tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56384716247163640792024-03-05T17:34:44.768-08:00The (New & Improved) HYENA KITCHENThe Hyena Kitchen (from the Italian translation of Elvis Presley's "Stuck On You") where the yips of laughter and howling rants of any nature are barely distinguished from the other. The words and opinions (as offended as you may be) are those of mine and do not reflect in any way the opinions of the parent company, or on any Kitchen, Bathroom or Patio, in general,Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.comBlogger121125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-2419194372269044172023-03-22T14:44:00.003-07:002023-03-22T14:55:14.272-07:00Dreaming of Shipwrecks<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaVPx0N89LdBlbIEUgPmZtTmxgImSTstPIgzn_dTca4R8UEGWpriHz57c79v-m6iUzd5sL5V_8sN-0scqHA3RBXo7djHKiaanBXSyB4oDd0Qiz2CuMuHC1cXVNo6F0flB2x54yvVP0YBDrjRC6Z6X6BdjUtf-ca9PAlwnlBJ8P4EHbOEXpgcCQbBHw-Q/s487/336883970_214811487870785_344007103577794199_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="487" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaVPx0N89LdBlbIEUgPmZtTmxgImSTstPIgzn_dTca4R8UEGWpriHz57c79v-m6iUzd5sL5V_8sN-0scqHA3RBXo7djHKiaanBXSyB4oDd0Qiz2CuMuHC1cXVNo6F0flB2x54yvVP0YBDrjRC6Z6X6BdjUtf-ca9PAlwnlBJ8P4EHbOEXpgcCQbBHw-Q/s320/336883970_214811487870785_344007103577794199_n.jpg" width="315" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As a young man I read Joseph Conrad.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I dreamed of going to sea.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Instead, I ran away to join the circus, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">the day I sat on a rowboat shaped bench,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">in a museum, looking at a Turner, with <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">three other seafaring men, and<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I wished I’d chosen the sea.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><i> <span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span>Photo: Francis James Mortimer</span></span><o:p></o:p></i></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-74584800156846518012023-03-22T13:42:00.001-07:002023-03-22T13:42:34.188-07:00I Don't Think You're Happy Enough! I'm Gonna Make You Happy. . .<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><b> </b><b>A</b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
friend of mine recently sent me a Harvard study on “what makes us happy in
life.” Now I don’t know if he felt, for some reason, that I needed to be
happier (although the great Stinky Wizzleteat song about a whale – </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">The Happy
Happy Joy Joy Song</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> – did come to mind. </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">“I don’t think you’re happy
enough. I’ll teach you to be happy.”) </i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">or, was he merely looking out for my
“social fitness” – the study’s suggested “Number One Key” to happiness
achievement – as any friend would do. Now,
if the recent pandemic taught me anything, it’s that anti-social behavior is
extremely beneficial and is a concept that I’ve been perfecting (or attempting)
for years – therefore </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">my</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “social fitness is in tip top condition – and
directly responsible for my happiness. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span> </span>Not to belittle or make
light of this 85-years-in-the-making study, but - well, it’s me, so here we
go. . .</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span> </span>The Harvard study wants us to “take
stock of our social relationships” with seven “keystones of support” (there are
a lot of keys in this study), that I take umbrage to on my road to happiness.
First is </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Safety and Security.”</b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Very important, They ask, </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Who would
you call if you woke up scared in the middle of the night?”</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Well, my “key” to happiness is not to let
fear rule your any aspect of your life. The odds that whatever keeps you up at
night, or in the day for that matter, is coming to get you is slim. Stop
listening to commercial media, their job is to make/keep you afraid. There’s
nothing to be scared off. Imagine the worst thing that could possibly happen to
you, got it? Now, imagine the greatest thing that could happen. Both are pure imagination,
and you live somewhere smack dab in the middle.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span> </span>Second keystone on the journey is </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Learning
and Growth.”</b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Who encourages you to take chances and pursue your goals? </i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">It should be you, yourself, you know, that
groggy face in the mirror – you cannot depend on others for that. The sayings
“find what you love and let it kill you” and “Do something every day that
scares you” fit well here, although the second does contradict my No Fear rule.
Face it, don’t fear it. The happiness derived from achieving your own goal is
beyond measure.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span> </span>The next three all require the same
element. </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Emotional Closeness.” “Identity</b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Affirmation.”</b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> And </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Romantic
Intimacy.”</b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> These are important as a means of support – your feelings your
sense of who you are, a satisfying romantic relationship.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">But they are not mandatory to achieve
happiness nor a level of social fitness. We’ve all experienced each/all of
these only to have them come crashing down around us, leaving us. . .well, dare
I say it? Unhappy. Besides there are plenty of who lead happy lives without one
or more of these, right?</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s again, all
about you. Self.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span> </span>Number Six is </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">“HELP.”</b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Who do you turn to for expertise?</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Not
to be glib, but have you tried YouTube?</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">In today’s world, everyone has an opinion and they’re more than willing
to share it with you. Just ask them. And nine times out of ten the advice will
be wrong.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">So where are you? That’s
right, it comes back to almighty YOU. It’s nice if have the above mentioned
3,4, & 5 to use as a sounding board, but in the end, you have to pull up
your big boy/girl pants/panties and help yourself.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span> </span>The Seventh (and final) is the most
important key to happiness – but not necessarily to social fitness – </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">“FUN.”</b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">While it is nice to have company, it’s
not necessary to find happiness, Go to a movie by yourself. Go grab a burger
and a beer. A banana split. Coffee, by yourself. A concert. Vacation. Learn to
enjoy your own company. Remember the saying – If you’re not having fun, you’re
doing it wrong. Do it right. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Love yourself. Be
curious. Support and pursue your dreams. And have fun. Be happy.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span> </span>Are you happy, Mr. Wizzleteat? </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span> </span>I am. My anti-social fitness firmly intact, and I didn’t even
