Whale

It was one of the more agreeable afternoons Jim could remember.   The sun beat down upon his skin, and the waves rocked against his feet lolling him into a relaxed state of tranquility.  It was a lazy Saturday afternoon at the beach and he was engaged in the the most pleasing conversation with his college friends.

The conversation continued for most of the afternoon.   Jim drifted in and out between his friends and the waves coming in.   His reverie was broken when one of his friends remarked with alarm at the size of the wave coming in.   It was as large as a house.

"Look, there is something inside the wave,"  one of his friends shouted.

And sure enough at the base of the wave was a grey object reflecting off the setting sun.  At first, Jim thought it was a shark, but on more careful inspection he realized with a sense of delight that it was a whale.    Everyone knows that whales are friendly.  He saw the whale's majestic body rise with the incoming tide, then disappear back into the depths.

Then he and his friends were back at the cabana enjoying margaritas and once again life was pleasant and as it should be.  After consuming an untold number of the amiable concoctions, Jim's reflexes were somewhat impaired.   He turned around to face the bartender, but in the process he spilled his drink on the white shirt of the female sitting his right.   The bar grew silent at his accident and he quickly attempted to rectify the situation by finding a towel to clean off the woman's shirt.   As he applied the cloth to the woman's shoulder, Jim apologized profusely:

"I'm so, sorry, I hope I didn't leave a stain."

But he quickly determined that the stain would not come off.   So he decided that the next course of action would be to remove his shirt and give it to the woman to replace the shirt he had ruined.  He looked into the woman's eyes as he proposed the switch to her and he recognized immediately that the woman was a whale.    She might have been the same whale who created the massive wave that had impressed him earlier.   As he continued to look into her eyes, he could not help but to feel himself drawn to her, almost magnetically.   His gaze shifted from her eyes to her lips and he felt himself move uncontrollably down to meet her lips with his.

While he was kissing her, he remembered dimly that in the past he had been shy when kissing a woman, so many times before.  But he knew in his heart of hearts that this kiss was right, and he engaged in it without hesitation.  Moreover, unlike any kiss in the past, he was overflowing with confidence.   He knew how to please the whale, how to nibble just so on her lips so that she could not resist him--and he did not want to resist her.  

And invariably the whale grabbed him and she took him to the beach with her.  And his friends saw Jim and the whale disappear beneath the waves.

The remaining story of Jim and the whale was depicted in a series of still life photographs.  Of the whale showing Jim the crystal clear coral reefs.   Of Jim clinging to the whale's dorsal fin.  Of the whale's gaping maw nuzzled against Jim's chest.

And on the next day Jim saw his skin begin to turn gray and become more malleable and his face brightened.  He was not afraid of metamorphosis taking place inside of him.  

And when he did not return to class that Monday, his friends knew that they would never see Jim again--unless they were looking for the large waves that crashed the on beach.

A Smile Usually Helps

My father currently creates copper angels.   I think I've posted pictures of them previously.   In the event, I haven't, here is what they look like:

Pretty cool.

However, when I was growing up my father used to stain and varnish pieces of wood covered with old Life magazine photographs and advertisements.  These photographs were found hanging up all over the house.   All areas of the house.   Even the bathroom.   I particularly remember the one in the rest room.   It was an old advertisement of a young women dressed in 1920s garb with the caption, "A Smile Usually Helps."  As seven year olds generally are not troubled by the ravages of constipation, I don't think I understood its meaning at the time nor its strategic placement over the toilet.

Of course, a smile will not only help with the bowels, but it will readily help loosen up other interactions as well.  It has been shown that people who smile have less stress, depression,  more friends, and generally live longer.   Even a fake smile creates its own kind of feedback loop.  Its all good.

Even when you don't have anything to smile about, the utilization of your facial muscles to invoke a smile can produce a sense of peace and well being.

