A Hunting I Won’t Go

On October 5, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn Uncategorized2 Comments

Any Time The Hunter Gets Captured By The game

If I had to hunt for my food I would starve. My whole family would starve because the closest I ever came to capturing a meal was the time I dropped a can of Pringles and chased it down a hill. Perhaps it’s a morality thing, I mean its not like I’m a flatulent oozing vegetarian I love a good steak, but I don’t need to see it slaughtered. I’m still haunted by the one time I had to chose my own lobster only to have it sentenced to death and served to me with a plastic bib on. Why a lobster would wear a plastic bib is anybody’s guess, but back to the point. At the time I couldn’t help thinking what a shit I was for pointing out an innocent lobster to have it sent mercilessly to its death to satisfy my eating urges. One of those things that just kind of stays with you from childhood through older childhood.
Basically I’m saying I’m anti-hunting. I get that some people feel the need to sneak up on and slaughter animals because they have antlers but personally I don’t get it. I‘m not just being a tree hugging liberal about it, although I have hugged my share of tree‘s, but I walked the walked before talking this talk. That’s right, this peacenik hippie freak has walked the wild hills of Loch Sheldrake NY, up in the Catskill mountains, with a loaded rifle in his hand and lived to tell about it. I had mentally prepared myself to use it before leaving, but by the end of the weekend I was mentally prepared to use it on the drunken rifle toting deer killers. How does a long haired hippie freak in a bright colored ski sweater end up hunting wild animals you ask? A trade off.
I had forged a friendship with a dude my age at work named George. George was an avid hunter, going into the hills stealthily in camouflage during bow and arrow season only to return a week later with heat seeking shotgun shells for the opening of gun hunting season. He had been soliciting me for a week to come and join him as I stood my ground until one day he proposed an offer hard to refuse. “JT seriously dude, hunting is the best thing ever. There is nothing like it.” Now that I took as a challenge. Being a confirmed Deadhead I knew for a fact the actual quote is “There is nothing like a Grateful Dead Concert” and I let him know that in no uncertain terms. His response caught me off guard. “I tell you what, I’ll go to one of your Grateful Dead concerts if you come with me next week.” Hmmm, another challenge. I have brought four people already to their first Dead shows and have made for converts. If I go hunting next week it will force him to go to a show and he will also try weed for the first time. Irresistible offer. “Cool”
So it was set that next week I would travel up into the mountains with a loaded weapon in my hands and as a consolation prize turn a friend on to The Dead and get him stoned. For my part I went out and bought a few magazines, Field and Stream, Outdoor Life, and Sports Afield to get myself familiar with all the latest on hunting protocols. What I learned only made me think I was making a huge mistake. But a deals a deal so I called George to find out what to bring. “Just make sure you dress in bright clothes, warm and in layers, and don’t wear that deer musk cologne you use.” Got it! “Okay, and its not cologne, its patchouli oil. But okay, I won’t bring it. I’ll be ready.” I went through my clothes noting a black leather jacket would not be appropriate and opted for a bright red yellow and blue ski sweater and of course layers. Off we went.
The plan was to drive up Friday night and stay at a motel in town, get up early an hit out into the forest is search of some helpless animals to brutally slay. Back in the seventies drinking responsibly meant wearing a seatbelt while guzzling so we drank a few beers on the way up. By the time we got to the motel the only thing we were sporting was a slight buzz. But the bar at the motel took care of that. It was like some kind of frat party or something, a ton and a half of guys getting drunk and doing shots. Pool table, jukebox, all the comforts of a local dive bar. Guys kept coming over to buy George a drink, and when he introduced me bought one for me as well. I’m not a carpenter but I got hammered that night. 2AM and I still had 2 coasters in front of me so we did two shots of Jack Daniels and called it a night. Tomorrow is the big day, the first day of hunting season and I can only assume the only advantage the deer will have is all of us having killer hangovers.
When I finally shook off all the fog from last nights alcohol I realized that all the guys I was watching head out into the woods were the same guys that were so smashed last night. And every last one of them had a bright orange vest, bright orange skullcap, and at least three quarter of them had orange pants as well. Either this was a prison break or hunters wear a lot of orange. All except me of course, who was in the height of winter style with my fleece lined red Nordic ski hat and my bright multi color stylish ski sweater looking like Jean-Claude Killy leaving the slopes of the alps to join a group of murderous hungover Orangemen into the Catskills. That was when the paranoia began to settle in, and I had gone from fierce hunter to frightened sheep following the crowd in two seconds. George sensed my apprehension and led me to a spot halfway down a mountain, “You stay here JT and if you see a deer shoot it. I’ll be around seeing if I can spook one out” He left and I was alone wondering what I will do once I really do see a deer. I kept thinking about Bambi and I decided I better not look the animal in the eye or there I no way I’ll shoot. The opportunity never came up, although I did see a cute bear cub off in the distance, and I watched a group of beavers working in the stream. Dam they were good!
George came back and collected me for lunch. We went back to the bar at the motel to get some chili con carne and when we walked in half the crew from last night were there and drinking already. The paranoia quickly returned as I listened to them talk about a kill, a shot, or something called a “sound shot” George came over with the chili, “You okay JT?” “Yeah I’m okay, little cold and I wish I had something orange to wear. By the way George, that dude over there was talking about ‘nuthin but a sound shot‘. What’s a sound shot?” George looked a tad concerned, “When you don’t actually see the animal but you hear it making a sound.” I was floored. Holy shit, what if I was sounding like a deer? I ate my chili in silence but all I could think about was these drunken fools taking sound shots after lunch.
The rest of the trip was uneventful and I basically hid in the woods trying not to sound like a deer. Along with the other hunters we got drunk at night and they kept talking about how they will “sacrifice the animal” if they have a decent shot. Luckily the weather took a bad turn and it was snowing too hard to hunt effectively. George got off one shot but missed but I never even raised the rifle to my shoulder once. I was okay with that. I said I would try hunting, knew it was not for me but found out I was understating how wrong much it wasn‘t for me. To this day I have never killed another animal, and I never plan to kill one. I eat meat, I’ll even eat venison, although I think its bullshit they call them deer when they kill (or sacrifice) it but venison when they eat it, but I guess it eases their conscience after slaughtering an unarmed animal. I did take George to a Grateful Dead concert and got him stoned, and he had a great time but didn’t convert. He was and always will be a “Rolling Stones Guy” but as long as he digs it that’s cool. He did smoke weed with me a lot more after that so I did make a bit of progress. I lost touch with George, as is usually does life got in the way and we both moved on and I’m sure he still hunts and that’s okay, because I still indulge in my passions as well. I used to wonder what I would have done if I was face with the opportunity to shoot an animal, would I have taken the shot. But as time has passed I have come to realize there is no way I would have pulled the trigger. I’m proud of that fact but in the end if I couldn’t buy food I’d be dead and wouldn’t be here to write these twisted stories. It is what it is…..PEACE