go to Harvard.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span> ✌✌💓💓</span><br /></span></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-71328176360309352892023-03-22T13:33:00.000-07:002023-03-22T13:33:29.391-07:00I Want a Dream Lover, so I don't have to dream alone. . .<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE4GVpxJ8xYRM3j2IAivABg7H-In5mfpHm9na9kw_oMOAdxqtZYMI5Y4UQv9retqpQtZxJDiuh1ijrm49fd-hlJ8jUbMzRk37D5VdE_MnIxR9HJ2lgTazvw0ayMf0c28hqLF2CA3T7b_sJ12gdVjXSc4VZYFQllTLR1-p_XCEhWef0Za4UndUxaltG4Q/s400/1_c4bec1568a975fed6c569250d3890b38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="358" data-original-width="400" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE4GVpxJ8xYRM3j2IAivABg7H-In5mfpHm9na9kw_oMOAdxqtZYMI5Y4UQv9retqpQtZxJDiuh1ijrm49fd-hlJ8jUbMzRk37D5VdE_MnIxR9HJ2lgTazvw0ayMf0c28hqLF2CA3T7b_sJ12gdVjXSc4VZYFQllTLR1-p_XCEhWef0Za4UndUxaltG4Q/s320/1_c4bec1568a975fed6c569250d3890b38.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"> <b><span style="font-size: medium;"> I</span></b> saw an article yesterday on a prominent news website
referring to the public’s inability to buy their “dream phone.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I’ve often fantasized about my “dream
car” and “dream home,” even once or twice about a “dream vacation.” But a
“dream phone?” Seriously, this is an indicator that something is wrong with our
dream society. My dream phone is one that never rings, no one has the number
too, and that I can forget to turn on – or, perhaps a red reproduction of the
Bat Phone, complete with glass dome – yeah, baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything else, well. . .I’m just shaking my
head.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> <i> </i><i>Hello,
you’ve reached me, I’m now in right now, so at the tone. . </i>.<o:p></o:p></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-12106267900237601042023-02-20T14:08:00.003-08:002023-02-20T14:08:54.066-08:00A little something from 'Pondering the Sky'<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPmOfDb4QVfAKY5rFfhl2EI2PIfYMnOEtAJaKkP4H53anBsqoTFcda3RsVvPYIIios_cssxtVEVBg52FW5MnuZGXwODWl5tmNsHFoMMnCuM67z7gLlJrlGIEqm9OypduHIMKEVWBTuOQPieWx2qIvXSoZIopUKvBO5VDI0VS2fkwbe-Ko8yB5bmIaKow/s1600/IMG_20210704_203949_kindlephoto-50746055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPmOfDb4QVfAKY5rFfhl2EI2PIfYMnOEtAJaKkP4H53anBsqoTFcda3RsVvPYIIios_cssxtVEVBg52FW5MnuZGXwODWl5tmNsHFoMMnCuM67z7gLlJrlGIEqm9OypduHIMKEVWBTuOQPieWx2qIvXSoZIopUKvBO5VDI0VS2fkwbe-Ko8yB5bmIaKow/s320/IMG_20210704_203949_kindlephoto-50746055.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was a
young boy, we fed our family dog at 10 pm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We would often ask her if she <i>“knew what time it was”</i> and with
her two bark answer we’d reply, <i>“That’s right.”</i> Routine behavior or not,
she was Corgi-smart. Soon we no longer asked, the pre-ten o’clock news
announcement of <i>“It’s Ten O’clock, do you know where your children are?”</i>
took care of it for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ears piqued,
followed by that two-bark note. Then she would impatiently pace back and forth,
in silent anticipation as we dished out her food, then with the <i>shave and
haircut, two bits</i> tap of the fork she’d approach. Her dish often licked
clean by the time the fork reached the kitchen sink.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was a
young boy, my father – the hardest working man I’d ever known – was asleep by 9
pm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every evening, after supper, he’d
take to his Barcalounger, recline to watch television, and be asleep by nine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At times, our Corgi would climb up into the
crack between him and the armrest and join him – for at least an hour, until
she was reminded what time it was.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I grew and
came home later, or simply came down for late night snack. I found often find
my father sitting at the kitchen table indulging in sardines & crackers, a
glass of buttermilk filled with cornbread, or some such item from the
insomniac’s menu. Some nights I would sit with him, politely refusing the
offered taste of whatever delicacy he was partaking in, as he then offered to
the dog – who. For the record, never refused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I would pat my father on the chest, kiss him the top of his head, as I
headed off to bed myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Away from the
kitchen, I would sit on the stairs and watch them – this man who worked hard
with only that one peaceful hour of sleep and that dog who ate only meal at 10
pm.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-29259690186016268272023-02-20T14:01:00.000-08:002023-02-20T14:01:02.575-08:00Lockdown 2.022 <p> Just a quick note of blatant commercialism, the COVID anthology <i>LOCKDOWN 2.022: Poems from the Lockdown</i> (from Willowdown Books) is still available through Amazon.le supplies (as they say).</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Y0_4mjdKv-rxvnmpPmqO-Z2Ylq6njR7hopXuDxSl75REj0OBUSzAuSdD9dowVkMi0zruUBgMaTZNymxo1K9OeAgIybxJnwcp3w0shgdxoMFYFFgBuU9ZAmTaI9H0LXV1oohDV7c2LWJTNoK5iixwn3ch521SR1KcY2_MeM8x0uhU11FOyTwIENvVxA/s499/31X4ziyNEFL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Y0_4mjdKv-rxvnmpPmqO-Z2Ylq6njR7hopXuDxSl75REj0OBUSzAuSdD9dowVkMi0zruUBgMaTZNymxo1K9OeAgIybxJnwcp3w0shgdxoMFYFFgBuU9ZAmTaI9H0LXV1oohDV7c2LWJTNoK5iixwn3ch521SR1KcY2_MeM8x0uhU11FOyTwIENvVxA/s320/31X4ziyNEFL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0BFTYFN4F/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o00_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1">https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0BFTYFN4F/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o00_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1</a></p><p><br /></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-32720509971464049112023-01-15T19:39:00.002-08:002023-01-15T19:45:27.497-08:00Spare (me).<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD0fed9SaHuTAMv1DsCykcmml9RlZIRFQu-LZyKkBJxO8oTAhZPTqvbSthSwqMsNd6NGEzkAfBq3IFSLxlfZjTv4vxhFs3RzhHBvbAl-7CWwmkbO5E0xv0iZ_Z8KhnEXUdMN_u7qTwx6oV-FClHRVZ7DHpSNNastfSKlcSr7--cRCBPJlwNdLBGPyK_Q/s1796/prince-harry-07.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1796" data-original-width="1120" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD0fed9SaHuTAMv1DsCykcmml9RlZIRFQu-LZyKkBJxO8oTAhZPTqvbSthSwqMsNd6NGEzkAfBq3IFSLxlfZjTv4vxhFs3RzhHBvbAl-7CWwmkbO5E0xv0iZ_Z8KhnEXUdMN_u7qTwx6oV-FClHRVZ7DHpSNNastfSKlcSr7--cRCBPJlwNdLBGPyK_Q/s320/prince-harry-07.heic" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;"><b> I</b></span> recently read an opt-ed piece on
CNN titled “Why Prince Harry is a Threat to a Certain Kind of Man,”: written by
a Louis Staples (no relation to Mavis), a self-credited “culture writer”
(whatever the fuck that is?). It caught my eye because several years ago I had
started work on a book titled <b><i>Unleashing Your Inner Sinatra; The
De-Pussification of the American Male – </i></b>which was intended to be a
humorous look at reclaiming of the male ego in an increasingly humorless world.
Due to the cultural climate I chose to “self-cancel” the project, but this CNN
piece gave me hope that things might be changing (and perhaps all this
ridiculous hype, might be of value yet). </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> Despite the fact that Staples took
the first nine paragraphs to recap the past two month’s Netflix/tell-all hype,
before getting around to his point (apparently, Cultural Writer School fosters
the habit of burying the lead) – I sallied forth, in hopes that a point would
magically appear. Sadly, none was to be found, beyond the Millennial finger
pointing toward the obvious, which has come to be our norm and an ad for two
upcoming books (also destined for a remainder table near you) that deal with
the “fact” that Men just aren’t Men anymore.
None of which is “the former Prince” Harry’s fault – but he could hold
the solution. He won’t, but he could. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> So, what certain kind of man are we
talking about? I see no threat. The man that is missing – the one who stood
by family, faced and fixed his problems, rather than pointing them out and
doing nothing about it, stood for what was right, regardless, minded his own
business, loved his fellow man, fought for a better world – strong,
trustworthy, and dependable – that man’s been missing the past couple of generations. Beat down by society and uninformed opinion.
