The Illimitable Ocean of Inexplicability

Month: May, 2015

Hey, what’s that sound?

.

TRUE! –nervous –very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses –not destroyed –not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily –how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

– Edgar Allan Poe, The Tell-Tale Heart

.

This life, which had been the tomb of his virtue and of his honour, is but a walking shadow; a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

– William Shakespeare, Macbeth, act5 scene 5

.

If you were to stop by THE INSTITUTE for a visit on any given day (other than Tuesday) you would, at some point, and probably on at least several other occasions during your stay, hear the sound of me loudly calling out something quite indecipherable. At first, if previous visitors serve as any indication, you would, in an instinctual way, just as our ancestors (naked and afraid) did so long ago, jerk your head about quickly looking for any possible source of danger. Then, realizing you were in the comfortable and secure surroundings of my luxurious PRIVATE RESIDENCE, you would relax your body and begin to contemplate the sound you heard and any possible meaning it may have had. After some time in fruitless pursuit of an answer your reverie would be most disturbingly broken by the still mysterious and now somehow even more frightening recurrence of my strange and angry cry coming from somewhere beyond the room you were occupying. At this point having been left to your own devices for longer than seemed polite you would hesitatingly make for the front door thinking I may have forgotten you were even there, or perhaps, depending on the depth of your paranoia, imagine I, in some secret walled off room, was making preparations for God knows what abominable rituals of which you’d be forced to take part. Then, as you reached out to turn the handle and make good your escape, you’d once again hear, now seemingly coming from somewhere inside your own head, that inexplicable and horrifying sound. Now, terrified to your very core, you’d flee for your life from my PRIVATE RESIDENCE, down the stairs and across THE INSTITUTE’S park like setting looking back once and only briefly to see me standing there in the doorway waving my arms frantically and calling after you, “Wheremyclogsat”?

.

IMG_3891They were by the back door the whole time!

.

.

.

.

.

..

.

Advertisements

There’s something happening here

.

It’s time we stop
Hey, what’s that sound?
Everybody look – what’s going down?

.

I know, I know, I’m no fan either of that whole hippy counter culture thing that nearly sent this great nation spiraling into an abyss from which there would be no return, but, sometimes, in order to convey ideas and images to the folk in a way they’ll understand you just gotta do what you gotta do. Know what I’m saying? Of course you do. I wouldn’t bother even telling you this much if I didn’t think you capable of handling it.

Anyway, I have to go for my morning constitutional now, so, just sit tight and I’ll be back before you know it to fill you in on ‘what’s going down’.

.

HERE

.

.

.

.

.

Someone should really eat those bananas

.

That is almost exactly what I thought to myself when noticing the bananas you see here

.

b1

.

Okay, what I exactly thought was, “Someone better eat these God damn bananas before they fucking rot”, but though I use profanity liberally within my own home I see no purpose in exposing others, who would never in a million years be invited into my home, to my obscene language. However, as I also pride myself on being honest, I felt it necessary to inform you of my true reaction to seeing these three quickly decaying bananas in order that you may more truly experience my emotional state at the time. For if I let you continue on under the illusion that I reacted in a calm and reasonable manner to the spoiling of this fruit my actions which followed would not make sense.

You see, most mornings I find myself so absolutely overwhelmed by the chores I must accomplish before setting upon my day of intensive contemplation that I have no time for monitoring the household fruit’s status in regards to freshness. This morning though, for whatever reason, and it could be almost any, but this is neither the time or place to theorize upon it, the sight of these three bananas soon to be rotten nearly cause me to have a stroke. Thankfully, instead of becoming debilitated, and possibly suffering death I was subject to what is commonly referred to as a ‘conniption fit’. Some of you, probably those who inhabit the southeastern section of the United States, may be wondering, quietly to yourselves, if what I had was truly a ‘conniption fit’ and not another fit commonly mistaken for it known as the ‘hissy fit’. This, I can assure you, is not a mistake I would ever make knowing as I do that what separates the two is the overt physical gestures that accompany a conniption type fit which, believe me, I experienced after seeing those three bananas.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I composed the first draft of this post on a 2007 8GB iPod while sitting in the cab of a Dodge Ram pickup truck

.