Fly On The Whitehouse Wall

On October 1, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

II.. Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid

The short lifespan of a fly doesn’t have all that much in the way of excitement. Oh sure if we find some dead body its like an all you can eat buffet for the entire family but there’s nothing exciting about being a fly. We have very little needs, we like to eat, puke, and eat again, then rub our hands together and head out to look for something gourmet, like a still warm pile of dog shit. And this human has three dogs so I decided it would be cool sticking around here. Of course as long as I’m not sticking on some murderous fly paper. Bastard humans make those sticky tapes smell just like lady fly fluids and I’ve witnessed many a friend thinking he was gonna do some mid-air muff diving only to find himself trapped dangling in a gluey mess. But I don’t want to bore you with the details of the danger of life as a fly, I want you to hear some real interesting conversations I was privy to here on the wall in the Whitehouse during the days of what humans call the Watergate scandal. From my original vantage point of the wall I was able to hear quite a tale with a cast of characters that, well lets just say for them to call our larvae maggots is extremely hypocritical. They think their fecal matter isn’t odiferous but any fly worth its proboscis can smell a politician miles from the beltway. C’mon, I’ll walk you through it.
Seems after The Pentagon Papers were released to the press this Nixon guys popularity ratings were tanking and it wasn’t going to be easy to get him re-elected. That’s when Howard Hunt came in the office and if talking shit alone was a meal I would have had a smorgasbord. I’m still on the wall here in the oval office along with G. Gordon, Tricky Dicky, Howard Hunt, John Ehrlichman, HR Halderman, John Dean, and John Mitchell. There seems to be a lot of tension in the air because Hunt had just offered up a plan to break in to the same hotel I was in just last night to spy on some democrats or something. “Listen Dick,” pleads George, “Howard’s right. Larry Obrien, the chair of the DMC booked a room at the Watergate Motel. My sources tell me he has credible evidence of some bullshit connection with You Mr. President, and Howard Hughes” Nixon shuffled and tried to interrupt but Liddy held him off, “Please Mr. President don’t say a word. Not a single one of us believe you did anything wrong but my source claims he has convincing looking forgeries implicating you and Hughes. Obrien was heard saying he’s gonna use them to bring you down. Not gonna happen! My team is going to liberate those phony papers and destroy them. Then we bug his room. We all know how Obrien loves to chat with his commie pals and I’m certain we can find evidence that the democrats received funds from Cuba.” Tricky Dick isn’t fully convinced and turns to Howard, G. Gordon Liddy’s co-commander. “What the hell kind of proof do we have that those liberal shits are getting some dough from Castro?” Howard was prepared, “Mr. President, I have reliable sources that tell me LBJ and Castro have been involved in private talks dating back before the whole Kennedy thing. Maybe even has something to do with Killing John, who knows. What we do know is the dems are getting a lot of cah from somewhere and we can all guess where. My sources tell me they have confirmed communication between members of the Democratic National Committee and Cuba so maybe we can get a confession or find a paper trail between Castro and the democrats, there’s no doubt they’re in cahoots . We’ll sink those liberal chumps. Those bleeding heart socialists love Castro and don’t have a clue how dangerous he is Its not only in your best interests Mr. President but the best interest of our entire country. Of our constitution!” From my vantage point on the wall I could see a satisfied smirk on most of their faces. Dick began pacing, “Mother fuckers are gonna ruin our nation Howard, no doubt about that. Let me think about this. We have to make sure no laws are broken, I don’t want any implication to anything like that. In the meantime what about you Bob? What’ve you got on that hippie insect John Lennon? How soon can we get him and that oval eyed bitch of his kicked out of the country?” HR “Bob” Halderman stepped forward, “Dick this isn’t gonna be easy, this is a tough one. He’s got a lot of support from a lot of people and the press loves him. I’m not sure taking him on is in our best interests right now. So far we don’t have concrete proof of any illegal activity. Remember what happened with Liddy and Timothy Leary?” Georgie boy shot back obviously pissed, “Fuck you Halderman that wasn’t my fault you piece of shit, it was the fucking judge. But hey, if you can’t fucking get rid of John Lennon then maybe I should have a go at him my way! I‘ll make sure to use concrete!” Shit was heating up and there’s nothing a fly loves more than piles of heated up shit.
At that point all the men began yelling at each other about all sorts of things and I couldn’t really hear much until John Dean loudly took control, “Okay everyone that’s enough, calm the fuck down this is getting us nowhere. Lets just concentrate on this Watergate thing.” The room got silent and the leader of the free world weighed in, “John’s right fella’s, lets get back to getting me re-elected then I’ll go after that prick peacenik Lennon. I’ll put Kissinger on that, Henry loves the goddamn publicity anyway. That piece of shit hippie Lennon really pisses me off though! Who the Hell does he think he is coming here from England and telling me how to run my country. Anyone tell that hairbag that we kicked the shit out of his piss ant country and then had to save they’re asses from Hitler. Fuck him and his God save the queen bullshit. Henry will send that peacenik prick back to England. Now what’d you have in mind for the liberal dems? We can’t afford to let Mondale, Humphrey, or Teddy Kennedy get in here and destroy the country. I have enough crap on Ted if he makes a run we‘ll bury his ass at Chappaquiddick. That idiot Eagleton’s gone already and I’ll take the rest of those commie socialists down too. Liddy here assures me plausible deniability, but I’m telling all of you right now, this meeting never happened. I will deny any and all of you here. Remember if we don’t hang together each of you will surely hang separately. Any one of you sonsa bitches caught are on your own, because I never approved anything and this never happened. Now I’m gonna leave the office for a few minutes in case anyone needs to talk about plans. That way I don’t hear or know nothing. Just remember, Richard Nixon does not break any laws.” Let me tell you this fly was pretty impressed. That Nixon guy was one slick human. He left the office and none of the other balooka’s could hear but with my intense fly senses I could hear the tape machine in his drawer still recoding.
Lidddy was the first to speak. “Howard and I assembled a team, they’re broking into Ellsburgs doctors office tonight to get his files. We’ll bury that bastard, but in the meantime we gotta keep Dick in office or none of this shit will matter. The same team that robbed the docs office are gonna break into the Watergate Hotel grab the bogus papers tying the president to Howard Hughes and plant a bug in O’Brien’s room. Then we’ll know everything the democrats are up too.” Hunt stood up and took over, “Look you guys, this is how its gonna be. Anyone, and I mean anyone gets caught at anything its deny, deny, deny! None of us wants to go to jail, we’re all in this together. But at the same time we’re acting alone and any criminal activity will be on you and only you. I didn’t say don’t, I said your on your own, we have to do what’s necessary for the country, that’s our duty. Everything we do here is for America now. Can you imagine what would happen if any of those fucking idiots got control of our Whitehouse? So lets agree right now to work together and do whatever we have to do to get this shit done.” Great Bundle Fly that man was convincing, if they do lose he has a future as a motivational speaker. I think I would have flown head first into a bug zapper if he convinced me it was for the benefit of the entire fly kingdom. And it was obvious the rest agreed because they all began happily planning and asking what they could do to help. Two things at this point, first, I was wrong about the dogshit and getting tired of donut crumbs, and this was really getting interesting so I left my post on the wall and nestled into Georges suit jacket for a change of venue and a new food court to check out. When we left I could still hear the tape recorder running.

Tale Of The Tapes (Fly on the wall tells all)