Harry’s not a threat to a certain kind of man. Look around. He is that
man. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> Perhaps, instead of becoming a Kardashian with a James
Cordon accent, Harry should storm the castle, take his wimp brother by the ear,
throw him at the foot of the soon to be crowned Wimp King (in full British Army
regalia, no less) and demand his proper place, as next in line to the Throne of
England. The Once and Future King of the British Commonwealth. Maybe throw in a good old fashion Tower of
London beheading – you know, for the tourists.
Perhaps Prince Andrew. Then dare the British press to speak ill of his
Queen and their children. The world
needs a King like this – if nothing more than to compare against their own
meager leaders. Harry seemed, once
badass enough to be that man, but sadly he is not the <i>one</i>, the one prophecy
foretold would rise up and change the world, to bring nobility and relevance
back to the Royal family. So, let’s shove the sword back into the stone, while
we wait for the new Netflix series, <i>The Redemption of a Fresh Prince</i> – yeah,
that certain kind of man. <i>Lest we
forget – </i>a<i> </i>whore is an honorable profession (position), until they
forget they’re a whore.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-1032258999255038162023-01-03T14:38:00.000-08:002023-01-03T14:38:51.431-08:00Does Celine Really Want to be Called a GOAT, When There are So Many Other Names at Our Disposal?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaVyLCk5VVZC_HsEEdJj_C_L3UDau7lJrza540N8RQYWJ7vqh_QB61HfWi_NygBTem4qYz9Im7G9PLHKRs_-V7AnKll4fkyCJg8xoM8VSS7RAh519rY5fDjtPdJyP-C9DaDpW1ZQxYnZjIhbtEC5_WgSR7ikBz7uKOjJKW15G_C9Zh7jgByHmF4CVvRw/s750/pexels-photo-4039987.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaVyLCk5VVZC_HsEEdJj_C_L3UDau7lJrza540N8RQYWJ7vqh_QB61HfWi_NygBTem4qYz9Im7G9PLHKRs_-V7AnKll4fkyCJg8xoM8VSS7RAh519rY5fDjtPdJyP-C9DaDpW1ZQxYnZjIhbtEC5_WgSR7ikBz7uKOjJKW15G_C9Zh7jgByHmF4CVvRw/s320/pexels-photo-4039987.jpeg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><b> </b><b>H</b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">iya Cats
& Kittens, Happy New Year. I’ve said this before and I’m sure I’ll have to
say it again – big media, i.e. </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">Rolling Stone</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> magazine, NPR, etc., work
for the interest of the record companies and not the listener, focusing on the
top-forty caterwauling of the instant grat/downloaded world we find ourselves
subjected to. And maybe it was always this way, but I want to think not. So
when controversy rears its controversial head, we have to consider the
source. Our latest music controversy, I have
to categorize as White People’s Problems – the creation of issues – for issues sake
– where there is no real issue. Of course, I’m talking about </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">Rolling Stone</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
magazine’s <i>Top 200 Greatest Singers of All Time</i> list – and the FACT that Celine
Dion didn’t make the cut. Okay, if
you’re one of the gaggle of fans of that shipwreck/romance movie and you feel
slighted because your personal songbird didn’t make the list, yet Iggy Pop and
Leonard Cohen did, I feel you – I’m heartbroken that Maureen McGovern didn’t
make the list for “The Morning After,” but whatcha gonna do? This ain’t an
issue gang and yet here I am jumping into the fray (sigh).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any time you
come up with a Top 200 of anything, you’re showing your level of indecision, with
your bottom 175 in the running for participation trophies. Vocals are very
speculative, one person’s favorite is another’s nails on a chalk board. You can
pick favorites, but the word ‘Greatest” carries strong implications. Is Willie
Nelson really greater than Morrissey? Distinctive and powerful are necessary
elements to a great vocal performance, but don’t always raise it to “greatness.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we have harmonies – Crosby, Stills, and
Nash, The Beach Boys, The Finn Brothers – individually all fine voices, but
together reach the level of Great. Performers on this “list” include great
songwriters, guitarists, and performers, but in trying to fill out 200 blanks
you run into problems. Granted there are a few names on here who I didn’t know –
you can be good, while being obscure, but great? Anohni, IU, and Burna Boy all could have been left off – there’s even some guy named Spray Foam
Insulation?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh wait, that’s an ad stuck in
the middle of the list, sorry – but you get my point. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ten, maybe twenty – and that’s pushing it –
qualify as “The Greatest” and the rest…well, thanks, I’m sure your parents are
proud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s take a look and see if we
can’t narrow things down a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First,
we have to look at the Church Ladies – <b>Aretha Franklin</b> and <b>Mavis
Staples</b> – nothing says vocals like growing up singing in the church choir. That
said we have to add, <b>Sam</b> <b>Cooke</b> and <b>Al Green</b>, <b>Donny
Hathaway</b> and <b>Bobby Womack</b> to the mix. Powerful and distinctive
female voices like <b>Bonnie Bramlett</b>, <b>Etta James</b>, and <b>Phoebe
Snow</b>. Then there are the Judys – <b>Garland</b>, <b>Holiday</b>, and Rufus
Wainwright. [And on a side note, can we please stop heaping undue praise on
Whitless Houston and Pariah Carey and raise up <b>Alicia Keyes</b> and <b>Fiona
Apple</b>.] <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The men with a
cry in their voice – <b>Chris Isaak</b>, <b>John David Souther</b>, and <b>Raul
Malo</b> – who owe it all to <b>Roy Orbison</b> and <b>Elvis Presley. </b>Rounding
out the list – with just one listen, one single example of perfection – <b>Carl
Wilson</b> (“God Only Knows”), <b>Randy Meisner</b> (“Take it to the Limit”)
and <b>Karen Carpenter</b> (“Rainy Days and Mondays’), I give you a pushed twenty, you can narrow it from there,
if you can. Did I leave some off? Sure, just like <i>RS</i> did, but I can say for a
fact that Celine ain’t one of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took
twenty-eight contributors to compile the <i>RS’ </i>“200 list” and create what I’m
sure the editors of <i>Rolling Stone</i> hoped and prayed for – some senseless
buzz that fools the public into thinking their publication is still relevant.
They aren’t – uh-oh, I guess Ben Fong Torres isn’t gonna ring me up, like in <i>Almost
Famous</i> and say “they want me writing for them.” It’s okay, I hate lists.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-28841482855667417962022-12-01T15:40:00.001-08:002022-12-01T15:40:27.954-08:00Oh Death, You Boney Bastard, I Hope You're Pleased. . .<p> <b><span style="font-size: medium;">T</span></b>hat heartless, bag of rattling bastard Death is a
motherfucker – a patient and conniving motherfucker. In the midst of stealing a
few folks that already had my heart aching, I found out today that months ago I
lost an old friend. The last of his
clan. I reached out today, to touch base
and learned that Tracy May had passed.
