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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/nordicnoir/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/2
by Ned
Rated: 13+ · Book · Entertainment · #2199980
Thoughts destined to be washed away by the tides of life.
I've been studying my cover photo for a while now, and it seems to me that it is more than just a photo of what is there that can be seen, more than just three white rocks stacked on a beach. It contains an important question about the future, about what happens long after the photographer has gone. What will happen to our pile of stones when the tide comes in? Will it topple or has the architect built this structure at a safe distance?

I don't know what will happen to these words that I stack here on the sand. They may prove safely distant, or they may be swallowed up by a rush of self-doubt. They may be here for a season. They may lose their balance and be scattered by the shoreline, or be hidden away under shifting sands. Perhaps someday, the tides of life will reclaim them.


Or maybe that's just a bunch of poetic, romantic nonsense. After all, this is just a blog.




Previous ... 1 -2- 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 ... Next
November 1, 2021 at 9:08am
November 1, 2021 at 9:08am
#1020520
In the past week, I have had two people tell me that they have only just run out of the toilet paper they bought in the early days of the pandemic rush. I did not know that I even knew such people. I had no idea that I counted hoarders among my acquaintances. I was shocked, horrified - and a little jealous. While I don’t condone hoarding, it is a valuable skill in times of apocalypse. I know two people I am adding to my “best friends for the end of the world” list.

October 8, 2021 at 8:31am
October 8, 2021 at 8:31am
#1018936
Ah, the ‘80s. I didn’t appreciate how special that decade was when I was living through it. The movies, the music, the fashion - everything was exaggerated, shiny, new and flashy. Michael Jackson was the perfect musical artist for the era that saw the rise of MTV and the transformation of music video into short art film. And Thriller was one of the first and possibly the best of these highly produced story films that kept us in front of our TVs, watching music. I could go into a long discussion of the sad disintegration of MTV as it has devolved into reality television but that’s a rant for another day.

Thriller hit our television screens in late 1983 and nothing has ever been the same. It is the most iconic music video ever made. What other bit of filmed choreography has been duplicated and performed by so many groups, flash mobs, marching bands and even prison inmate populations over the years?

If anything will make you miss the entertainment value of music videos, Thriller will. It’s a story within a story, fear and horror that is alternately instilled in the viewer and then relieved with “it’s just a movie”. The inclusion of horror movie genre giant Vincent Price as voice over narrator brilliantly creates the atmosphere of fear and danger while also keeping us caught between the security of fiction and the concern that it might all be real.

While a fourteen minute video with long instrumental sections risks losing the attention of viewers who are used to short, snappy, bouncy music videos, Thriller is riveting throughout.

That said, the track is also highly listenable. It’s Michael Jackson. It’s from the ‘80s. The beat, the vibe, the irresistible invitation that it sends to your feet to move- it’s all there and it’s timeless.

Michael’s voice and his punctuation of the music with his squeals, grunts and other guttural expressions speak to a more ancient part of our brains where we understand the experience in deeper ways, way back in our genetic memory formed when our ancestors faced a dark and dangerous world filled with superstition, fear and shadow.

Thriller.



September 14, 2021 at 8:12am
September 14, 2021 at 8:12am
#1017384
Everyone loves Autumn. There’s a whole seasonal sub-culture of Autumn worshippers. There are rituals that they engage in to celebrate the changes in the weather - such as sprinkling pumpkin spice on everything they eat, drink or bathe with. Everything except pumpkin, of course, I don’t know many (besides myself) who are interested in eating anything made with actual pumpkins. A large majority of Autumn worshippers are simply anticipating the one day per year that they can play dress-up without seeming weird. It’s tough growing up and being an adult. Sometimes, adults just want to pretend to be someone else and on October 31st, it’s socially acceptable to do so.

And this season worship raises the simple change of the weather and the scenery, to something that has become so revered that it must be called “Autumn” now by everyone, even those of us who grew up calling it “Fall”. There’s a good reason we call it Fall where we live. Things fall. Fall is so simple and descriptive. Look out the window and watch the cascade of colorful leaves falling to the ground. The wind may grab them and twirl them in a frenzied dance as they fall, but fall they must.

I realize that Autumn isn’t the same everywhere. It doesn’t even come at the same time of year everywhere. But here in New England, the fiery festival runs from ‘ember to ‘ember. The first colors appear in September, heralding the beginning of the season. Autumn officially ends in December. But for me, the season is all about the Fall. And, I think that if you are lucky enough to live where the changing of the seasons is so beautiful, so dramatic, and so dependent on gravity, you ought to call it Fall, too.
September 10, 2021 at 1:42pm
September 10, 2021 at 1:42pm
#1017188
Sometimes, the choice to go along is a good one. Keep the peace, keep smiling, "keep on truckin' " - just like the iconic '70s poster urged us to do. But those posters in the '70s were full of a lot of less than brilliant philosophical musings. Remember the one about setting your seagull free? The '60s were all unrest, protest and clamoring for change. Then the Vietnam War ended in defeat and with unimaginable casualties on both sides. The entire nation was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of violence, tired of hating each other for reasons that some could not even define. We started on a new era where peace and love were the only two human states mentioned. Protest was starting to be forgotten. By the 80s, it was non-existent. We would have protested, but nothing seemed that important.