On September 27, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

I…Sticky Lips Sink Ships

I swear sometimes its like they don’t even know I exist. Well that’s fine with me because my Dad always told me its better to keep your mandibles shut and be considered a fool than to make some buzzing noise and remove all doubt. Besides, with those new fangled fly swatters and bug zappers my species has been taking a huge hit in the census reports. I prefer to just sit on the wall and quietly listen to these humans ramble on about all their petty nonsense. Interesting surroundings here I must say, much too clean for this flies taste with not even a crumb or juice spill for me nibble on, but I am in The White House and this is The Oval Office so its only a matter of time until I come across a big pile of bullshit.
I’m not exactly sure how I ended up being a fly on the wall in the Oval Office but the last thing I do remember was sleeping at a bar in a hotel nice and warm all snug in the hidden hairs region of a women that picked me up in a bar. Destiny was her name and my destiny was to find a comfy place to sleep in her warm vulvic pubic bed. I had just flown in from Boston and boy were my wings tired! Destiny had been drinking when some dude started hitting on her. “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing alone in a bar like this?” Phhhhtt. Real original! I started dozing off because I had a feeling this clown wasn’t getting anywhere with my soft hair snuggle mattress . He said his name was George and he claimed he was a powerful man in DC. Oh yea, and a Scorpio. I fell asleep when he started asking Destiny what her sign was assuming Georgie boy wasn’t getting any honey tonight, at least not from Destiny. I got the feeling the asshole was married and Destiny would no doubt pick up on that too so I felt safe and sound curled up in her warm curlies. But great God Brundle-fly was I ever wrong. I never woke up from any of the tussling and troddling but damn if when I finally did wake up if I didn’t find myself here in the Oval Office stuck not in destiny’s coochie cot but in a thick and sticky mustache belonging to George, who it turns out is better known in Washington circles as G. Gordon Liddy.
G. Gordon was a real son of a bitch, even by fly standards. Let me just say that I had no trouble throwing up on his smelly-ass liprug to dissolve some of Destiny’s leftover love juice for my breakfast. He makes puking easy. Apparently he was some kind of bigwig in the FBI and has been screwing people over for a living for some time. He was a personal friend of the other asshole in the office, Richard Nixon. Well listen to my tale as I play the taped conversation and you’ll get what I mean.
“George, did you read what those Godless bastards at the Times wrote about me last night?” George started rubbing his lip which is what caused me to relocate to the west wall. “Dick, I’m telling you, some sonava bitch is leaking stories to those damn reporters and they want to print whatever they can to discredit The Whitehouse. What you need is an experienced, um, plumber, a plumber like me to find the leaks and eliminate them.” Nixon was clearly angry and interested, “Your right George, those pricks are out to destroy me, to take me down. Every chance they get The post, The Times, those pricks Severid and Reasoner, they’re all trying to screw Richard Nixon. Let me tell you George Richard Nixon will not be taken down by some liberal atheist commie shithead. What’d you have in mind?” George shuffled a little as Richard stared out the window. “Look, I have a source who tells me the Pentagon Papers were released by someone working for General McNamara. I have a name. The sonova bitch copied classified files and now wants to leak them for his own agenda. There’s something I want to try. This asshole goes to a psychiatrist and I’m going to liberate the files of this ratfink bastard from the shrinks office for proof. Then we’ll nail his communist ass to the fucking wall! No one will believe a word he says. Listen, I know a few guys from the organization I can still trust, and with me as their chief I’ll find him and any other scumbag commie leaker and get rid of them all. You’ll never be implicated in anything, It’ll be my operation and I’ll run it. Of course I’ll keep you informed but this will give you plausible deniability.” Nixon smiled, “Plausible deniability? I love it George, okay lets go with that. You head up my group, the Whitehouse plumbers.” George was one of those control freaks who need to assert his dominance and replied, “Operation Odessa Mr. President, in here we can be called the plumbers but officially we’re Odessa, part of the Committee To Reelect the President. I’m gonna get my guys together and I’ll report to you in two days. I already have my lead and he’ll be the first sonava bitch to go.” Nixon shook Georges hand and said, “No names George, not yet. These prick liberals are trying to ruin me, ya know? They want to bring own America, become commies and make it normal for our kids to be homos. I don’t think they even believe in God. You bring me some results and I’ll make sure you get rewarded.” George shook Dicks hand, “My reward will be serving you Mr. President, just leave things to me. I have the way to deal with the unpatriotic hippies. I’ll get rid of all your problems Dick.” George left and Dick opened a drawer of his desk picked up a microphone and softly spoke, “G. Gordon Liddy and President Richard Milhous Nixon, June 18th 1971.” and closed the drawer. Hmmm, odd these humans, they seem to secretly tape record conversations. I wonder why?
To Be Continued

How To Start A Universe

On September 26, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

COSMO AND THE GARDEN EARTH
(A guide to cosmic gardening)

PART 1. NOT JUST DUST IN THE WIND

Where should I begin? In the beginning God created the heaven and earth? I think that one is taken but why are we here? Some say in the beginning there was a vast empty space, a nothing vacuum in nowhere until a bunch of atoms spontaneously appeared and took to flying around everywhere (or nowhere depending on your view) when suddenly two overly aggressive atoms collided causing a huge explosion. Spontaneous combustion. The Big Bang! Yea, right! First nothing and nowhere then all of a sudden a Universe so huge it has no end. Wait, hold on, even better, first there was nothing and then the one and only god created shit to keep him from being bored. Spent six days building it then chilled for a few million years. A massive universe with one teeny weenie little speck where he created the supreme lifeforce, human beings that looked just like him, to rule over everything. First nothing then one man, one women, an apple and a snake. Now that’s even funnier! As a matter of fact both of these stories are a source of great humor and hilarity and the butt of many jokes at The Board of Co-operative Gods and Goddesses out in District seven. At any decent cosmic cocktail party you’ll hear no less than a hundred jokes about various theories of how life came to be in any of the life gardens but the Earth stories are by far the most numerous. The “monkey trials” keep gods and goddesses laughing for hours on end at inter-galactic get togethers. There’s not a god worth his sodium chloride that hasn’t heard of Darwin, Moses, Jesus, Mohamed, Elijah. Or the Talmud, Koran, The Bible or even The Upanishads. Stories of a pure evil horned devil with blood dripping from its hands and fear bolts being shot from its eyes keep them rolling in the anti-matter with tears of laughter. Satan, Lucifer, Serpent of Evil, Beelzebub, so many knee slapping names for the antichrist. Oh yes, the earthlings grown by Cosmo are a source of great amusement to all the gods. All the gods? Am I saying there really are many gods? Does a pope defecate in the woods? Is a Polar Bear catholic? Can white bears jump? Of course there are many gods, and many galaxies supporting forms of life. Did you really think you were the only living beings in the entire universe? Jeez, and I thought Wookies were dumb. Well sit back you Vader naysayer and let me tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Well maybe a fabrication or two along the way because YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!
In the beginning, Once upon a time, at the outset, none of these phrases apply because life is a cycle with no beginning and no end. There has just always been many gods and goddesses with varying responsibilities. Gods an goddesses perform certain tasks or serve a particular purpose. Some create wind and motion to make global gardens spin, some enforce the law of gravity, some create laws of physics to apply differently in different area‘s, and the brightest gods ponder deeply the laws of the universe and how they should be applied. These are the most intelligent gods and goddesses and they held court to make decisions about everything. It is still known today as The Board of Co-operative Gods and Goddesses. (BOCGG) They made the decisions that effected the farmer gods who were expected to grow and experiment with the various galaxies across the universe. Each galaxy was tended to by its own god. There was great and clever Simon in the Tolkien Galaxy, Mychrighton in the Andromeda Strain Galaxy, The red haired beauty Lucille who watched over the Bobaloo Galaxy, Luke-ass who presided over The infamous Jedi Galaxy that was far far away, and so on. Here in our Milky Way galaxy, the farmer was and is the god Cosmo. Such a good farmer is Cosmo that they named the entirety of space after him. The vast space of the universe came to be known as “The Cosmos”. Travel was known as Cosmic travel, knowledge as cosmic knowledge and any left out odds and ends in space became known as Cosmic debris. Hey there brother, I’m not jiving you bout that Cosmic debris! Cosmo is indeed an accomplished cosmic gardener, in fact he is somewhat of a legend among the other gods. In Solar system 728KJ he had cultivated nine grooving spinning garden orbs he called planets. From the tiny and excruciatingly hot mercury, to the equally tiny but totally frozen Neptune he tended to all nine magnificently. Like the giant Jupiter (which for some reason had red eye in all the family photo’s) with an assortment of moons, and the ill advised named Uranus (No need to tell you the jokes at The District with this one) . He put some cool looking bangle bracelets around the lovely and mysterious Saturn, and named two of the planets after his own Mom and Dad. The entire universe was touched at the naming of Venus and Mars. Yes Cosmo had really taken pride in that particular solar system. But his pride and joy and claim to fame is most assuredly for his work done on one particular planet, known throughout cosmos as garden earth. Garden earth is a rather insignificant looking planet in solar system 728KJ. It is the third planet from Sun 728, and has the benefit of the perfect amount of sunshine. Earth also has a considerable amount of water on it which is the other essential ingredient in growing things. Sun and Water in abundance makes for a smashing garden. Cosmo wants to make planet earth, in solar system 728KJ the most prolific and successful garden in all the universe. With a vast ocean to create clouds which would in turn drop water back into the garden a system of synergetic energy is created. Cosmic irrigation! Garden earth is a thriving ever-growing populace world. A wide variety of vegetation and many roaming creatures inhabit the garden.
But what you see on garden earth today is not how it was at the beginning so put on your seat belt as we travel back in time to see how this all came to be The Planet Earth. Catastrophic is the best way to describe his first attempt. Maybe he wasn’t mature enough or maybe like a fool he just rushed in but either way it’s a story that is told and retold as far away as Gabor40904 which is about eight billion gazillion gamma light years away. To you that would be a mere two point five septillion miles give or take. At any rate here is what happened in Cosmo’s first attempt.