The May family had, in one way or the other, in my life since 5<sup>th</sup>
grade. Tracy and his twin brother Stacy
were a year younger than the rest of us, but made their presence know. Death
reached out for Stacy in high school, leaving Tracy a bit lost. Next was their older brother Eugene, who I
worked with. Then their sister, older and beautiful, who I found out too late,
had a crush on me. Finally, not yet
content, Death came for Tracy. They say that death is hardest on those left
behind, at least that’s no longer a worry for them. Reach out to those who
populate your map, and let them know what they mean to you. Live your life so
well that that boney bastard will tremble at the thought of taking you – or,
let him get close enough to grab him and shake the marrow from his bones. RIP
Tracy. RIP May clan you all deserved better.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-34668483176749198342022-11-05T17:40:00.001-07:002022-11-05T17:40:33.340-07:00"Room at the End of the Hall"<p> Thought it might be about time to drop a bit of post-Halloween micro fiction on you, just because. . .Enjoy!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpNIm2rMtnVtZwSHYcjZPSKRyVwqM6qsoxaVziMZ7zxZa0EX5agz6T9B5AfDNABhp0IuhyiGP8NDQ38YgXc3h5W75ZPOpzxewdVsYAS1aIcaPrfLJ9wz0PMBtb6VXM-fSenDIOPz--FjPrTOd5EHWZTWtw9sIVjKzxb36TT2tk-5IFjZel2na6-MBsRA/s600/e88f1bc2761875c1418cee14c2396a87.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="407" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpNIm2rMtnVtZwSHYcjZPSKRyVwqM6qsoxaVziMZ7zxZa0EX5agz6T9B5AfDNABhp0IuhyiGP8NDQ38YgXc3h5W75ZPOpzxewdVsYAS1aIcaPrfLJ9wz0PMBtb6VXM-fSenDIOPz--FjPrTOd5EHWZTWtw9sIVjKzxb36TT2tk-5IFjZel2na6-MBsRA/s320/e88f1bc2761875c1418cee14c2396a87.jpg" width="217" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Room
at the End of the Hall”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: center; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">by <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: center; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">James Patrick Lockett<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
walk to the end of the hallway each morning to feed the man that is my charge.
I set the tray down, in order to unlock the seven bolts that secure the door.
Careful not to cross or disturb the ring of salt that encircles the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon my entrance, he moves to the back of the
circle, as he’s been instructed, so that I may place the tray inside the
circle. Gently.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Each
morning I bring him a stone cup of fresh goat’s milk, a variety of fruit and
sweetmeats, and bread. A fresh candle and a small silver tray of
brimstone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I step back, a safe
distance, and sit in the open doorway to observe him, or simply keep him
company.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Watching
him eat is the most sensual experience I’ve ever had. The pleasure he derives
from each bite, raising them to his lips, before it disappears into his mouth.
Or, the drop of milk that escapes his lip, to slide down his chin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It makes me long for the touch of a woman, or
a man for that matter. That is his greatest power.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Watching
him light the candle, with a soft and gentle breath was magic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was him, as he invented magic. Somedays
he sings to me, sweet touching refrains of mornings; beautiful songs of the
angels – or, the sirens – contingent on his desire, I suspect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today, he did not sing, he merely sat across
from me and set the candle upon the floor in front of him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
his fingertips slowly rubbed the ground brimstone, sprinkling it over the
flame, he looked up at me – his right eye, crystal, like a tear coated diamond
– and asked what he always asks, “Will you let me out today?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today, though, it was not his customary
request, there was a hint of urgency.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The
longer I am held,” he continued. “The stronger his hold becomes. Go back to
your room and watch the news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
zealots are speaking louder. Uninformed interpretation is becoming the law of
your land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My brothers – the Mystic and
the Prophet and the Seeker – have all fallen from grace, just as I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Zionists will destroy your world in the name
of their Christ; if not, misguided fundamentalists will destroy your world in
the name of the Hadith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must be free
to restore balance to your world.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
closed his eyes. “But why should you believe me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chosen one, cast out for simply voicing
my opinion.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With that he lowered his
head, The flame grew brighter, and for the first time in months, I considered
huis request. And for the first time, I could smell the brimstone.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-67450692579552859142022-10-27T14:22:00.005-07:002023-03-25T18:20:25.975-07:00Feed Your Soul.<p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMycYSgbWMmPBefVgl2sHjEbQAOlqOM-zE-31JZa1SKqFd9EcFVaPUSVc2zfypKaEhlc8LpJOZlTBNs7LXgMnyXnxA0Vgd_wWUuRBY-8-H8UG0oCsDDGG04Wd8jd1oLr4l1qJ91UBt2Vpwk0s2BVanhDSg_1irbahHICqa_TkmFS31oDDDGQLvNBr7uw/s275/images.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMycYSgbWMmPBefVgl2sHjEbQAOlqOM-zE-31JZa1SKqFd9EcFVaPUSVc2zfypKaEhlc8LpJOZlTBNs7LXgMnyXnxA0Vgd_wWUuRBY-8-H8UG0oCsDDGG04Wd8jd1oLr4l1qJ91UBt2Vpwk0s2BVanhDSg_1irbahHICqa_TkmFS31oDDDGQLvNBr7uw/s1600/images.jpg" width="275" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span><br /> </span><span> </span>It’s
been said that “you are what you eat.”
You are also, what you drink. What you read. You are <i>all</i> of what
you let into yourself. Take a look at your self-nourishment sometime. If you live off of corporate junk, you become
a . . .that’s right, a corporate junkie. In debt to the machine that doesn’t give
a righteous fuck about you. <i>Damn the pusher man</i>. Now I don’t want to
come across like a born again/reformed smoker/shitbag, I admit to stumbling
into a McDonalds on occasion, because I might want to feed some nostalgic craving
and in one bite, remember <i>oh yeah, it’s not that good.</i></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It
makes my principles hurt. I feel compromised. There’s something morally wrong
about being that consumer cog in the evil machine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And by evil machine I mean the McDonalds,
Starbucks, Amazon’s out there (unfortunately, one of my books is available only
through Amazon, <i>sigh</i>). It applies to Facebook. . .I’m sorry <i>Meta</i>.