This isn’t bragging, though I can see how it might be mistaken for it, this is just the plain fact of the matter. However, due to an unforeseen interruption I was not able to finish what I started as you can see below.

.

a

.

.

b

.

.

c

.

.

d

.

.

.

.

.

.

Interval

.

.

.

.

.

.

Yeah? Well, that and 99¢ will get you a refill of coffee at 7-Eleven

.

Have you ever been left no choice but to respond to something someone said to you in this way?

I have

.

Believe me, plenty of times. More times than you can imagine I have, because of some dumb shit someone has said to me, had no choice but to respond with, “Yeah? Well, that and 99¢ will get you a refill of coffee at 7-Eleven”. But it isn’t always just ‘dumb shit’ that makes me, forces me actually, despite any possible resistance I may give, to respond in this way. It is also my response when someone is going on about some great thing they’ve supposedly accomplished or heroic act they performed, or cute story about their kid, or their grandfather’s against all odds triumph in the face of adversity, or the great strides that have been achieved in this or that field, or on and on and on until if these people actually listened to me and went to 7-Eleven with their stories and 99¢ there wouldn’t be a drop of coffee left to be had.

.

711

.

.

.

.

.

.

Would you hurt a fly?

.

Well, would you?

Answer honestly now. Would you hurt a fly? I’m going to tell you unequivocally that I would not, but, please, do not let that affect your answer. Just because I would, even possibly under the threat of my own death, refuse to ever cause a fly even the slightest discomfort does not mean that you should deny the murderous rage you feel toward them. So, go on, admit that you sometimes wish for, and with swatter in hand attempt to bring about the complete extinction of the flies. You’ll feel better if you do.

.

fly2

.

.

.

.

.

.

Pretty Flowers For Sale if You’re Interested in that Sort of Thing

.

pflowersnew

.

.

.

.

.

It’s only a mole hill

.

That is what I’d tell myself

.

mole

.

And, I was right, that is all it was, a mole hill. However, on occasion, while strolling the park like setting of my beloved Institute, the sounds of a magnificent orchestra playing in the ears of our dear Lord as he watched my every move, my usual devil may care attitude about these subterranean vandals would quickly develop into a seething murderous rage. Why one day I’d declare, “Live and let live”, and then the next call for the complete eradication of every last one of these detestable monsters forever burrowing beneath my feet I cannot say, but, call I did, through clenched teeth I growled “You are going to fucking die”!

Then, as if no longer myself (a kind and caring gentleman) I would retrieve a sharpened trowel and with it dig away until exposing the creature’s hole. With that accomplished I would then carefully insert into the hole a contraption of a most devilish design. This contraption, when eventually triggered by the half blind beast, would almost instantaneously snap shut upon its neck dispatching the poor animal immediately up to join our dear Lord in looking down upon me celebrating its demise to the sounds of a most stirring symphonic arrangement.

.

..

.

.

..

.

.

What’s the Big Idea?

.

You all know me.

Not well, but you’re familiar enough to have seen this coming for quite some time. Honestly, a few of you informed me of its impending arrival before I had even a sneaking suspicion. So unaware was I of its coming that had it been a train, high speed or otherwise, I’d have laid down on the tracks it rode on for a little nap thinking to myself, as I admittedly regularly do, “It’s all cool”. Yes, if, with some miraculous technological device dreamed up by one of those eggheads in Silicon Valley, you were able to, at any given moment, look into my brain, and if we could right now imagine my brain to be like a computer, its screen saver would be the words, “Its all cool” swirling and twisting about in the darkness of my mind until some other of its functions were required.

.

ALMOST

.

.

.

.

.