Tag Archives: humor

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Norwick’s Head Poobah

I was interviewing the Head Poobah
of our Norwick Public Utility CoOperative
and asked him
Where did the 22 percent goal come from
for acquiring renewable energy?
As compared to 78 percent from nonrenewable
and guaranteed increasingly costly electricity sources
like burned-out oil and gas and coal,
with their concomitant stinky smokestacks.

“As I recall
when we needed a number
for our report on future numbers,
that was a number
we had nearly achieved
so we found this number
a realistic one to report now
about our future goal,
now basically attained.”

Is that how you derive all your health and safety goals
for our future health and safety?

“Without having thought about it,
and retaining the right to change my Head Poobah mind,
I guess that would be about right
22 percent of the time.”

I was hoping for 100 percent,
or as close to it
as your mind might derive
through deeper and wider contemplation,
not to mention higher.

“As concerns my health and safety
and truth-telling goals,
although I cannot say 100 percent for sure,
I believe I am currently at about 78 percent
nonrenewable responses
about suboptimizing choices
for future health and safety.”

Do you recall
if anyone asked
what a 100 percent green energy goal
might look like in Norwick?

“No,
I’m sure I would remember
something so unimaginable.”

And why is a 100 percent ecological healthy and economic safety goal
so unimaginable to our Head Poobah?

“That would really require
cooperative ownership
of using only greener renewable energy
and incorporating that focal point
over all our
cooperative v BusinessAsUsual competitive
goal setting
and WinLose budgeting
and strategic planning
for achieving super-saturating
WinWin health and safety goals
for the entire Norwick CoOperative Utility.”

But,
isn’t that what one would cooperatively expect
if one were handsomely paid
to become Head Poobah
of something called
Norwick CoOperative Efficacy, Incorporated?

“No, no.
I am at least 78 percent certain you have that nonrenewably wrong,
we are the Norwick Public Utility Corporation.”

Oh, I see.
How silly of me,
confusing efficacy with utility
and public ownership with cooperative
ummmm…
ownership.

“Not a problem.
When you’ve been in the public and personal sector businesses as long as I have,
you don’t realistically expect to hit 100 percent
on health and safety and truth-remembering.”

That’s extremely disconcerting.

“Good news for you.
Disaster sells more papers.”

Yes,
but paper still comes from trees
cooperating with clean air and water
and just-right solar rays
to avoid future climates of public,
and personal,
nonutilitarian pathologies
at least 78 percent of local Head Poobah times
and spaces
and incorporating places.

OK,
I didn’t actually say that last part out loud,
but I was most self-righteously thinking it.

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PreTrumpian Pronouncements

I saw there was a mow-down in Las Vegas
of country western loves.
And also heard our President
was about to share his view.
But before he had his chance
to enlighten one and all,
I figured his best solution
was to hope before the next time
we’ll all do our patriotic duty,
go out and buy the best automatic multi-repeating rifle
with scope that we can afford to buy,
so everyone can keep a well-scoped eye
on all the other country western wise
before we blast each other’s patriotic duty
to stand and salute both our flags of equally good history,
leave no child with any color standing,
left unpatriotically behind.

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Don’t Tell Me Why We’re Waiting

My favorite radio show
is Wait…Wait, Don’t Tell Me!
on NPR near you.

But, it has bothered me,
over the years,
a snagging voice in sign-off background,
threatening the host will see me again next week,
as if that was the answer we had awaited,
and so hoped he would not tell us.

Why does he lie to me?
Deliberately or otherwise?
Did he not notice his is a radio show?
Isn’t the point that I don’t have to go anyplace
to be seen?
Nor need I look in his direction
to enjoy his show and tell.

This untruth could be like Ray Charles
telling his audience he will see them next time.
Either an embarrassing mistake
or a revolutionary news story
so dryly understated
it went almost without saying to his death.

Although at least he might truthfully say:
I will smell you with your money again next week,
or even hear you.
Although with Ray
I think my hearing point
would be the other way around.

Why not the truth?
We’ll be back again next week,
same time,
same station.

A little traditional.
Perhaps a twitch of self-promotion.
But, at least not an outright threatening misconception.

Which got me thinking
about how I kept hearing Trump’s campaign promises
as both personal and environmental threats
for way bad climates to continue
on all of these tired stations,

And whether he now has any idea
that each time he reminds us
of what a great job he and his beloved are doing
and please tune in again next week,
we continue hearing that as menacing reassurance
that he is insanely unattached,
detached in absence from,
unavailable for processing
how scary we find his anti-healthy outcome standards
for public sector administrative leadership performance,
usually more WinWin,
and considerably less about covering one’s own
Win some-Lose some
private bought and sectored butt.