The Coca-Cola Company. Nestles. Walmart. Domino’s pizza. Big Pharma. Big Oil. Your
local mega-church. The list goes on. And YES, finding nourishing alternatives causes
a moment or two of inconvenience. It requires a bit of effort, but that’s because
of their conditioning. It’s what they count on. You can’t tell me there’s not a
local coffee shoppe that wouldn’t appreciate your patronage, within the two-mile
radius of the seven Starbucks. An indie bookstore (or better yet, a used
bookstore) who just might keep an eye out for titles you like or be willing to
order one for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you’re lucky and
make the effort you might find both in one stop. A neighborhood pizzeria without
a corporate logo and ties to principles contrary to your own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or the Mom and Pop burger joint, one order
away from being able to meet payroll. You get it. We all do.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So,
stumble across some old poetry collection, or a beat-up Jonathan Carroll paperback;
order four street tacos from the truck outside; ask the coffee place on the corner
to fill your porcelain cup before they close; and have a seat at a folding table
and consume. Look around at your choices. Alter your perception and feed your
soul. It all starts with one sip. One bite. One word.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-88503894023282252812022-10-08T22:31:00.000-07:002022-10-08T22:31:37.087-07:00Untitled<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUj8yj2G5N4UyGYt-JrW8RKihixP7AjSlpFzJIcRdPONLdfN7VKHJyQySvDW9zmU7-STuhIhs8pWUKNBI1PC0r_w6a25_63WZcsuBMOtIoYvs6kP6tmRl4MPTFWyQPFgB5sFxGwNmgQh2UtBbRTfT-qvisttQuF5tEB_rvoMycN_gOUZReskBtjukAQ/s444/flying%20donkeys%20graphic.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="442" data-original-width="444" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUj8yj2G5N4UyGYt-JrW8RKihixP7AjSlpFzJIcRdPONLdfN7VKHJyQySvDW9zmU7-STuhIhs8pWUKNBI1PC0r_w6a25_63WZcsuBMOtIoYvs6kP6tmRl4MPTFWyQPFgB5sFxGwNmgQh2UtBbRTfT-qvisttQuF5tEB_rvoMycN_gOUZReskBtjukAQ/s320/flying%20donkeys%20graphic.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-82050182372226425592022-09-24T18:13:00.000-07:002022-09-24T18:13:09.856-07:00Lockdown 2.022<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOcGCtp1eYIjwEQxQQIP5ddhW4A3T1g-9eliGiQpvkaqPeDa8qWDSug9d8O7AmQSyQMvi-IztP89XRl_8kSbcX0BZign85KtVtFU84jNo4j-eqRn0VhbwDYF8op3aNF-xTj7Mx8yCPlFwOGgceUxDJfiR0yOb_OCg_XBDCfR2Eixt0V9dfX7muP4aWUw/s1080/lockdown%20promo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="692" data-original-width="1080" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOcGCtp1eYIjwEQxQQIP5ddhW4A3T1g-9eliGiQpvkaqPeDa8qWDSug9d8O7AmQSyQMvi-IztP89XRl_8kSbcX0BZign85KtVtFU84jNo4j-eqRn0VhbwDYF8op3aNF-xTj7Mx8yCPlFwOGgceUxDJfiR0yOb_OCg_XBDCfR2Eixt0V9dfX7muP4aWUw/w400-h256/lockdown%20promo.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-72569016679711870132022-09-24T16:02:00.000-07:002022-09-24T16:02:09.757-07:00Chaos and Moving Vans<p> So, I see that it's been a month since I posted here - SOOORRY!! Life has been upside down for the past month. You know when <i>they</i> make those "most stressful event" lists and moving, death and divorce lead the pack? Well two out of three ain't bad - throw moving and a passing in the mix together and you get a bit of an upheaval - but my success rat of surviving shit in my life remains at 100% - and I've emerged the other side of it and am back to regular posting. Stay tuned. . .</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4uuVWUUOAiX05oOQAhiY3c88touhHQqBX3jEsfPq29-eGtTzpEvJ_B_UzV4aJIu9XPyfGDUAWdpnlrXWNRpDZVYuqltjHO8uZBRtBdjaV_HHOlpnHJkkXoT_yYl4jXdqyr8PYI5lJMr6DxYATyUTdgqUL4Q26_rf5IEBCRbHEDyLyC07_J7KXjWeohA/s960/165966372_132335418896773_7797200799169289545_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4uuVWUUOAiX05oOQAhiY3c88touhHQqBX3jEsfPq29-eGtTzpEvJ_B_UzV4aJIu9XPyfGDUAWdpnlrXWNRpDZVYuqltjHO8uZBRtBdjaV_HHOlpnHJkkXoT_yYl4jXdqyr8PYI5lJMr6DxYATyUTdgqUL4Q26_rf5IEBCRbHEDyLyC07_J7KXjWeohA/s320/165966372_132335418896773_7797200799169289545_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMl-xz1P-2q8-3auu74PhCzS7x9d7NSXrMu-IUF6a028dBFTCv6o_1ZgtHPuiUSbKisjHsPWXFd3Dy_yRgapVEFqoYc7xbDn78SdQ8fjuPD0UJiw7UqX_3wNyYHEbEM_NYHVZxZo_C9Uv7XuwGIePN8BJvV4Q3Ppg7YXyOZ1vsQxj4p2lmbLpQB6iavg/s225/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMl-xz1P-2q8-3auu74PhCzS7x9d7NSXrMu-IUF6a028dBFTCv6o_1ZgtHPuiUSbKisjHsPWXFd3Dy_yRgapVEFqoYc7xbDn78SdQ8fjuPD0UJiw7UqX_3wNyYHEbEM_NYHVZxZo_C9Uv7XuwGIePN8BJvV4Q3Ppg7YXyOZ1vsQxj4p2lmbLpQB6iavg/w315-h225/images.jpg" width="315" /></a></div>Day One.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span>Now! </span><span> </span><br /></div><div><span><br /></span></div>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-73728133671499709502022-08-25T15:10:00.002-07:002022-08-25T15:10:28.950-07:00"In the Quiet of Morning"<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><b><span style="font-size: large;">I</span></b><span style="font-size: medium;"> love a
challenge. Give me a topic and a word
limit and my mind start reeling. To
write within the confines of 250 words – as in this case – and to hit the mark
dead on </span><i style="font-size: large;">fills me with schpilcus, man</i><span style="font-size: medium;">. What doesn’t thrill me is responding
to the submission challenge (an April 4</span><sup style="font-size: large;">th</sup><span style="font-size: medium;"> deadline) and seeing the
listing repeated, each time with a new deadline (and of course more reading
fees) until this morning when they (and no, I’m not naming the magazine) passed
on the story – with a note encouraging me to submit more – no, I think I’m good
thanks. But the good news is, now, I get
to post it here – so find a spare 250 seconds and take a gander at a few words.
Enjoy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>“In the Quiet of Morning” </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>by </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>James Patrick Lockett </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Adam
sat up and stretched, then shuffled into the bathroom. Had his bladder not been
demanding attention, he might have noticed the flashing 00:00 of the clock. The
first clue that something was off -- besides the water. Flushing the toilet, he
remembered the notice -- WATER SERVICE WILL BE INTERUPTED TOMORROW.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Adam had filled water jugs last night, while
prepping his morning coffee. All he’d have to do was light the burner.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> While
waiting, he poured a bowl of <i>Sugar Frosted Flavor Bombs</i>, but without
milk, Adam was reduced to breakfast, popcorn style - popping each bomb into his
mouth - as he fiddled with the radio. Nothing! He spun the dial top to bottom.
What they call it in the radio biz, dead air? He gave the radio a healthy
smack, the tiny red light stared back in defiance. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"> Adam slid open the glass door and
stepped outside. He closed his eyes and
raised his face to the sun. It was -- he wanted to say, perfect -- but <i>something</i>
was definitely off. There was no sound. No distant sirens. No garbage trucks.
No traffic --there was always traffic.
Standing there, literally listening to nothing, it dawned on him. This
was it. The brand-new normal, just as promised.