Punny You Should Say That (An Owed To Joy)

On September 20, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

I heard someone say that puns are the slowest form of humor yet it takes a remarkably quick wit. Actually I think I may have heard slowest wrong but after being stalked by corny jokes for so long my ears hear colonel when its really kernel. I get it, they really said it’s the lowest form of humor but I’m still in limbo as to how low to set that bar. At any rate, puns are a play on words that can make a kid kid another kid or make a grown man groan so I want to pay my respect. I normally write in my boxers but I’ll try to keep this in brief.
When I was all of six years old I discovered the power of a pun. We had a gas station named Citgo and one day in the car, with Dad driving, Mom in the front, my little sister between them in babyseat and me squished in between my four older brothers and I made a bold statement. I said “Hmmm, Citgo, where you can sit and go.” Meaning getting gas I raised my arms to pantomime driving. Apparently my driving imitation looked more like someone moving their bowels and the family roared with laughter. That’s when I realized I could use English language to get noticed by pretending to have irritable vowel syndrome if I really pumped up the the puns I could keep them giggling consonantly. I had discovered the lowest form of humor and it lifted me up.
If puns are low its because they are the foundation of clever of humor. They’re black and white and read all over, they’re the reason the chicken crossed the road having its intentions come into question, It’s why it takes three pole dancers to erect a light bulb, and the basis of the omnipresent schoolyard knock knock jokes. All great comedians are pun practioners and are adept at sailing double entendres at triple warped mind speed leaving us land lubbers rolling in the Isles. Whether it’s a three act play on words, a homophone, which as it turns out is not a gay cellular device, or just a simple unmarried Miss direction puns take sharp and fast tongues to verbalize a stream of consciousness quick as a lick. Many punsters, myself included become almost obsessed, trying to twist everything they hear. Someone introduces me to Isabelle and I hear is a bell and feel combelled to chime in with a ringing endorsement about jingle jangling word association. A Pavlonian response that has me salivating at the a peal of making someone smile. If there is a low form of puns it cums from the perverse endless sexual innuendo punster. Those who chuckle and plan at the mention of such easy target words like woody, erect, hole, or the mention of Master Bates. It’s a favorite of that uncle who continues to play pull my finger well past its age appropriateness. For me sexual in your endo jokes are just too easy, like your mom was last night. But it will always have a place in punditry because like splinter religions, sects sells. A truly great pun takes an extraordinary amount of cleverness and thought using one ability to instantly see verbal connections where others see mere words and plugging the pun in before it sinks in. Great puns are like hand grenades because you pull the pin and wait for it to blow up. That’s why I pay homage. That and the fact that I still owe Homage a lot of money. I’m a self proclaimed lover of all things punny. Puns are a part of everyone’s daily life these days and no news story is complete without slinging some puntastic zingers.. Here’s a somewhat exaggerated example:
This just in from Know News is Good noose:
FRUIT LOOPY
A cereal killer is believed on the loose in General Mills campgrounds and campers experiencing in tents fear. Police canvassing their tented community in search of the frosted wheat whacker who is making the campers snap, crackle, and pop. They believe the perp is Cuckoo for Cocoa puffs so The Cap’n is putting the crunch on by running background Chex on all adults using hare brained tricks because every bunny knows that Trix are for kids….

But news stations really do use puns to make their point as in headlines such as “Chickens Cry Fowl” or “Locksmith Plays Key Roll In Bakery Break In.” Another area often engaging in punnery is just about every TV show and movie ever made. The best bantering between actors are scripted with artistic puns. It takes an artist to draw laughs from sketches. Without puns the artist draws a blank but looking around in a room packed with punsters the artist can draw a crowd. So much for a low form, it takes a highly evolved mind to come up with such clever comedy. Dimwitted humor pales in comparison. Slap stick falls flat, bathroom humor smells, and I suck at self deprecation. Sarcasm can be a little bitter, but not much better.

Today puns are significantly more evolved than the early days. I grew up with lines like “Take my wife. Please!” or “I just flew in from Baltimore and boy are my arms tired.” Today it takes much deeper thought because once jokes are use they become less funny. Ten years ago we had Bob Hope, Johnny Cash, Eddie Money, and Steve Jobs, and today all we have this worn out and tired old joke format. Take my wife is now I married Miss right, but I didn’t know at the time her first name was always, and flying in from Baltimore gets morphed to I can’t leave because I was on the third floor of the airport with someone else’s stuff and came down with something. There are a lot of people in the airport so I hope its not terminal or the only thing flying out of here will be rumors. Anyway, IMHO, like rock and roll the puns colors are true so punnery will never dye.
Thanks for taking the time to read this pun praising piece. This thoroughly enjoyable (for me) excursion was inspired by a high school English teacher of mine whom I have had the fortune of reconnecting with on social media. Professor Jim Zeitler shares my profound love of the English Language and our abilities to twist, invert, dissect, misdirect, turn inside out or upside down the words that make up our language to make others smile, laugh, or most important, to think. Jim sent me a book by John Pollack called “The Pun Also Rises” which delves into the history of puns and its impressive how deep and rich the history of witty wordplay is and how long it has been an art form. I dedicate this post to him because while my high school daze are way behind me his dedication to instructing and constructing minds is still going strong and I assume he will forever teach many of us new things. He has once again taught me things dispelling the age old cliché “You can’t teach and old dog new tricks.” And trust me, this old hound dog learned things he can sink his canines in and I’m not peeling the bark off the wrong tree. Okay no more, I’ll stop, I’m bushed anyway! Thank you Jim Zeitler, your wit an wisdom continues to reach out and inspire minds both young and old. … PEACE

Thunder Road Trip

On September 6, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn Uncategorized5 Comments