I’m not so sure he’s doing such a good job
compared to,
well,
most any processor of information
of any multiculturing species
including those who claim they saw and actually listened to me
again last week
about how his comedic success both promises
and reassures us
of further tragic despair
as I think and feel what’s already not left of healthy wealth
for my own special needs and opportunities kids
trying to live in healthing climates,
and not quite so much pathologizing,
who may not reassure anyone
about what a great job they are doing
taking care of even themselves,
but that is honest;
this family is about and for transparent integrity.
At least we know when we’re sucked up
to by psycho-phantic
‘non-political’
moneychasing machines,
more mindful of badnews robotics
than goodnews gospel teachers.

We will also not be fooled into believing
we can be seen and heard by a public sector self-promoter
just because he threatens to come back again next week
to do this same monoculturing elitist thing again
that we know has only one-badway happened truthfully,
same time,
same sad and not quite true
yet still
kinda funny
spacetime NPR station

Playing
Wait Wait,
Don’t Tell Me
public sectors can’t really quite see private ears,
can you?
despite all our weeks
of mindfully listening
to our tragic comedy
threats as promises
together?

 

 

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Social Climbing Jacob’s Ladder

I wrestle with against vulnerable boundaries
to invasive intimacy,
left unlanguaged yet right felt dismay
could not sustainably remain
without being said outloudlyish
in some bicameral bilateral bipolar balancing brainiac
polypathically left merely cooperationalizing,
creolizing Sacred Elders feeling self-righteous
matriarchal nutritionisms,
spiritual and diminished secular scientissues
falling failing OtherWise,
hypothetical proofs of co-incidence.

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

Not not coincidentally here.

I wish.
Go notnot away.

Where dissonance grows troubling
such dismay’s source is left label searched for
within economic causes
secular with sacred ecological effects
to become biologically expected
in and through bilateral regenerational returns,
depending on the faith systemic word choices preferred
by All EarthLives Matter
sacred ecosystemic recoverers,
co-listening
deep mutual learners
comfortable in tranquil ponds
of lucid equal harmonies
ringing double-boundaries
singing
winging
flinging not here not now
invisible hypotheses
of Zero-Core bicameral bilaterality.

Rich loving mentors,
teachers,
but please,
not another preacher
of cognitive patriotism
against affective ecofeminist intuitive self-defense
began against
lunar-scheduled matriotism,
offense against solar Yanger
wanger
bangers,
Pi to pay
the multiculturing pipers,
ecofitters,
multiculturing quilters
and organic happy, sometimes a little high,
farmers
of antiquity,
herstoric myth tellers
and legend gossips
and polypathic paradigming architects
exforming evolutionary incarnations
as revolutionary reverse-notnot
evolutionary
yet as now appositionally bilateral
absence of cognitive-affective dissonant
boundaries of vulnerably echoing reiterative transparency,
both ego threat of rightwing dominant terrorism
and eco-opportunity,
left with right wing ego/eco-dominance
as positive psychology
and EarthTribe EcoJustice
complicated redisunprecovery
of often deep dense politics.

All about atomizing power
both/and wavey-linear flow.

Wherein we wrestle with,
but preferably not against,
vulnerable boundaries
about too invasive double-binding intimacy
left unlanguaged
yet right felt dismay
sung in
and through thin
diminished dissonance.

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So Let Me Tell You

So let me tell you,
if I’m looking between lives
with multicolors
and gentle genders
and green cards
in one graceful hand,

And Trump-heavy President fixation
away from restoring
Earth’s ecojustice for All
on the other RightWing denomination,

Then let me tell you
seeking Trumpish twitters
of self-congratulating trumphalism
as more patriotic
then loyal honored deep Yintegrity

On Gaian liberated knee
as if too matriotically humbled
to stand for Yangish
and self-righteous thee,
then let me tell you
I am so very quite sure
your poppa raised White elitist you
to spell anti-matriotism
with a positive patriotism Peee
only while standing up
as royal Thee.

And let me vice versa tell you,
if you find loyalty
and honor,
civility and mercy
and compassion taking on a matriotic knee,

Then your Momma,
well let me tell you,
she spelled patriotism ecologically right
with left,
bicameralishly.