He took a deep breath, as if he were the last man - the only man on
Earth. Then he remembered. He remembered
everything. She was due any minute and Eve wouldn’t be late --there was no
traffic.</span></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-52740023097874769142022-07-19T21:40:00.000-07:002022-07-19T21:40:16.146-07:00I wish I'd Written this...<p>This goes out to all the amazing women in my orbit, you all deserve the world these words promise.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1G53OibkFjd15sxPknUuRUvttCLk5JAIcvUBeWFyeCtbgIKVLwvjL9_fdmGtHH6YjWRcpPAVazgEl1WmNUpir9YbqEDCs5xAg3NHo4KbgryaglLclNB0Su27itA3lxnxzrm3DFA9vHUNPMNx-Qcv60eUegL8fMbiAu-CltY83heOywLnoY4cd1nyzqA/s606/FB_IMG_1658246564108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="606" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1G53OibkFjd15sxPknUuRUvttCLk5JAIcvUBeWFyeCtbgIKVLwvjL9_fdmGtHH6YjWRcpPAVazgEl1WmNUpir9YbqEDCs5xAg3NHo4KbgryaglLclNB0Su27itA3lxnxzrm3DFA9vHUNPMNx-Qcv60eUegL8fMbiAu-CltY83heOywLnoY4cd1nyzqA/w330-h400/FB_IMG_1658246564108.jpg" width="330" /></a></div><p></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-33323319815830830372022-07-12T16:15:00.001-07:002022-07-12T16:15:51.539-07:00BOOM! LOVE! Count 2, 3, 4 . . .oh Hell, You're Gonna Do Whatever You Want Anyway.<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkGnY0B5EiAHNOPHzbjscrQECOSFiTODnk1_UIkOWrcuBNJPmTcLfEYFPhnKsWV-Rwcgmwvp2hB7y_9UQgMvFHn5D_lt9yNdIK6DpN-kokDyfR2T7w4blKL81Zor30SFWp8clVSx5zITBKTziBiyyjxWcFVrnrXyFUKfxAKTTk8fIfxmKvaQd0If-PUQ/s1280/mysterious-object-unli-1_resize_93_compress40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="777" data-original-width="1280" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkGnY0B5EiAHNOPHzbjscrQECOSFiTODnk1_UIkOWrcuBNJPmTcLfEYFPhnKsWV-Rwcgmwvp2hB7y_9UQgMvFHn5D_lt9yNdIK6DpN-kokDyfR2T7w4blKL81Zor30SFWp8clVSx5zITBKTziBiyyjxWcFVrnrXyFUKfxAKTTk8fIfxmKvaQd0If-PUQ/s320/mysterious-object-unli-1_resize_93_compress40.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Wring your hands, folks –
to the worries and problems that plague your life, that plague the world as you
see it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, as you bury your face
remember those immortal words of Rick, as he stood on that foggy tarmac –it
doesn’t take much to realize that the problems of two people don’t add up to a
hill of beans in this crazy world – because they really don’t. The world doesn’t
care, nor does the universe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 2016,
astronomers received a radio signal from a star 500 billion light years away.
Other than saying to yourself – damn, that’s far away – think about this in
relation to time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>500 billion light
years means that this radio signal was sent about the time the earth was
forming. BOOM!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So, I
want you to look into the faces of those displaced by disaster – be it mother
nature or man’s inhumanity – and share their pain instead of turning away from
it, for you are only one or two steps away. Everything changes – and it changes
in a heartbeat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The common thing we all
share is unconditional love. It forms the basis for what we all want – the
happiness and safety of our loved ones. The common thing that makes us human. LOVE!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So
here are some undeniable truths. First, your government lies to you. They
always have and always will, it makes their job easier if they control the narrative.
In their eyes, you needs come second – so start putting your needs first.
Second, humans are a scared animal (noy sacred, as the first typo
suggested).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all need something to
believe in to get by, but it’s time to stop lying to yourselves about your
beliefs and take a realistic view of how they affect you and how the effect the
world. At best, keep them to yourself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Learn
to embrace our differences. Learn from them, learn from each other – to each
his own.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s
great to be nostalgic but stop trying to go back. Learn from the past and move
forward. Always forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Find something
that makes you happy – that doesn’t involve what your neighbor is doing – and as
Charles Bukowski said – “let it kill you.” The goal is to die with a smile on
your face, isn’t it? AND stop counting for “God’s” sake. Stop counting your
money. Stop counting your calories. Stop counting your number of “friends.”
Count memories and moments because as you’re dying – with that smile on your face
– that’s what you’ll be wanting more of.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">This, of course, has all
been advice from someone who seldom takes advice from others. Everyone has an
opinion – which is simply that, an opinion – not the law of the land (a big
part of the problem) – so take this, or not, and do as you will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it is food for thought, all I ask is that
we try a little bit better. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can be
better,<o:p></o:p></span></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-74476146613830585882022-07-06T23:35:00.002-07:002022-07-06T23:35:57.733-07:00Hey Baby, It's the 5th of July<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj06WpFpFWZP2Cm5qLwPTASS7ZfuzPDNHeJWCKGC79_NgKA4E3_ZKk_SgmmM-uy2ycwTuUO1il9fwrEDWnokdoheUQkvZZsuc2Ut536NjND3erkfEg9_fnGN2NwrHd8G10V0buR4OaPS4UgDSgsyP4AViBSqULvlQ1n84kRtP7DkdvkGf-Omq1h0wnGQ/s2560/fifth%20of%20july%20graphic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj06WpFpFWZP2Cm5qLwPTASS7ZfuzPDNHeJWCKGC79_NgKA4E3_ZKk_SgmmM-uy2ycwTuUO1il9fwrEDWnokdoheUQkvZZsuc2Ut536NjND3erkfEg9_fnGN2NwrHd8G10V0buR4OaPS4UgDSgsyP4AViBSqULvlQ1n84kRtP7DkdvkGf-Omq1h0wnGQ/s16000/fifth%20of%20july%20graphic.jpg" /></a></div><br /> Photo by J. Lockett 2021.<p></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-90851970334908780922022-07-01T16:38:00.001-07:002022-07-01T16:38:29.000-07:00Perhaps...It's Time to Expands Our Minds<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHLLP_nM7b1q9ZMRUlZQ8_4XdzKvmtNF_0Kie52QDg67Ml3TR9ehIsKZOLD29LZFXX6oxnU0Rqh3Yt8KZ-GpnCs6uxUbMhb61Prh1NwInntKyLQ8KGT9oU4xnK9AnUaak2RulAKOItsem-n1rr28yJsP2yvDO4W2-wGgZ2O7m-_WQ9ZQ-eATaIbNAXw/s900/FB_IMG_1656529828543.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHLLP_nM7b1q9ZMRUlZQ8_4XdzKvmtNF_0Kie52QDg67Ml3TR9ehIsKZOLD29LZFXX6oxnU0Rqh3Yt8KZ-GpnCs6uxUbMhb61Prh1NwInntKyLQ8KGT9oU4xnK9AnUaak2RulAKOItsem-n1rr28yJsP2yvDO4W2-wGgZ2O7m-_WQ9ZQ-eATaIbNAXw/s320/FB_IMG_1656529828543.jpg" width="284" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-36143558457458254332022-06-29T15:37:00.001-07:002022-06-29T15:37:42.257-07:00Hey Diddlee-Dum, a Container Life for Some<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyDQ41m0FmZ8U7qBu7HzStP-uYH96d_H-TXM4WwVGKFRayn75ivJof05xjM3pB1R6X0dgZmJTibTnzOKWox6tZ4VXq7srpj5t1LWCTJSXz9W5Q9-5G_AiNIKXnkQhqeIYI485U5SjXm94zLBZDYn-h4_2EvB6ps0OAdqMJtEr-FfqyIndlQWIuaVezOQ/s460/4676.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="276" data-original-width="460" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyDQ41m0FmZ8U7qBu7HzStP-uYH96d_H-TXM4WwVGKFRayn75ivJof05xjM3pB1R6X0dgZmJTibTnzOKWox6tZ4VXq7srpj5t1LWCTJSXz9W5Q9-5G_AiNIKXnkQhqeIYI485U5SjXm94zLBZDYn-h4_2EvB6ps0OAdqMJtEr-FfqyIndlQWIuaVezOQ/s320/4676.webp" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">That <b>“Container Life”</b> is not all it’s
cracked up be. All those hipster YouTube videos, yearning to get “off grid” in
a converted school bus, or better yet live out their “sustainable” years in a 8’
x 40’ four room micro mansions, where you feed your guests outside on the
deck/living room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just ask the 50
immigrants, who were found dead last week in San Antonio, about container life.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Now, I don’t mean to be glib – this
is a tragedy beyond reasonable comprehension. But I do mean to be glib about
<i>NPR.</i> Their first story I heard this
morning was, and I quote “Investigators are working to find out <i>why</i> at