I was never a big fan of protests or hippies. I was a child, but I was born old. It all looked silly to me, blowing up things for peace, killing for peace, saying "peace" but spreading unrest. The time to be a hippie and buck the system is when you're young but I wasn't interested back then.

That is why it is so strange to find myself full of revolutionary spirit at this advanced age. Sure, it has to contend with the natural urge to nap, but in between naps, when I am quite awake, I find myself getting quite riled about the world and its ways.

But it's unlikely to make a difference. The young make the differences in this world. All I can do is hope that enough of them have the right vision to take the future down the right path.

As for me, I shall still sit here and grumble at the state of the world and how quickly my coffee grows cold. That's what old age is all about, living long enough to earn the right to complain.
August 27, 2021 at 9:00am
August 27, 2021 at 9:00am
#1016224
It's still too hot to type.

I am going to spend the mornimg sitting in front of the AC and crocheting a zebra for my daughter's baby who will arrive at the end of September - if he's on time.

I have thoughts of crocheted or knitted pumpkins and fall leaves to decorate a wreath for the door. I probably won't get things done in time. I should concentrate on Christmas, because I never get things done before the season is over.

Anyway, no writing for a while. I need to restore my strength before the Birthday Week begins.
August 27, 2021 at 7:50am
August 27, 2021 at 7:50am
#1016217
Well, I have signed up for the Birthday Blog Bash Relay. I think I had better check on the official name and learn it before it starts.

Anyway, I have joined a team - The Pedantic Poets Platoon.

Members:
He’s Brian K Compton 18 year
Beholden
Ned

And I set up a new blog here: "PPC 4

For this contest: "The WDC Birthday Bash Blog Relay
August 10, 2021 at 11:31am
August 10, 2021 at 11:31am
#1015457
Trying to concentrate this morning, distracted by the noisy fish.

I never realized how much noise a goldfish actually makes.

We bought a new filter for the fish tank. It's called a "Whisper". It doesn't even do that. The thing is virtually silent. Which means that I can now hear all the noises the fish makes.

Fish are not quiet. They don't glide silently through the depths with muted grace. It is not a calm and soundless world. At least not with this goldfish in it.

All I can hear in the background is the constant "clink clink" as the inhabitant of the tank (sometimes called "Fred", sometimes called "Finn", but mostly called "Fish") searches for food he's overlooked amongst the gravel. "Clink, clink" goes each pebble as he picks it up in his mouth to glean the food from it and then spits it out, slamming it against the tank wall.

How am I supposed to write under these conditions?
August 7, 2021 at 1:36pm
August 7, 2021 at 1:36pm
#1015269
Recently, there was some dispute about swearing and the use of cuss words in writing and other forms of communication. I was rather unceremoniously implicated in some plot to outlaw swearing, I am not sure why, as this post is the first time I have written on the subject.

That is not to say that I am pro-swearing. I don’t believe I am, though I do swear sometimes. I am not for locking up all people who swear, either. It’s a matter of personal choice. But like all personal choices, it affects the image we present to the world and the world will think as it likes, despite how we want them to think. If I decide to dye my hair purple, some people will think I am edgy or fun, other people will think I am senile. So, it would depend on whether or not I like purple hair and whether I can withstand the odd looks from those who disapprove.

If I were to write a story with a hard-bitten character, it would seem silly to have him utter phrases such as “Oh, my!” or “golly”. Those are lines of dialogue best suited to Dorothy in Oz. But in expressing my own personal views, I think the more authentic voice is somewhere in between those two extremes.

Even though I am extremely unlikely to include profanity in a blog post, it isn’t simply because I don't use it much in speech. It’s partly because it gets repetitive if not saved for moments of high dudgeon. It’s as if I used the adjective “very” in every sentence.

It was a very hot day. I was very tired and very thirsty. I had been walking a very long time under a very bright sun in this very dry desert.

I can’t believe anyone would review that paragraph and not beg me to use some more descriptive adjectives. Now, replace "very" with a common swear word. It’s still repetitive isn’t it?

I grew up in a household where there was no swearing. None. No one swore on television, either. For me, swearing was an indication of an out-of-control, angry person. Once, at a friend’s house, I was terribly frightened by my friend’s father who was swearing at a toy he could not get to work. My friend was unfazed. This was the usual at that house, for that family.

For someone unused to cussing, it can seem threatening or angry. It’s funny that in a world where so many claim that “words are violence” and feel injured when someone expresses a differing opinion to their own, the effect that a raised tone of voice and a torrent of profanity has on a person unused to that is not considered.