Man I still remember my first motorcycle and the years my life was lived on two wheels. When I got my first Harley Sporster I had so much to learn. Life on a motorcycle is a different lifestyle, not merely a choice of ride. In the years that went by I learned how to shop light so I didn’t have to much shit to tie down with bungee chords, how to approach a red light without stopping completely, and how to dress for the particular ride of the day. Like if its getting to get cold, or if rain is in the forecast. But on my first bike trip I found my self unprepared in many ways. Being unprepared was mandatory for my naïve stoned ass back then so I planned my trip the way any self respecting weed smoking hippie would. Procrastinating. And procrastinating was something I was an expert in. If they gave an award for procrastinating I would win and send someone else to pick it up in a few weeks, I’m that good. So it was just me, a backpack of clothes, my “Motorcycle Mama” a road map, and a notion that set out on a Friday afternoon for a run up into the mountains for a weekend of two wheeled nirvana.
We began that trip from Long Island which was a great placer for riding. Jump on your scoot and head out east where traffic is sparse and other bikers are plentiful and it was motorcycle mania. Many a day spent just cruising from Massapequa to Montauk and back just for the ride. But I wanted to go on a mountain road trip. I’d been to the Catskill mountains by car many times but now that I am a two wheeled menace I wanted to think bigger. Hell I was a baddass in a leather jacket and motorcycle boots, not some wimp ass hippie in a Volkswagen anymore. Catskills? Childs play dude, I was heading up into the Adirondack Mountains. A friend told me about a place up past Amsterdam New York where there was a giant mound of earth called Jiminy Mountain in a town by the name of Castlerock not too far from Plattsburg. The mountain is uninhabited by humans and often people camp out there. True campers, with tents and shit. I wasn’t planning on roughing it that much, there’s a motel close to Castlerock and that’s where we would be staying. Then we could make a full day trip up the mountain the next morning, stopping off at the halfway point to a place called Cricket Falls. Normally the ride took about five and a half hours and I was stoked.
I’ve heard it said that getting there is half the fun and on this point I must disagree. It started out quite awesome, circumventing traffic jams in between lanes. Not a tactic I would recommend now that I am a seasoned rider, but when I saw the long line of cars all with the same notion, to get the fuck out of town for the weekend, it was just far too tempting. I slowly crossed the Throggs Neck Bridge in illegal but effective fashion, and once past all the tri city congestion the real adventure begins. With my girlfriend on back we breezed across the Tappan Zee Bridge and were on our way up to the country. As we crossed over into Rockland County the first bad omen appeared on the horizon. The sky was darkening up ahead and not because the sun was going down. It looked as though there may be a storm up ahead and the darkness had an evil grin. We continued up The New York State Thru-way an that’s when it began. It was a mere drizzle but it made me realize something quite important to a motorcycle rider. I had no raingear, no windsheild, and my backpack was unprotected from the oncoming onslaught of raindrops.
Raindrops can be so romantic, Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head, I saw her sitting in the rain, raindrops falling on her, Oh it must be raindrops, so many raindrops, sweet romantic raindrops. If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops. Cute little innocent raindrops. But when you’re traveling at 65plus MPH out in the open those raindrops band together like a soggy convention of bullies and while some slap the shit out of your face, hands, and torso, the others form aquatic conspiracies and loiter wherever they can because they’re bent on soaking one right trough to the bone. The rain was fast, wet, and hard because in a matter of seconds we were both drenched and uncomfortable. As if that weren’t bad enough many of the raindrops that missed the all out assault on us directly gathered on the road in front of us to extract as much traction as possible from the two tires. Lesson, riding in the rain is dangerous, and always pack raingear. Too late for that I had to get creative.
We stopped at the first rest stop available. “Two cups of hot coffee and two large garbage bags please.” The waitress looked confused at first but as soon as she saw the puddles forming under our soaked bodies she got it. We sat down sipped our coffee and began to dry off. After five minutes the waitress came back with two large plastic garbage bags meant for the jumbo trash cans in the kitchen, “Here ya go honey, this aughta keep ya dry for a bit. How far ya headed?” I took the bags and thanked her, “We’re headin’ up to Jiminy Mountain in Castlerock.” She gave us a worried glance, “This ain’t gonna be near enough honey, lemme see if I can talk the chef into two more bags for ya’s”. She disappeared and as we finished our coffees she returned with two more bags, “Here ya go Hon, good luck now.” and with a wink she left earning herself a five dollar tip for two cups of coffee.
“Why did you leave her five dollars JT? And what are we gonna do pick up garbage along the way? You were flirting with her weren‘t you?” Note to self, never travel with a jealous girlfriend. “I wasn’t flirting with her I was thanking her, she gave us some protection from the rain. We can cut holes in the bags and wear them like raincoats.” Satisfied but still suspicious of me flirting she relented and we put the plastic bag raincoats on before gassing up and headed back out to the thru-way. Driving on the wet road is dangerous enough, but with the big eighteen wheelers kicking the rain off their tires its twice as dangerous and ten times as annoying. I was passing them and they didn’t like it, and before long I found myself in a game of cat and mouse, one truck passing me and getting right in front of me, me passing it only to find myself challenged by another asshole in an eighteen wheeler. I envisioned them on their fuckin’ CB radios, “Hey big buddy, we got us a wise ass biker looking to play hide and seek.” “Back atcha big buddy, lets fuck this two wheel shit to pieces, mon back. Big ten four buddy, eyeballin’ the little bastards now, taking them to the curb.”
At first it was just a pain in the ass but it rapidly escaladed to road war. I was getting more and more pissed by the minute but not much I could do, it was still raining and our garbage bags were shredding. I pulled ahead of all three of the asshole truckers and snuck into the next rest stop to top off the gas tank, have another coffee, and let the three amigos find someone else to terrorize.
Fully caffeinated, slightly rested, still soaked but freshly bagged we set back out on the road. It was a matter of minutes before another trucker started playing games with us. Joined by one other big rig I wondered if they laid in wait for us but that wasn’t possible, this was two new assholes, maybe heard the other trucks talking about us on their CB’. Now I was getting real pissed but they kept playing their game, boxing us in then taking turns passing and cutting us off. I could see them smiling as I passed them which only inflamed my already heated temper. I had enough and decided I was just gonna blow past them. The rain had slowed down and I felt like we could make a get-away. As I was passing the lead truck the dickhead driver broke the camels back. The asshole rolled down his window and flicked a cigar but at us just as we were passing. The stogie struck my breast and the red ambers scattered both sides behind me. I was livid now, and in the spirit of Easy Rider, just like in the last scene, I drove up along side his cab, waited until he turned his fat redneck face at me and stuck my middle finger out as clear as I possibly could. I didn’t want to leave any doubt that I was saying “This Fuck You is all yours!”
I felt vindicated, I felt euphoric, I felt free, free and wild like Billy in Easy Rider telling him and every other trucker fucker what I thought of them. I also felt petrified, because as I remembered the last scene Billy was shot and his bike was spread across the highway. I was petrified because I now realized that my cigar flinging nemesis would be so indignant from my salute he would be on the CB in touch with every trucker fucker for a hundred miles, telling them about some long hair hippie and his biker babe messin’ with all truckers. The stakes of this stupid game had just gotten too high. I rode as fast as I could avoiding as many trucks as possible until we reached the next rest stop, about thirty miles from Castlerock where I parked the bike in the back. We sat down and ate and drank coffee for two hours waiting for everything to blow over, the rain, the truckers, and my angry Mama.
When we finally did get back on the road, we filled the tank, talked another waitress into two more garbage bags, and set out for the last of the run. 25 miles of highway and 6 mile of local side road left, we were both exhausted and in dire need of sleep. We planned to go straight to Motel Jiminy Cricket, where they also leave the lights on, and hit up into the mountains after a good nights sleep. The rain had stopped and the ride on the highway was much safer and uneventful. The last part of our run was a six mile winding road down Osh Kosh Avenue, of Buttfuck boulevard , or lost canyon New York, where hicks are raised ala Appalachia. Not much around but nature and lots of space. We didn’t see another vehicle the entire six miles and the monotony was lulling us into complacency. I felt my girlfriends head get heavy on my back and knew she was falling asleep. On the back of a moving motorcycle!!! I tried to shake her awake twice, but then suddenly my headlight went out and my engine stalled. I popped the clutch and it started back up, but for two seconds that acted more like five minutes I had no headlight on a windy and very dark road, my Mama asleep with her head digging into my back, and a feeling like I never wanted to ride again. We got to the motel both of us awake, drenched, and exhausted. I took out the battery which was soaked and shorting out, and got a room for us and the battery where we dried out overnight.
The rest of the excursion was phenomenal, riding trails meant only for bikers and hikers and saw a huge pond at the very top of mount Jiminy, a sight only a handful of other human has ever has the pleasure to behold. We rested in a natural rock tub atop a waterfall at Cricket Creek watching the fierce water arc outward and onward into the rapids, and enhanced the enchanted excursion by convening with as well as smoking Mother Nature. Sights and sounds so remarkable and spectacular the trials and tribulations of getting here dissolved in the wind. I continued to ride for another ten years having to end my riding tenure because of injuries and responsibilities and I look back fondly on the years I rode. One year my beat up VW was shot and I rode my two wheel wonder through a difficult and harsh New York winter, complete with an ice storm and two blizzards, but I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything. As far as the first mountain road trip I admit I was shitting pickles after the cigar stogie middle finger incident, but I gotta tell ya looking back it was one of the most liberating and proud moments of my life when if only for a few short minutes I stood up to a convoy of testosterone laden asshole truckers and said, FUCK YOU!

Transcenental Medication

On September 1, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Philosophy? I Got Nuthin