Which, if you spell justice
with domestic peace of clear blue mind
you suspect dipolar
co-arising
matriots
of bipolar disarray
too wild left,
and let me tell you,
no way we’ll move love with Mother Earth diminished
down to a way out somewhat sleazy loose-lived girl
only good for lunch.

It just might become our hunch
hanging out with a more permaculturing bunch.

 

Note: For me this piece works best as jazz riffs rooted in the melody for

When I Fall In Love…

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Voraciously Reading Writers

Hey!

Who?
Me?

Yes!
Do you remember back
when you were reading The Human Comedy
and thinking you would always live on a planet
where a few great writers
lived royally and with vast wealth
comfortably above yet among the huddled hungry masses
just waiting to buy your supremely great literature words
of eternal wisdom
and Pulitzer Poetry Prizes?

If you mean
Do I remember when most people did not daily,
or even monthly, write,
much less self-publish,
while only a select few
were gainfully employed as full-time writers
of scripts
and screenplays
and contracts
and constitutions
and poetry
and stories
and parables
and even designs
for polycultural healthy outcomes–
Yes, I do,
or did,
or whatever it was we both noticed
about ratios of democratic readers
to plutocratic writers.

Well,
I went on WordPress
this morning,
thinking I would read the democratic plutocrats first,
then probably add my own commentary
on my blogsite
when done with reading others.

And you can’t read that fast,
can you?

Exactly.
Now all the democrats are writing
and cooperatively self-publishing
and my dreams of becoming a plutocratic writer
have drowned in a sea of voices
in which there is no longer sufficient time
to hear each other out
before also entering something in.

So what’s your big take away
for this revolutionary turnaround
in now democratically growing co-investments
in broadcast writing
and emerging plutocratic readers?
Would-be writers
but we no longer live
in or on a RealTime 4D publish or perish world.

Right.
Now its publish,
no one bothers to read,
and perish
while still cloud-published
perhaps eternally, somehow,
with no one bothering to open
a closed for self-publishing mind.

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The Ambiguous Apprentice

When does ambiguously free verse
also become emphatically political verse?

I was emphatically reading pieces,
ambiguously written
about my sons,
to my oldest son’s girlfriend.

The longer I read
the more she cried.

Now it had been my hope
and passion
to become the next Kurt Vonnegut
of PolyCulturing Healthy Outcome Design,
or at least John Irving
at his all ecopolitical lives matter, and not, satirical best,
and so I finally had to ask,
Are these tears of sadness?

Yes and no.
Sometimes, says she,
mostly happy that someone else
sees him as I do
when I am at my best,
but sadness too
that we live in your world
of our own re-creation
about what you write
is too often left unsaid
uncreated
or even thought about.

I thought this might be a compliment
and so I read bravely on
through her quiet tears
of sad happiness
until she asked me to stop.

Could you teach me to write
like you?

No.
I doubt I could even help you write
like you.
Why,
are you having trouble writing by and of yourself?

Yes.
I worry I have nothing to say,
no place to safely yet nakedly live.

About half the poets
and novelists
believe that is a prerequisite
to great literature
and becoming an authentically mature artiste.

Having nothing to say.

Yes. But saying whatever very well.
And the other half,
what they mainly have to say
is to have something to say
which you would be wiser through hearing
yourself say
what you just said.
And if they believed
as does the opposing mindless half
then they would not embarrass themselves
by writing any no thing at all.

Well, which is right,
do you think?

More to your point,
which is right
about your writing?
If you can trust each empty page
longs to fill with your good humor
and best wisdom,
then you might begin
by having nothing on your Left languaged mind
except some brief turn of lyrical phrase
or return of some event
devoid of context
which musefully incarnates as content
as your pen rolls along each shaping word
and returning phrase
and 4 dimensional as seasonal
reasonal harmonic lines
and sentences for joyful life,
not just lonely sad death.

Next thing you know
sad death cooperatively together
restores joyful life justice
where lived sad loves lived evilly alone
and you are editing in search of paragraphs
to create sufficient spaces
between maturing lines of thought
you heard as one compare/contrast before
you’ve always said
and hoped someday to read,
then editing through pages of ego/eco-logical content
about…
what?
We’re not sure
until we’re done.
———————————————————–

She was crying again.
So I found an old barely used notebook
and a fresh pen,
a nearly full box of gaily pure white tissue
and handed them to her,
Suggesting she might write about tears
of sad yet lovely joy.

Where might I best begin,
she wisely asks.