Of course, not everyone has a reason to smile, even a fake one.  My non scientific study of inmates in the Illinois Department of Corrections confirms that 90% of inmates do not smile.   Of course, most of these photographs were taken on their intake to the IDOC, as opposed to when their sentence was discharged:

Still, if they only knew they could be living longer with more friends, I'm sure that little frown would turn upside down.  Even the inmates in segregation at Menard.  Or not.

The Banshee: A Cautionary Tale

There are many who do not believe in banshees.   I myself would be counted among their number had I not met one.

It all started some four or five years ago.   During that time, I lived as though a great fog had descended on my continence occluding all but my most immediate surroundings.  I was merely reacting to whatever came at arms length from me.  It was not the most undisconcerting
period of my existence.

I met the banshee late one night.  She was already well into her delirium by then.  I later learned that each evening if there was more than a minuscule amount of moon peeking through the clouds she would fall into the throes of a strange fever which manifested itself in commanding her to roam the countryside and perform a gyrating form of dance.  There was a full moon that night and it showed.

For many months I bemused that her nightly meanderings were random in nature, Then quite by chance as I began to keep a journal, it was clear that she was following a pattern.  As a moth to a flame, she was attracted to any form of music that was present in an establish that did not honor the dictates of prohibition, to wit:  heavy metal, punk, folk, rock, blue grass, blues, almost any music other than techno and dub-step.

Regardless of the venue, the ritual was the same.   She would drink of the fermented beverages in large quantities, to the point where the trials and tribulations of day time were vanquished like an out of breath dragon.  Then she would dance and dance and dance in an ever increasing crescendo until midnight when she would emit a blood curdling howl the force of which would keep her awake until dawn.   Then at dawn, she would retire back to her crypt only to reappear later in the evening.

I am not yet willing to say whether my enchantment from the banshee was a hideous actually or only a nightmare hallucination.  Such musical venues have strange properties and the legacy of insane legend might well have acted on more than one man's imagination amidst those huddles of people caught up in the trance.  Is it not possible that the germ of an actual contagious madness lurks in the depths of those nocturnal ramblings, and the pleasant vibes of the bass pulsating against your being?  Where does madness leave off and reality begin?  Is it possible that even my latest fear is sheer delusion?

Another decatur coco mero/krogers run.   A comfortable ritual with the whirles.  I wonder what gifts the sandman will bring me tonight?

Cousin, Cousin, Cousin, Cousin

We are all related.  There are only six degrees of genetic separation between any two humans on the planet.

That means both literally and figuratively that Obama, Ted Cruz, Hillary Clinton, Pope Francis, and every crazy backward ass fighter in ISIS are cousins.  Even me and you.

In fact, one of my cousins, A.J. Jacobs is sponsoring the worlds largest family reunion in June, 2015. Everyone on the planet is invited.

www.globalfamilyreunion.com

I'm not attending.  I've always been somewhat of a black sheep in the family.  And I can't stand certain parts of the family.

I'm only joking.

So what songs do you play?  Long afloat a shipless ocean.   What have you been up to pardner?  Not much, just polishing my spurs.

So what's up in California?  I love LA, but I can never get fucked in LA.   I mean, there are people that will fuck me in New York who will not fuck me in California.  

I will fuck you in California.

I don't know why you want to tell me that.

What's next on the agenda?  Why don't we bring in the next group.

Isn't this the coolest thing ever?

I don't know, its like a drive-inn movie theater inside a Church.   Just too many people.  I have stage fright?  

Like Robbie Robertson?

So when where you going to tell me about this?

Wanna get something to eat?

I think we need more coffee and beef jerky around here.  And Pirogi--lots of Pirogi.   I mean have you ever had a bad pirogi?   They are universally awesome.   The new wonderfood.   It would be a wonder if someone on this planet didn't like them.

I don't remember what to say, I don't remember where to go, I don't remember what too choose.

Sunshine, minus you, leaves only concrete skies.

Don't you know she's one in a million?  But we are all one with the million.

Hey hey, I'm telling you now, the greatest thing, you ever can do now,

its very easy.....

What was your name again?