Nothing is the absence of anything. Anything is something so nothing must be something if its anything. Wait, how can there be nothing if anything can be nothing making nothing something? If its something then there can be no true nothing because the minute you name it nothing it becomes something. Man this shit is so confusing. That makes it impossible to be nothing right? Then what in the hell is nothing? The search for nothing is how I began my journey of ultimate discovery to answer the ultimate philosophic conundrum, why is there something instead of nothing. This is where the scientific wedge splits apart the theory of creationists and the creationist concept argues how everything began. Both sides of the discussion agree that at first there was nothing but one side believes God created the world, and the other side claims an explosion occurred creating a ripple in the fabric of time creating matter. Phew, glad that’s cleared up! But wait, if there was nothing, where the hell did god come from or what caused the explosion. Where did the two colliding atoms come from? That only brings us back to nothing. Everyone agrees that before the universe existed there was…..nothing. Nothing is so powerful Jerry Seinfeld made a successful TV show about it. Sometimes nothing is everything. But I have nothing to hide, nothing to fear, and nothing to show for it so off I went on a spiritual journey to find nothing.
I think Socrates summed it up pretty good, “The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing” So for me to be truly wise that’s what I need to know. Nothing. Lots of people have nothing to say and say it all day long but I don’t want to get into politics here I want to concentrate on nothing. Some people spend years on such spiritual journeys and others find what they are looking for on a quick puddle jumper. My journey began with a needle. Many needles actually, it was during an intense session of meditation while receiving acupuncture that nothing first became clear. A clarification here, this wasn’t an actual journey, I never set out on a search of nothing but nothing has always been on my mind. In truth I believe the journey began with my first chemically induced trip. An LSD trip that is, the drug that enabled me to pursue practices such as astral projection and dimension diving. I don’t recommend LSD to anyone that would be unwise but it certainly did open my eyes and mind to things previously unseen. I learned many things during my years of hallucinogen experimentation, the most valuable being an ability to enter into a deep trancelike meditative state.
While under the influence of this mind bending drug I entered into meditations in which I successfully separated my mind from my physical being. I never astral projected to ethereal other worlds or experienced any alien abductions but I did find alternate states of my own self which sort of put my brain on hold as it rebooted leaving the cortex clear of bullshit clutter and effectively giving my occipital a lobe job, if only for a short time. I was a line cook at Windows On The World where orders came in as fast as a bumble bee’s in-flight sexual experience so meditating was extremely helpful, and I always “tranced out” a half hour before service helping me to reduce and often eliminate clutter leaving less room for mistakes in my orders. A very powerful tool meditating, and a practice I continued long after I stopped taking tabs of mind expanders.
It was very effective but restaurant work pace was so brutal it left me with many physical discomforts. So after a life of hard work in high pressure fast paced restaurants I developed a common condition amongst chefs, chronic back ache. I tried physical therapy, chiropractors, pain management therapy and an old favorite, opiates, self medication, and alcohol therapy but everything managed the pain only briefly. After years of frustrating attempt’s to control the pain I opted to go for acupuncture. My theory was the combination of pins, needles, and meditation would have a long lasting effect.
Brimming with optimistic vibes I went to see Dr. Khandro, a Tibetan acupuncturist at The Shambala Clinic in the basement of his Tibetan Holistic Center, or THC as its known around town. Dr. Khandro was a rather short man dressed more like a monk than a doctor, but he was Buddhist after all so I assumed that was the norm. When I addressed him as doctor he put up his hand, “In here I no doctor Khandro, I Kha. It is essential we break down any barrier set by title. For purpose of effective session we are equal in room here, onry Kha and JT. Prease, put on gown and come back in room with open mind.” I was given a full length smock to put on which was remarkably comfortable. I felt like I was living a chapter of the book Siddhartha but I did as I was told and returned with an open mind.
I sat in a chair awaiting Kha‘s return. With shaved head and beaming smile he walked back into the room and asked me to lay down on a table covered with a thin mattress. “You haff come to seek separation from your pain. I no eriminate pain, I separate pain from body and mind. It is important to have not only proper treatment with puncture but to have serene surrounding to make sure mind is clear.” He called to someone I had not yet met, “Shodra prease light some Santal incense and play some music for JT.” He placed his hands which were bigger than I expected over my head and squeezed lightly. “Mr. JT I canna feel much stress inside yaw head now. I prace punctures in pressure points and you lay back and relax” With that he began inserting small needles at different points on my head. First on the top of my cranium, then a colony of little pricks entered my temples. Each one gave a tiny pinch and after five minutes my head, forehead, and ears had morphed into reverse porcupine features. He continues pricking me on my shoulders, then put about a dozen in the bottom of each foot. I had never seen so many pricks in one place before. Strangely though, the pricks relaxed me. “Now JT, you lay back relax. Let your mind free you from pain. I will return to remove pricks when ready.”
Kha left the room and I felt sure that when he returned my pain would have been separated from my mind and body. All I had to do now was to relax completely and just make sure I don’t roll over and force the damn pricks deeper into my body. The Santal incense smelled awesome and filled the room with a pleasant light smoke, the lights were dim, and the music was like George Harrison or Ravi Shankar. Maybe both. I closed my eyes and began my regimen of meditation. There are many styles and methods of meditating and I damn near perfected mine. I concentrated on each part of my body beginning at the bottom of my feet moving upwards to each new part as soon as I felt it relax completely. It was about 20 minutes before I finally had every portion of my physical being relaxed and entered into total trance. Everything was soothing.
As I meditated I was separated from my physical self and transported into a stark white room with nothing in it at all. The floor, the ceiling, and three walls of blank, the fourth wall being a water-like curtain. I noticed the smallest blank spot in the center of the streaming curtain and proceeded to get up to inspect it. I was very curious what was on the other side and I tried to peek through. I could see nothing at all so I placed two fingers inside the blank spot and the feeling I got almost knocked me over. Not a physical feeling, but a sort of spiritual feeling. I was certain my fingers had just entered into another world or better yet another realm. I gently pulled at the opening and it separated easy allowing my entire hand, then my arm into this ether realm. The feeling was nothing I had ever felt before. I just knew something special was here in this bizarre minimalist space. I looked through the hole which by now had grown much larger. In that other realm was smoke, but not a noxious smoke, more like an almost friendly and enticing smoke. The thought of sticking my entire head through the hole pulled at me. Then Kha’s voice spoke, “Come in JT, you have found nothing.”
TBC

PRIMORDIAL BRAIN STEW

On August 30, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Thoughts On The Evolution Of Revolution The Leading Cause Of Sleep Pollution