Swearing has its place for just about everyone, I think. There are those who feel empowered by it, but there are also those who are offended by it. No one has to stop swearing because it offends people, especially if they don’t particularly care about offending people. No one should start swearing because of pressure to conform, nor should they give up using the adjectives or interjections of their choosing.

Personally, I like to save my cuss words for when I am good and angry. Or when I do something stupid and feel frustrated. I want you to know that I am more upset than usual. Besides, cuss is a permutation of curse, and I don’t want to be speaking curses over people.
July 16, 2021 at 11:15am
July 16, 2021 at 11:15am
#1013738
I came across a social media post that asked: “Do you remember your fifth grade teacher?”

Yes, I do.

I struggle to remember my first grade teacher. I have one image of her in my mind but cannot conjure up her name or anything else about her (except her failure to ease my fears on my first day of school) but I was five years old and such a tiny, anxiety-ridden creature that I think I pulled a Sybil and my conscious mind refused to attend first grade. It’s all lost to me.

I do remember second grade and the teacher’s name. I remember third grade and what my teacher looked like, but the name escapes me. I remember my fourth grade teacher, her name and her photos of her dogs. I must have started paying attention by this time.

Fifth grade was Mr. B. He was the youngest teacher that I had ever had up until that point. He was kind and handsome with thick, black hair and he wore things like purple shirts with modern neckties. Yes, I am that old. Teachers used to dress up for school. So did we.

What I remember most about Mr. B is that he supplied my first experience of indoctrination in public school. It was an election year and he brought a TV into the classroom to show us news and debates. I think that bit was good. Although this was way back in the olden days before cable news and most of us watched the news nightly with our families, it was still good to expose us to more information about current events. But he didn’t stop there.

Mr. B inserted his personal political opinions into the current events curriculum. He told us that one political party was in favor of some very bad things but that the other party (his, I assume) was in favor of all these good and wonderful things. I am intentionally leaving out details because it doesn’t matter which party he was praising or which he was trashing. He was speaking to the uninitiated, those who had not yet formed any opinions and he was trying to shape our opinions and make them the same as his own. That is wrong, regardless.

Mr. B was not the only teacher I would have whose main interest was teaching his or her opinions, he was just the first. Although I went to school ages ago, the new crop of teachers were already trying to shape the students' viewpoints to match their own visions. I learned to like the older teachers, the ones the other kids hated because they were strict, disallowed monkey business in class and demanded more of them academically. At least they weren’t trying to convert me to anything.

Teachers should teach by encouraging students to learn. They should encourage students to seek out information and form their own opinions and tastes. They should not be in the business of raising up an army of clones.
July 5, 2021 at 7:40am
July 5, 2021 at 7:40am
#1013082
Last night, instead of curling up in her usual spot at the end of the bed, the cat slunk up the bed to sleep in the hollow between our bodies. The reason for this sudden desire for closeness? Fireworks.

Yes, it's time for a week of amateur, backyard fireworks. These will start each night at dusk and continue long past a reasonable hour. There will be long, sustained rat-a-tat-tat-a-tat-tat of firecrackers, the ear-splitting whistle of bottle rockets and the deep, resounding boom that seems to produce no evidence of its detonation in the sky and makes you wonder if the neighbors have started mining on their property. The noise will cease somewhere around 1:00 am, just long enough for you and the cat to fall asleep, then someone who has finally found some dry matches will startle you from your sleep and send the cat under the bed with one last fiery hurrah at 2:00 am.

There are three stages of fireworks. They are like Shakespeare's seven ages of man, but there aren't as many and it's much less complicated.

When one is young, fireworks are an amazing spectacle, a magical light show of stars exploding into being and then fading into darkness as if one was witnessing the birth of the universe. The second stage is parenthood, when parents delights in showing their children these brilliant displays and holding them tightly to protect them from the vibrations resonating through their bones. Finally one reaches the third stage. This is the one I am at. It's the "enough already, I want to sleep, you're scaring the cat so knock it off, where are the police when you need 'em?" stage. It's the old, curmudgeon stage. Yes, I remember how much fun fireworks were when I was a kid, but that's because I didn't realize how annoying I was being. I've changed my mind. Ban them all!

Of course, they are all banned already. I live in the only state where every type and class of firework is illegal to purchase, own or transport to the state from some other, less anal state. However, fireworks are going off around me in blatant disregard of these laws and I have never in my entire life seen the police stop the perpetrators or even interrupt their illegal displays. The annual trip to a neighboring state to purchase these illegal fireworks is a tradition in some families. The law exists, I think, to make a statement. The state is saying: "we made hand held explosives illegal because we care about your safety, but we don't obsess over it".

So, there's nothing to be done. Fireworks are like drugs - the state has an official position but it makes no difference to the average consumer who can get what they want regardless. Except, drugs are not as loud.

I know I am just old and cranky and the proof is that I don't even feel guilty about being such a killjoy. It's no longer just a side effect of age, it's a mission.

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