least fifty-one migrants died in the back of a tactor trailer in San Antonio,
this week.” I’ll tell you why, but first
let’s look at who’s heading up the investigation – the<i> Department of Homeland
Security</i> – that crack Gestapo Unit of unrestrained stormtroopers – formed after
9/11 as knee jerk reaction to fear, in a time when our government couldn’t be
bothered with the rights of its citizens. <i>
</i><i>Why did this happen?</i> Find a
mirror boys, you’re why this happened. And
short of dismantling your now unnecessary department, at least stop burying your
heads in your own “self-importance” and take honest look at the problems you’ve
added to.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">But wait, that’s not fair the Department
of Fatherland Insecurity is not totally to blame, there’s The <i>U.S. Customs and
Border Patrol</i> – another unbridled division of Federal entrapment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two diametrically opposed offices, addressing
the uncommon goals for both Taxation and immigration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mall cops with a delusion of grandeur, who
watch too much reality television. At the border, you’re often et with “Cop-speak”
entrapment questions and tac uniforms, straight out of an episode 1975’s <i>S.W.A.T</i>.
This has nothing to do with the desired goals, other than instilling fear – or,
insinuating yourselves in a school shooting (but that’s an entirely different
rant).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fear is as powerful a tool, to
ill-perceived authority, as is a gun in the hands of a thug or a coward.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">As fucked up as “Amerika” is –
believe it or not folks – there are worse places.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And there are people, who want to escape those
places, willing to face the strong-arm enforcers of the American SS, or risk even
the possibility of death in 180-degree box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Imagine their audacity of wanting to come to this shithole of prosperity,
willing to do any job – you know, those that your kids are too good to take –
for a piece of the American scheme – life, liberty, and the pursuit of living
in a remodeled shipping container. They deserve better than to die in the back
of a trailer – hoards of Karens, loose their shit if a dog is left in a car for
two minutes – and they certainly deserve better than to have source of the
problem looking into “why?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are all
off to a better place, Good speed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">So, as we ALL strive for better,
keep in mind the real NPR headline should be – Investigators are working to find
out why we are focused on all the new weekly distractions, instead of focusing
on issues that would make this a better country, a better world, or maybe just
a better life for that one person willing to risk everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come on, ya’ll, be better.<o:p></o:p></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-36752588149924374962022-06-26T13:27:00.002-07:002022-06-26T13:27:42.295-07:00Raven Black<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoSQV6CURbIP2LjGPTaTU4WWkDakdzGWqvLxGeFGzUsH3z_zTrfYEDThIhoy7tvjKDSBFmRl1qzF6MoFCbLFEzWjd4FawN4XhIOv9NS8gh8kIZPcTOlZMPVo3yzcPCBa-dX9EGwE53nyX9fYsY2_72KD-RgAFs95QyqcN0mvdFmuUCy8s9Qo_tkASJgw/s749/FB_IMG_1656274314366_kindlephoto-45499931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="749" data-original-width="669" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoSQV6CURbIP2LjGPTaTU4WWkDakdzGWqvLxGeFGzUsH3z_zTrfYEDThIhoy7tvjKDSBFmRl1qzF6MoFCbLFEzWjd4FawN4XhIOv9NS8gh8kIZPcTOlZMPVo3yzcPCBa-dX9EGwE53nyX9fYsY2_72KD-RgAFs95QyqcN0mvdFmuUCy8s9Qo_tkASJgw/s320/FB_IMG_1656274314366_kindlephoto-45499931.jpg" width="286" /></a></div><p><br /></p><br /> Somedays<p></p><p>the words and broken ideologies</p><p>of man</p><p>steal all the colors from our sight.</p><p>And turn the petals raven black,</p><p>for it is hope and light they lack, </p><p>these wicked fools.</p><p>But those who know the power</p><p>the sunflower holds,</p><p>Know it WILL dawn again,</p><p>in it's vibrant glory, </p><p>as always promised.</p><p><br /></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-57344771925108130262022-06-24T13:40:00.000-07:002022-06-24T13:40:16.183-07:00Words Fail Me...<p> . . .I'd hoped for better, while I prepared my mind to accept this coming injustice, I'm gut-punched. For, supposedly, brilliant legal minds to do this, well I'd hoped for better.</p><p>Even with this, words fail me, all that's left to do is Stand.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Stand!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My outrage today transcends the page,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">all available words<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">border on rage,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">there is no ink dark enough<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">to contain this offense – <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">this hate, which arouses more hate<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">and anger in response.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Grab your torches and raise the village<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Storm yon castle and drag out the offender,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">this stain on humanity –<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">yet, that makes you no better than they<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">[or them, or that] whatever pronoun<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">you choose to describe – as long as it is not<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">the “Honorable.” [they] relinquished that word.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Remember that, through your tears,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">your heartbreak, and despair<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">there are those around you who truly care.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Love conquers Hate.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Right conquers Wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Even behind the darkest veil<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Justice will always prevail.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Stand up. Stand strong.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Stand!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">© 2022 The Hyena Kitchen, All Rights Reserved,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-13419423823972538742022-06-10T12:47:00.000-07:002022-06-10T12:47:33.036-07:00Impatiens Ain’t Just a Flower<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;"> I </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">had come across a
wonderful quote attributed to William Butler Yeats about waiting patiently – which
I tucked away in my plastic Cap’n Crunch treasure chest – for some future use. I
thought ‘Patiently Waiting’ made for a great title (or tattoo) – however, I recently
discovered that Yeats “borrowed” the quote from playwright Eden Phillpotts’
1919 book of vignettes entitled <b><i>A Shadow Passes</i></b>, with the change
of two words. Phillpotts’ original reads
– “<i>The universe is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to
grow sharper.” </i>Phillpotts’ use of “universe” over Yeats’ “world,” holds a
much deeper meaning for me.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I try – I really
do – I try my own patience, but it is so hard to find calm in this fast paced/ immediate
need world we find ourselves in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a
lapse-Buddhist, patience is that seemingly unattainable goal. As a surfer
patience is a must. For a serious coffee addict, waiting for the first pot of
the morning can seem an eternity. Dogs. Horses. Children. Patience is the key. And
as a human being sharing this rock, speeding through space, with others, well.