Not sure where I’m going with this yet cuz it’s a work in progress but there’s a new thought bouncing around this cauldron of a disjointed and sometimes warped thought container that prevents me from indulging my desire to enter my nocturnal trance. My insomnia is also a work in progress defined as “a chronic sleep disorder characterized by inability to suspend consciousness allowing the mind and body to restore.” Wow, sounds so much worse when I read it back. Whatever. I define it as having mind numbing bullshit stuck in my head that keeps me from sleeping at night. What sort of devious subject matter can force me into mentally pacing the floor while dredging up uneeded concerns with global implications? War.
War is a fact of life. It even precedes the tribes of Cro-Magnon beings raiding other tribes for food. (and of course sex). For humans however, since those bloody disagreements wars have been fought for a variety of reasons. Arbitrary and imaginary lines of property ownership, imaginary kingdoms or beings (gods), or someone’s greed, jealousy, and/or revenge. Why do we war? A primordial power struggle to determine the alpha male? An architectural power struggle to dermine who has the largest erection. A states desire to improve its citizens lifestyles by dominating and owning someone else’s? Are we pre-destined to war just to establish dominance, to have dominion over all others? It does seem that way with the military of various countries engaging in penis waving contests. Wave a flag, wave a penis, same thing. An attempt to prove that our cannons are bigger than their cannons and our missiles stand higher than their puny little projectiles. Many believe war determines who best to control the world while others believe its is necessary to control population and economic stability.
This existentialist believes that our innate need for war isn’t just about insecure governments in pissing contests but that it’ a necessary facet for the survival and natural progression of our species. A necessity of evolution. Part of the evolutionary cycle which forces us into a new environment giving us reason to blaze trails of the seemingly impossible. To boldly go where no species has gone before. Just like when our water dwelling ancestors left the security of the ocean to brave a new existence on land so long ago. Those brave gill breathing creatures that first ventured out and evolved fins into legs an arms, and gills into lungs. Not some cheesy mutation like the Creature From The Black Lagoon but much more spectacular creature that would evolve into millions of other land dwellers.
In the beginning there was just a bare ocean begging for life but over time a combination of coincidences happened forming an organism. Out of the primordial stew life was born. A single cell organism which duplicated itself over and over. Natures first cloning experiment. Somewhere along the line one organism broke out of the code of duplicate single cell life-forms and mutated. The result was a two celled organism just itching to mutate some more. Variety, the splice of life. More mutations occurred and suddenly, well not suddenly more like over the course of millions of years, the ocean was filled with all kinds of mutated multi-celled organisms of various size and shape all vying for their chance to rule the water-world. What do these organisms need to survive? Water, food, and procreation. So the mutations adapted in glorious and phenomenal ways to reach the main goal, survival of the species. Some evolved into faster and larger organisms, and developed appendages for better hunting abilities. The rule of life was born, survival of the fittest The smaller organisms became prey and were forced into shallow water where they were safer. The oversized large fuckers couldn’t get that close to shore so the shorelines became a haven for the small and disenfranchised. Unfortunately the shallow waters soon got over run with runts with tiny fins and dorsal envy so food became scarce. Then the very first organism bravely left the water in search of a better life. More and more species adapted to breathing air and the appendages became used for locomotion. New survival strategies were forged as these species evolved in their brave new world. All kinds of strategies for hunting, hiding, defenses, and protecting the propagation of their species. Strategies of ensuring the survival of their young became a challenge so land strategies were formed from laying hundreds of eggs, to burying eggs, all the way up to having eggs hatch in utero when the species had only one or two offspring and needed to protect it from predators until gestation. All sorts of adaptations were formed in attempt to continue living.
Fast forward to dinosaurs who were too big and clumsy and just fucked up all the vegetation. A random asteroid knocked the shit out of everything and newer and smaller species survived and evolved from slug, to monkey, to human. Now the earth is once again becoming overrun and our natural resources are in danger of disappearing. What better way for the self proclaimed owners of earth to thin the crowd than to legally kill off a lot of weaker humans. So war kills off the poor and the weak leaving more food and room for those fucking alpha’s. Don’t hold your breath waiting for the meek to inherit this shit, they don’t want it.
That’s the kind of shit that keeps me up at night. Pondering deep questions like war and evolution. It also leads to some shit dreams, not the cool one that leave you all “What in the fuck was that all about” in the morning. Instead I lay awake troubled whether or not wars and overpopulation are tools of evolution designed to force us out of this comfort zone called earth and on to other planets.
The conclusion I arrived at after a number of sleepless nights is war is necessary and natural. Not to worry I’m still a hippie pacifist and I’m against war, I merely view it differently these days. If we are going to continue as a species we need to get off our asses and go to infinity and beyond! That’s the true and practical purpose war serves, thinning out the population sure, but it will force us to expand our explorations with great abandon to have a suitable planet on which to survive. Someday all those weapons of mass destruction will be fuel sources of mass migration and our lungs may evolve to breath carbon dioxide, our bodies to function free from gravitational requirement. That would be heavy! The explosive nature of our inventions will be used to propel us into space instead of into oblivion. Man I wish I would be around to see that day. And as always its science that will lead the way. It was my love of science that brought me to this conclusions. The science of microbiology.
So what’s been keeping me awake many nights is something that can’t even be seen with the naked eye. Not even the scantily clad eye can catch a glimpse of these micro-organisms. Sometimes its the tiniest of things can be the deadliest and bring down the most powerful of giants. A war is waged from the moment you are born and will continue long after you die right inside your body on a battlefield you need a microscope to view. You have a fully staffed army of billions and billions of anti-body troops poised to engage in war to protect you from microbial massacre. And those microbes are just as determined to end your reign of existence and become food for them to feed their starving families. Damn man, as if knowing tiny spiders crawl in my mouth while I snore isn’t bad enough, now I lose sleep knowing those diminutive demons may be a vehicle for something even smaller, more deadly and after viewing what bacteria look like under a microscope, by far much creepier than the meek arachnids…..Sleep well

You Say You Want A Revelation, We All Want To End The World

On May 2, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

The last one picked is the one no one wants on the team. Revelations was the last one picked for the Bible and I have to wonder why. Too fat, too slow, or too uncoordinated? Maybe it jut flat out sucks!? Of course there’s only one way to find out. Investigation. So here it comes the Christian Search Investigators. The CSI-Bible to find the DNA and other forensic tidbits. Maybe even trace elements like epithelia’s, fingerprints, or secret documents to uncover the truth behind the end of all things. Except gods inner circle of course.
The main players in this tale of apocalyptic reckoning are somewhat questionable. Written by John of pathological, it includes the four headless horsemen of Sleepy Hollow, the Liar of Judah, angels, trumpeters, the beast, a dragon, a false prophet, an arched angel, and of course no bible story would be complete without a whore, this one straight outta Babylon.
The book of revelations is somewhat difficult to tell because its told in some unusual circumstances. The story was revealed to this dude John, who was locked up in prison in Pathos. He was a prolific writer who had already had a number of stories published in the New Testament. A few under the epistle category, and a gospel song called Psalm 43 (The P has the right to remain silent). Many religious scholars say it was actually 3 different Johns but if I get into bible discrepancies I’ll never get to this story. The truth is that John had a visitor in jail.. (looked alarming similar to Mary Magdalene though she denied it. Three times.) This visitor had placed a very powerful tab or two of LSD (legal at that time) in her mouth and transferred it to Johns mouth in a disgusting public display of spit swapping. A face sucking, tongue tango, snog toggle, French kiss whose true purpose was to exchange the hallucinogenic treat. When John got back to his cell, and after his bulge subsided (Really don’t drop the soap now!!) he was visited and told a story by god. I had a similar reverse episode once, after ingesting a chemical mind tickler I learned that god took some acid and saw me! Another day.
So during his intense peeking (I think that’s what people on acid trips call it when the trip hit’s a crescendo. I think!), that was when god suddenly said to John, “Dude, you wanna hear about the future of mankind?” Stupid question, of course he did. He was tripping after all. So this story was how John best remembered the telling some 18 hours after the acid wore off. That’s some powerful shit there! This is the book of Reservations. Reverberation. Revolution. ….Sorry, The Book of Revelations!
Here it is in his very own paraphrased words as he told it to me one day back in the late 60’s:
“So Mary and I kissed and I could feel two tabs of something on her tongue. Yea I know she said it wasn’t her but she just didn’t want to end up on the front page of the Abraham Inquirer. An let me tell you the J-man was one lucky Jew she was one helluva kisser. Anyway She tells me to swallow, something you don’t normally wanna hear in prison, so I swallows the tab. Then she tells me I just took two tabs of Blue Cheer acid. Man I was stoked. I smiled all the way back to my cell knowing what was coming. I got to my cell and laid down on my stone cot. After about a half hour I hear this voice. I sit up an look around but there ain’t no one there. So I lays back down when the voice comes back, this time calling me by name. So I shout who’s that, who’s there? And the voice says ‘Its me John, God.’ Now I’m thinking it must be the acid kickin’ in right? I mean the voice was like soft and almost girly. Not the powerful deep voice you’d think God would have but he insists. ‘Really John, its me God’ Then he steps out from the shadows and sure enough it is God. Amazing how much Jesus looked like him. Spittin’ image. What else could I do? I sez, whats up God?”
“He walks through the bars, I mean right through, like they wasn’t even there. Then he sez, ‘John, I want to tell you a story. I want you to write it down and make sure everyone reads it.’ I sez to him, you mean like a bestseller or something? To which he replies, ‘yea, something like that. But first try and get the story into the bible, because this is the story of the beginning and the end.’ Now I’m really thinking the acid is kicking in but I sez yea sure and he continues”
“When I first created everything I had seven arch angels to watch over heaven and protect it. Six of these arches were cool, but one arch angel was just a real pain in the ass. Has to do everything his way and wouldn’t follow directions. Finally one day I caught him in bed with Gabriel’s teenage daughter and that was the last straw. I tossed his ass out and straight down to earth along with one third of the questionable residents of heaven. He went down to earth with them and they formed a gang calling themselves the Crypts. He goes to the garden of Eden and begins recruiting humans for his gang. So I had Gabriel, a very trusted angel form a gang up here because I knew there would someday be a major showdown. He formed the Bloods of my blood, after my sons prophecy. We call them the Bloods for short, and it created a rivalry that would be the mother of all rivalries. Good vs. Evil, Bloods vs. Crypts. One day we would have our gang lords get together for an epic showdown. This showdown will be called The Rapture.”
“Now I’m still tripping but I know this shit is real so I keep scraping away on my stones getting down his words so I could one day write the book for him.Being an ancient journalist of course I had questions, so I asks him to explain to me how this Rapture thing is gonna go down. Then something happens that may sound like a fairy tale or a hallucination. He floats up to the ceiling an sez come on up John it will be easier if I show you”
Now I’m flipping ya know? I’m like how the fuck am I supposed to get up there, but before I even thought about a strategy I was lifted off my feet and floating right next to him. Honest to god, from Gods mouth to my ear he whispers, ‘Watch this. These guys can really stir it up’ A light went on and I swear to you it looked like a giant flat screen TV in HD. The images seemed so real. There was a stage with seven muicians. Al Hirt,Loius Armstrong,Wynton Marsalas, Miles Davis,Chuck Mangione,Maynard Fererson, and Dizzy Gillespie. Not just ordinary musicians each stood with a trumpet in their hands. The seven Trumpeters. They jammed for about an hour and that’s when the real show started!”
“As the story unfolded God narrated over it. The stage floated up to the corner of the screen and the image of earth came up below it. Al Hirt stepped forward and God whipered, ‘the first trumpet’. Al blew a fast riff and out of his trumpet spewed balls of hail and fire down onto the earth. In an instant there was a split screen and on the right I could see cities getting bombarded with hail and burning meteors. Devestation was everywhere. Then Satchmo came out and blew towards earth, and every volcano on earth erupted simultaneously filling the oceans with ash so thick it looked like a sea of mud.’ second trumpet.’ Next it was Wynton and he blew into all the rivers of the earth turning all the water everywhere bitter. ‘third, and here comes number 4’, Miles come out and blows toward the southern hemisphere and freezes it entirely. I was freaking. On the split screen people everywhere running in circles, slipping on ice, not having a clue what was happening. Then Chuck and Maynard come out together and blow sulpher and marijuana smoke all over earth, getting the humans high and making it stink like shit. Finally Dizzy comes out and starts blowing opium, making not only him, but every human dizzy. Even Miss Lizzie!”
“Well now I’m thinking what was the point, everyone gonna die, but its like the big guy can read my mind. ‘You’re wondering why right?’ I shakes my head and he sez ‘I needed to piss off Satan and the Crypts.Get ready because now is when the real fun begins. Now The Bloods of my blood and the Crypts are gonna wage an all out war back in the little town of Armegedeon. For this I am switching to Imax, cuz this shit is way sick.’ My eyes are already bugging out and now it Technicolor. Brilliant images on the screen of an area that looked like Mordor. Maybe the only place on earth not frozen or scorched. This was where they was gonna wage the final battle of all time. I pinched myself to see if it was real.” John was getting antsy and says wait, I forgot to tell you about the Seven Trained Seals. I need to tell you about that before I go on.” At this point John looked a little uneasy so he requested a ten minute break and diaapeared. (TBC)

