I have seem to vanish the instant I'm distracted, and all the selfish ideas I have seem to have the staying power of the odor of fried fish.

Dagnabit.

Breaking Up Was The Best We Could Do

Wouldn't buy you flowers

Never took you anywhere

Couldn't talk on the phone until the wee hours

Didn't whisper sweet nothings in your ear

Treated you just as you treated me

About the the only good thing we ever did for each other

Was to adamantly agree

That we had no use for one another

Yeah, breaking up wasn't hard to do

There wasn't much there in the way of glue

Yeah, breaking up was the best we could do

You breaking up with me

Me breaking up with you

Holding hands isn't something we did

Nothing to return because we never exchanged

Pictures or rings, God forbid

Won't even have to label ourselves estranged

Arguably, we can hardly call it parting

What was there was slightly more than tenuous

 Never even had pet names for each other, Darling

Don't think we even ever referred to us as "us" 

Yeah, breaking up wasn't hard to do

There wasn't much there in the way of glue

Yeah, breaking up was the best we could do

You breaking up with me

Me breaking up with you