At the top,
either left or right
depending on which hemisphere you most speak,
I not so wisely answer.
And, the first principle of multicultural story telling
is to be sure your reader
continues to understand and appreciate
and feel gratitude for
your protagonist
inevitably our favorite underdog,
because life’s a joyful sad bitch
but what are we going to gratefully do
with it?
The pen and notebook?
In your left and right hands?

So, I just start at the top
and re-imagine us
whether protagonist-in with antagonist-out,
or potential future solution
within a vexing co-present problem,
ways we choose to fold and unfold
sad space
as also joyful time of opportunity?

Spoken as a true tragic-comedy loving physicist
pretending to become a metaphysical teller of history,
your story,
written as we speak together
in domesticating yet still wild imaginations,
political thought experiments,
narratives,
prose as also poetry.

Precisely as I see our sadly joyful situation too.
All we have are protagonist underdogs
and antagonist overlords,
and each lies both sadly and joyously
across each bicameral heart and mind
singing
When I fall in nondual co-arising love,
we will be forever,
Reading stories of favorite sons
to tearful joys of future daughters
for revolutionary story telling,
more cooperative
than my damnably antagonistic
overlording sons!

When did ambiguously free verse
also become emphatically democratic verse?

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The SpeechWriter

Not too many decades out of college
I finally landed my first full-time job,
as a White House speech writer.

I know,
you would expect
I would not start at the top
and then claw
and grab
and snatch my way to the less immoral bottom
of a Certified EcoTherapist career ladder,
but apparently the President preferred
to abuse and neglect someone with no more public sector experience
than he had accumulated to this sorry state
of deforesting a nation’s wealth,
and I was clearly the least experienced applicant
who bothered to desperately apply
for a patently thankless job.

I was broke
and I thought perhaps I might wrestle a Presidential Pardon
for my therapeutic student load of toxic debt.

My first assignment
was a ten minute stand up comedy piece
to be delivered to the Press Club
by the least good humored non-politician
I had yet to meet
in ludicrously self-incorporated personage.

To my amazement
he did not stray off teleprompter
more than on
and did acquiesce to my suggestion
he could only be funny,
rather than tragic,
as a cross-dresser
who had simply forgotten to change
before leaving his rompish bedroom,
thereby transposing
his deadly public sector lack
of comedic hopelessness experience.

He chose a pastel blue chiffon maid’s uniform,
a Big and Beautiful Girl’s minidress
with matronly white apron
all gathered at the waist,
or at least doing its best
under stressfilled circumstances.

Where he found the fishnet stockings
with seams intended to aim straight up and down
the back of his hairless white calves,
I should not say.
But his seams tended to wander off to his dominant right,
should there actually be such a lonely place
as a gratefully suppressed left
in the mercifully unseen forest
of his meaty thighs.

While I couldn’t see
his party platform pumps
on EarthTribe network coverage,
I later heard this was not by accident
and I should feel fortunate
to have avoided fascinated allegiance
to their ruby red,
scuffed white,
and sky smoky blueness.

After pandemonium subsided
he began:

Under-dressed ecofeminists
and junk-brained gentlemen
of the fake press,
thanks so much for this utterly predictable
and distressing invitation
to speak over your heads tonight
about the profound merits
of New Reactionary Republican
reproductive resonance
and replete regenesis
of religious right remains right,
although sometimes a bit tight
around my rapidly expanding middle.

Leftist liberal libertines
like to quote that notorious drug addict
Janis Joplin:
Freedom
is just another word
for nothing left to lose.

Reactionary Republicans
have some of our own definitions
for new economic and old political values.

Justice
is another merciless word
for no one left of Jews.

Speaking of which,
isn’t my son-in-law
doing a great job
of being a quality not all that Jewish Republican?
And possibly the only Republican Jew
east of the Mississippi
and north of the still contested Mason-Dixon Line.
Although he is now trying to steal his sister-in-law’s gentile inheritance.

Let’s see.
Oh yes,
Peace
is just another word
for being between wars.

Patriotism
is just another word
for nationalistic loyalty test jargon
where all the supremacist lyrics
rhyme with juicy jism,
like monoculturalism
and racism
and sexism
and currently trendy anti-democratic totalitarianism,
where once resided MotherLand Libertines
cynically quoting Janis Joplin.

Liberty
is just another word
for nothing left worth stealing,
and grabbing,
and snatching,
and rubbing up against,
and preferably eating, eventually.

Virtue
is just another word
for robbing integrity
from future generations because,
as my Elders taught me,
it’s better virtuous us
then plundered them.

And,
last and maybe least,
love
is just another word
for nothing left to hate
and monger fear about
at least until my next election,
another corporate raid on pubic sector treasures.