Dead To Writes

On April 28, 2013April 28, 2013 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Beginning With My End In Mind.

I’m writing a eulogy for someone. It’s a person I know inside out, that’s been there for me through thick and thin. Someone I’ve known my entire life. Me. After all, I was there when I traveled down that birth canal without a paddle, I was there when the doc smacked my ass, and I’ve been with me ever since. Obviously I’m not dead yet, but I’ve been to too many funerals and heard too many eulogies to know that without my assistance in memorializing me it would lack the humor, conviviality, and sarcasm my last formal spoken memory should encompass. I don’t want my wife or my kids to struggle over what I would want said so I’m taking out the guesswork.
When I say I’m writing it sounds like I recently started it but the truth is its been a project now for a few years. I keep putting it on the back burner and tell myself “No worries, you have plenty of time.” Hope I’m right because I love writing and I’m not ready to stop. I still have way to many things to say. Ergo I write. I’ve got tons of other projects in the works. I’ve done quite a lot of writing over the years. I wrote poems, most of which suck, a song or two, also sucky, as well as a number of short stories. I’d like to write a few more before my best used by date. I’ve been working on a novel on and off that so far has taken up more than three years of my life. But fuck it at least I’ve settled on the title. Of course nothing is certain except taxes and de…….Nevermind! It’s the third title actually but I really like this one. And as of now only two or five chapters have been re-writes and I am relatively certain of its direction.. So between being the foremost authority on me combined with my love of writing, it only makes sense that I should write my own eulogy. In fact, I highly recommend it everyone but get started soon because its not as easy as it seems.
The first problem a writer encounters during their own eulogy is that dreaded re-write. Nothing is ever perfect. First I just change a word, then I change a sentence, and before I know it I’ve said fuck it and erased the whole thing just to start over. I have my strong finish, and my cheery opening, and know most of what I want to include so I just need to settle on the finality. As I was writing it I struggled with what my format should be.
After a number of musings and a fair amount of wine I finally settled on a basic format. The first paragraph should be about what I don’t want. I don’t want anyone to mention god in any way shape or form. I respect others faiths but I’m the dead one here so I call no mentioning god. Check that, god can be mentioned if its like “Oh my fuckin god he was a pisser“, or “god damn he was funny” or “oh god don’t stop, oh god yes,yes,yes” anything along those lines is permissible. Maybe the last one should be in the privacy of your own whereever. Also I don’t want anyone to say to my family that I’m with god now. If I’m wrong about the whole heaven and hell thing I’ll be taking the elevator to the basement anyway. That doesn’t mean you should tell them “It’s okay, he’s with Lucifer now” either. And by all means stay away from the clichés. “I’m sorry for your loss” sounds like something Mr. and Mrs. Hallmark says to their grieving loved ones. Just share memories and remember the good times. I’m not really going anywhere I just made it to the next level.
Also, I don’t want anyone reciting religious scriptures or saying prayer over me, especially a stranger. You want to pray do that shit on your own in silence. And pray for yourself not for me, I don’t want any prayers. I’m an existentialist, we don’t pray we think. So meditate, its my funeral and I’ll have it the way I want. Seriously guys it’s the most important day of my death so cut me some slack. Here’s what I want everyone to do. Laugh, tell jokes and funny stories, get drunk, sneak out and smoke a joint, do whatever you need to do to make it fun. Thats what I want, a fun funeral like Chuckles the clown got. I want people to say “Damn I wish he was alive so he could die again. What a great time I had. This was the best funeral I’ve ever been to.” That shit would please me to no end. Maybe even make a dead man smile. And please don’t worry about making me blush I have no circulation.
The next stipulation was to honor me as my life was. I ask for a mug of beer. The good shit too, not that crap beer flavored water, but a good craft brew. It’s not like you need to buy it for me ever again. Next to that a shot of vodka, preferably Grey Goose. Leave them at a table as if I were sitting there and then have a party. My son will toast me adios ghost by downing the vodka at the end of the night. No sense in wasting good vodka!
The final stipulation was choosing a good play list. I may be dead but that’s no reason I should be subjected to crap music. No disco, no opera, no hymns. Good music, party music, maybe a tribute to the different decades. Ones with a good beat that you can dance to. I made a list of all my favorite tunes and even chose a few lines of lyrics to highlight that meant something to me. I don’t want my dead spirit to rest in peace I want it to Rock In Peace!
As far as what’s done to my remains, here’s where it gets a bit dodgy. Realistically whoever gets left behind should choose what to do with the physical remains cuz they’ll be dealing with them, I’m moving on sans remains. If it were up to me I actually have two choices. One to be put into a compost somewhere so I can continue to enrich the earth. A sort of true eternity, always contributing life back somewhere. But as I understand it that’s complicated. The second wish is that whatever is left, be it bone or ash, be buried under a dance floor at a popular club. How cool would it be to have thousands of people dancing on my grave?
By far the writing of the eulogy is what was the most difficult. I had to write it with humor, candor, and a degree of sensitivity. As much as I’m writing it for myself, my family will hear it as well so its probably not the best time to let out any secrets. But it will give me an opportunity to let everyone know I don’t regret dying, I had a wonderful life. Hard as it may be I’d prefer people be happy for me. It’s the loved ones left back on earth that need consoling, not me. I’m the lucky one, I’ve gone to those proverbial greener pastures.
I believe I am about three quarters done with it but as some of you may know once I get started I sometimes become long winded. Sometimes I just go on an on and on about this and that until….never mind. I’ll just say its close to being done. I’m trying to so as much of the event planning as possible. I‘m a really good cook and I wish I could do the cooking but that would be way too creepy. The party is almost there. I’ll tell you one thing having almost completed the written segment of my passing has been quite liberating. I feel like once I finish this eulogy I’ll be ready to move on, to go wherever it is I go, to say good by sweet world. In fact I know I’ll be ready to take the next step. Bring on the closure! ………..Then again, maybe I’ll put it on the back burner just a little longer………….PEACE

Terrapin – The Journey

Tag: humour