On The Inside of…Jericho

Can’t decide which of these songs I should start with or if I should move them into the middle or perhaps the end.

Saw backside of Jericho and observed the curves and thought about what might lie upon the inside and whether the present would be an accurate reflection of memory or if it might prove to be different.

It could be that which I remember as being amazing is less than that now because time changes everything or it could be just as good and maybe even better.

The song in my head and heart says as good or better but the time in which a man might go spelunking and or simple exploring hasn’t presented itself yet so speculation has been all that has been allowed.

Been doing a significant amount of thinking, even for me and have wondered if the writers I admire most write their stories as I do by gut or if they build an outline.

Wondered if maybe I ought to build such an outline as it might provide a clearer path to follow and have found myself laughing because every time I have tried to build such a thing circumstances have forced my hand.

Demented, Deranged & Delusional

Sometimes I delete comments people make on my Facebook posts and sometimes I delete comments people make here.

Occasionally people write me angry notes, emails and or text messages demanding I allow them to speak.

I rarely acknowledge their remarks and if I do respond it is often with flames and vigor.

You are in my virtual home and though I will do my best to be a good host I am not under any obligation to let you say whatever you wish.

If I find it offensive or think it is offensive to others I might choose to delete it.

It is not because I require safe spaces because I have a thick skin but because it is my fucking online home and I make arbitrary rules that require no explanation.

Count that double if you try to interpret or justify the demented, deranged and delusional rantings of the profoundly dumb.

The symbol of the sickness and infection that has taken center stage here shouldn’t require interpretation.

He should be able to speak clearly and if he can’t he needs to get the fuck out. This isn’t a Talmudic discussion.

I am not looking to see how Rashi or the Rambam interpreted a particular gemara and if I was I would be ok with it because I expect that.

It is not ok in this situation or circumstance. It is infuriating, disturbing and disgusting primarily because 0f the deplorable dunces who deign disdain for law ok for the dummy and not for others.

Why they can’t see the incongruence of claiming we are a nation of laws while allowing the Head Fool to dance around it blows me away and not as I wish.

****

I focused on exercises that would work my core, arms and back today.

Pulled, pushed and grunted through a significant amount of weight and then did 1.5 miles on the elliptical.

One of the kids at the gym asked me if I was sad or angry because they said my faces made it look as if it was so.

I said it might be both but didn’t elucidate further because I was irritated that no one who knows me has asked and irritated that such a childish thought pored through my head.

And then I thought about the 8,984,843 fights dad and I had while I was trying to prove I was my own man.

Some of those are reflected upon me now because I am the father and my own son is wrestling with who he is to become.

The clickety-clack of the machine next to me derailed that particular line of thought and I caught a glance of a partial reflection.

I saw muscles ripple and for a brief moment wondered if what I saw was accurate or a ghost from 25 years ago.

Tug Of War

Three thoughts float through my head.

I am nearing the end of pledging my fraternity and one of the actives tell me he has seen everyone else change but me.

Flash forward two years and I am part of the tug-of-war team and we are losing. We are getting dragged and some of the others are dropping the rope but I refuse.

Now I am starting to get pulled in a way that is unlikely to end the way I wish but I can’t quit.

Flash forward another two and I am listening to my rabbi talk about how no one changes or grows on Gilligan’s island and why we don’t want to live our lives like that.

Push forward several decades and I recognize the eyes, the hands and the feet but am not so sure about other parts.

I am still good about planting my feet and retaining my head. Still good at not being dragged along but wondering how much growth has taken place and whether there is ever a time where we say enough.

A moment where we declare our heads stuffed to capacity.

There is a story I know. It is a great adventure that has a beginning, a middle and an end but I can’t figure out whether the middle has arrived or passed.

Surely the ending hasn’t been written yet, at least not according to my gut.

So I wonder if I sat with my favorite writers and asked them about their process, would they talk of outlines or writing until you know you have written it all.

I am standing outside, staring at the curves, thinking about the walls and what lies on the inside.

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