. .<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our days are
filled with those moments, but, for me it is as a poet that patience becomes a
necessity. Somedays words come at a lightning pace, with a final line eluding
me; other days it is a single line that comes with a basement of space that
taunts me. Patience. Then comes the submission process, with multiple pieces
out there for months, the waiting can be like watching the coffee pot.
Patience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is our job to put things
out there. . .and wait.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe in
magical things. I believe that the things that are meant to be, will be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All things will come in good time. I believe
in words, and I believe in the universe. Breathe. Watch the surf. Pour yourself
another cup. Everything changes, just Wait – Patiently.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i>The
cream will indeed rise to the top, <o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>where it will immediately be stolen <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>for
the morning coffee<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>by
the addict who patiently waits.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-89619945933334792522022-05-23T13:55:00.000-07:002022-05-23T13:55:28.756-07:00A Quick "New Music Monday" (before I forget)<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span> </span>H</b></span>ey there Kats and Kittens, it’s been minute since there was
a new New Music Friday, I know, and I apologize.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things have been crazy - yes, too crazy to
whip out a nod to the great stuff I’ve been listening to and there’s great
stuff out there. So here’s an abridged New Music Monday. A quick list of
goodies to go treat yourself to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b>John
Doe</b>’s latest <i>Fables in a Foreign Land</i> (Fat Possum Records); the long
awaited session from <b>Mavis Staples & Levon Helm </b><i>Carry Me Home </i>(Anti);
<b>Trombone Shorty</b>’s mix of everything - <i>Lifted</i> (Blue Note Records);
the return of <b>Taj Mahal and Ry Cooder</b>, their first together since 1965 -
<i>Get On Board</i> (Perro Verde Records); and <b>Lyle Lovett</b>’s first in
ten years <i>12<sup>th</sup> of June</i> (Cycle Holdings) - named for the
birthday of his twins - will all get you through (when mixed with a healthy
dose of my usual eclectic rabbit hole fallings - Al Kooper, the Mad Lads
(Stax), and early Jack Ingram). Get right. Mind the grand divide and be happy. Peace and Love.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/fuGWSAi6IgI" width="320" youtube-src-id="fuGWSAi6IgI"></iframe></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-31279098320544320512022-05-14T15:03:00.005-07:002022-05-15T01:06:44.356-07:00Il Pagliacci at the End of the World <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq37xhRR7X3EjAE5AOEVKeq5xPqhFXvgjCyNpBAZw4SP1MilEAHHXULHFVx2LcUy-IY3FWbY1RIAbgt5NaQwN3DyQTOHpKh9MLw1XfC6WQeerj5B1z32St39ZpcYduLOphUkML2MUaC32_aZmQS4Q7hQ4BVu3Dvo2P5CADKunULY6DAkbnu2L7tlSJFQ/s975/scary-clowns-portraits-by-eolo-perfido-17.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="975" data-original-width="650" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq37xhRR7X3EjAE5AOEVKeq5xPqhFXvgjCyNpBAZw4SP1MilEAHHXULHFVx2LcUy-IY3FWbY1RIAbgt5NaQwN3DyQTOHpKh9MLw1XfC6WQeerj5B1z32St39ZpcYduLOphUkML2MUaC32_aZmQS4Q7hQ4BVu3Dvo2P5CADKunULY6DAkbnu2L7tlSJFQ/s320/scary-clowns-portraits-by-eolo-perfido-17.webp" width="213" /></a></div><br /> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> (photo by Eolo Perfido)</span><p></p><p>It is sad.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This sorrow we all feel at the moment, though we can’t put a
finger on the source of the sadness. We were given a great gift. A pandemic. We
were afforded an opportunity to see what our lives would be in the great
without.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To take a long hard look at
what was important, and we failed. Those of us who saw this as an evolution are
sad - and those who saw it as a grand imposition, those who needed it the most,
are left angry and anxious. It is sad.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We had the chance to find less, yet we find a world of
billionaires flying to space, while others leverage and borrow against what
have to buy more feeding only their ego.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Supply chain woes when half that absent supply is simply unneeded and
value of imaginary money, imaginary art, and imaginary fame exist like a child’s
imaginary friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And speaking of
imaginary friends, the separation of Church and State was (Constitutionally)
created so that personal opinion did not rule the land and restrict a person’s
rights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what’s The Constitution,
when our politicians build unconscionable lies that we know just can’t be true
-yet here are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When this all comes
crashing down - society’s great fall - as is inevitable - It’s science folks - “every
action has an equal and opposite reaction” - <i>oh, wait, science isn’t real,
the past two years showed us that!</i> (sigh) -the words like <i>inconvenience</i>
and <i>depression</i> will find greater meaning. You ain’t seen nothin,’ folks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s sad, because the world we thought would be destroyed by
a pandemic, just two short years ago. Has now been destroyed by us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, thank you society; in your greedy rush to
get back to whatever “normal” you had going for you; all your hurry, greed, and
bitching about inconvenient this had been for you, we learned absolutely
nothing. The unthinkable milestone of one million deaths from COVID was marked
this passed week with hardly a shock - think back to the hand-ringing of 1000
deaths. All is numb and there’s now no place to go but down, so stock up on some clown masks and crocodile tears<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Duck and cover, gang. Duck and cover.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>Just like Pagliacci did, I try to keep my sadness hid. . .</i></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5638471624716364079.post-58976422408094982972022-05-04T12:39:00.002-07:002022-05-04T12:43:41.665-07:00Watch Your Step, Them Words are Sharp.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29fxyZzIPtsMhwMcvrv7946g1jAxmuEoXX0tF40cMrv5Q75fjLgQ8bjaIk-Nj0qHj1SpAtOJnWZYjk1w7GVYiqp2ejXP3ttAsqigqqySIxnnQ6vtW35HO17wTv2obYrPRq5_ipJMLZoe96tCJBqvhbqqH_uI6soRRz_-Jia0-IO8yRUxWrY5uJbQmOg/s1200/68284525_10219817750537070_3237875483953594368_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29fxyZzIPtsMhwMcvrv7946g1jAxmuEoXX0tF40cMrv5Q75fjLgQ8bjaIk-Nj0qHj1SpAtOJnWZYjk1w7GVYiqp2ejXP3ttAsqigqqySIxnnQ6vtW35HO17wTv2obYrPRq5_ipJMLZoe96tCJBqvhbqqH_uI6soRRz_-Jia0-IO8yRUxWrY5uJbQmOg/s320/68284525_10219817750537070_3237875483953594368_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The road is long,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">the words are scattered</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">before us</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">a carpeted path</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">that is (sadly) not understood</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">by many of those who walk</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">beside us.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">there are many words to</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">be spoken</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">even though they won't be heard,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">understood,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">or heeded.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">for they can't see what lies at their</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">feet, nor</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">can they see the many words</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">they have yet to cross -</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">they seldom see the end of the road,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">much less the direction</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">the words point.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">why write if there is no point?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">When the road is long?</div><br /> <p></p>Jim Locketthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17743124093924622493noreply@blogger.com0