Thanks so much
and may God bless the sacred FatherLand.

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Advocating Patriotism for Earthlings

It is not patriotic
to desecrate a flag
or even denigrate a nationalistic anthem
celebrating a war-torn patriotic flag.

Yet is it even anti-patriotic
to refuse to bow to it,
the flag, that is,
to not stand with supremacist intentions
while singing about it
to each other?
And usually rather badly
I might snobbishly add.

And the lyrics?
Well they do not favorably compare
to T.S. Elliot,
especially the one about
how we might sometimes consider
taking the history bending road less traveled.

Pretentious played out WinLose roads
all leading both to and from Rome,
monoculturally agreeing we share a just war right
to train our children
how best to resolve our territorial threats of violence
is further threat of militarizing
and policing
and militia ethno-supremacist violence
against basic civil humane decency
to at least pretend to flirt for an invitation to visit first.

It matters not to me
if overpaid and celebrated athletes
stand or bow
or simply stay comfortably seated
on their well-developed asses
during nationalistic commemorations
that feel to them
as if they are sadly sung as Other;
this is not a patriotic history that has
over-invested in pretending All Hues and Textures Matter
and are equally invited to co-reside,
not even much of a childhood visit
to consider significant investment
in singing praise futures
for civil war-torn flags
flown most flagrantly
at sexist
and racist
and ballistics for better business associations–
which all feels quite anti-democratic
and anti-most of North American voting populations
and anti-most trees and forests,
our nonvoting yet shared-climate populations.

But, hey,
who’s counting patriotically correct positions,
right?

To stand
to bow
to remain seated as self-restraint
against fake historic news
during entire mindless operas
and WinLose ball game operations
celebrating MightMakesRight
means patriotic
right or rather more weakly and humbling wrong.

I do care what
is RightWing undervalued
as the very EarthBound Climate HealthyHeart
of Patriotism,
because what is pathological for planet Earth
cannot be so much sacredly patriotic
for any American nation,
North or South
or that hot creolizing latino/a strip
in-between,
or for any tribe
or species
or branch of nature,
including humane nature-spirits,
body-minds of and for nondual patriotic-matriotic
polypathic maturation,
cooperative regenerativity,
health trends patriotically reconnected
with ecological wealth trends,
to include those nonvoting trees and forests
in our ecopolitical party plans
and full-color invitations to please participate.

If the NFL has earned
a patriotic boycott,
for me this is about
investing in more democratically inclusive
cooperative
nutritious WinWin health-wealth games
and co-ownership exploits
but with more commitment
than mere flirtations
around the edges of Earth flagging worship
and waving trends.

EarthMatriotic patriotism not all about
who stands
who sits
who bows and scrapes
who farts
who crosses hearts
and hopes to die
during any seemingly endless nation’s anthems
and self-congratulatory flag-waving,
as entertaining as this may be
for the younger kids
who didn’t forget their sunscreen.

Even they might prefer cooperative circles
for Hokey Pokey Anthems
full-voiced song
and active healthy dance
more patriotically AllAmerican together.

 

 

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LongTerm ReAssessments

Dad,
how old were you when you first tried THC?

It was not until my freshperson year
at the University of Michigan
when you could not go from one end of any dorm
to the other
without inhaling that not really oregano oily fragrance.

Why were you such a late bloomer?

As I recall,
back in premillennial times
those who were high school pot heads
were recognized by all,
including themselves,
as destined for malodorous lifetime outcomes,
if not outright sociopaths
then at least hopeless malcontents
and scofflaws
without civil redeeming value.

Really?
So how did all that play out?

We were correct
in these pessimistic predictions
at least in large part.

You don’t sound surprised,
as I so hoped you might.

Only because
those of us who waited
until we had high school graduation credentials in hand
fared about the same unremarkable neither better or worse,
certainly not rewriters of history
as far as I ever heard.
And,
although I might well be mistaken,
those who self-promote
as never having inhaled
either sooner or even much too later,
have outcomes possibly least happy of all,
except for those who also
have not found enough real food to eat
or too much booze to drink in one remorseful night.

Interesting.
I hope that is a population of zero
in my postmillennial era.

Watch out for those who deny evolution as evil.
They are those least likely to learn
from our mistakes,
thereby proving the foolishness
of their own anti-evolving theories
about traditional unchanging consciousness
and humane nature
and EarthMother’s sacred spirits,
inhaling to exhale,
reweaving nature out with nurture in.

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