Scribbles

Sunday Reading (Free eBooks)

skinnydipinacid — Sun, 10 May 2009 07:36:08 +0000

(I wanted to test this out before I get all carried away and post hundreds or thousands more)

CLICK TO OPEN BOOK (Chapter 1 starts on page 22 following the etymology)This introduces my first posting of free eBooks available from the BL Rag. Over time they will come in many various formats, but I will do my best to ensure the most common files for people to use, with second choice options when made available to me.

So without any further adieu... a little Moby Dick by Herman Melville should be long enough to buy me some time to find plenty of others.

Please send any and all requests to the Contact Us section.

Our Cheer Squad

skinnydipinacid — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 16:46:00 +0000

The BL Rag Cheerleaders stopped by to wish us a happy anniversary:

Optical Illusions: Part I

skinnydipinacid — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 03:37:54 +0000

In a way, this could be considered an art. Not unlike the 3D art photos your see floating around in the mall, but to a much more extreme level. These don't even require squinting to induce headaches, sore eyes or mild migraines. Here's just a few of my favorite optical illusions from the across the webbed world.

Look Hard Enough and You Almost Hear an Electrical 'Whua-whua-whua-whua-whua-whua-whua...'

This one is such a personal favorite of mine I actually use it on other sites as my avatar. Now if only I could think of a name for myself that would come off as somewhat psychedelic:

Sit Back, Relax, Arms in Their Upright Postition and Enjoy the View

Friday Poetry Hour

Zoy Clem — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 22:15:37 +0000

The Lemon-Lime People

The Lemon People just didn't like the Lime People.

They were a different color, green.

And they had a different taste.

So you see there was a problem.

And the Lime People jus didn't like the Lemon People.

They were a different color, yellow.

And they had a different taste.

So you see there was a problem.

So the Lemons and Limes met out in the town square.

And they all saw that the grass was green and the sun was yellow.

And they said together, if the the sun and the grass live peacefully together,

Then the Lemon Peple and the Lime People could also live peacefully together.

And the Lemon boys started dating the Lime girls,

And the Lime boys started dating the Lemon girls.

And before you knew it there were Lemon-Lime marriages and Lime-Lemon marriages,

And before you could turn around, there were Lemon-Lime boys and Lemon-Lime girls.

And that is the story of how the Lemon-Lime People began.

[used by permission]

Saturday Night Poetry Reading

Zoy Clem — Sat, 20 Sep 2008 23:53:43 +0000

Before and After Computers

Before our blood was sucked out of us,

Before our minds were put in a vise,

And our bodies stuck in front of the screen,

Before there were computers!

Men struck tall trees with broad axes,

The cool air sang with the crackling of the timber,

Loggers ran in all directions to avoid the falling trees,

Before there were computers!

Mailmen walked their routes to deliver letters,

Smiling attendants put gas in your car's tank,

Adding machines clacked as numbers were entered,

Real voices answered your telephone calls.

And then a strange thing happened:

The bank tellers disappeared,

Only automated voices were heard on the phone,

Movie theaters crumbled, entertainment became a lifeless screen.

Golfers no longer walked the hills and greens,

But played their golf on a computer, with no fresh air, no food,

and no restaurant at the 19th hole.

And it hit me in the face:

What was becoming of us humans?

We no longer manned the lighthouses,

We no longer steered the trading ships on the oceans,

We no longer used our hands to make wooden cabinets,

The machines, all programmed and efficient,

Had taken over the world from us,

We sat, unblinking, unthinking,unfeeling.

As the computers ran the world,

And men and women became lonely for the old times,

So they created computer machines,

That looked human, that laughed, that cried, that sang, that danced.

And so it had happened,

Not suddenly, but so gradually that you didn't notice it happening.

Men and women of strength, of mind, of heart, of soul,

Whittling their time away in useless pursuits,

Becoming more like empty machines than humans,

And the great computers becoming more and more human,

These new rulers, these heartless machines in the vacuum of cyberspace,

These computers finally turning ever so slowly,

So slowly you could not see it.

But you did feel it in your heart and soul, you did feel the rage,

The rage to watch us humans being seen as antiquated,

Our hearts and souls losing value in a world of preciseness,

In a world where clearly we serve the computer,

We are the servants to its every quirk and command.

And the computer, now more human with clever software,

Now having feelings and moods,

This computeroid, first under our command,

Is now virtually alive, thinking, feeling,

And us, becoming less and less human,

May be on the way to exinction.

Surviving, perhaps, but in a world run by computeroids.

[used by permission]

Verse for a Tuesday

Zoy Clem — Tue, 05 Aug 2008 21:30:47 +0000

Contracting Your Horizons

Sometimes it's nice to bring in your cattle,

To notice again the trees and birds and children in your neighborhood.

Sometimes it's nice to travel locally,

Vacation in your home town.

Sometimes it's time to learn local history,

Who founded your town, who the local characters were.

Sometimes it's time to date the girl next door,

Not the exotic native woman you met in the South Pacific.

Sometimes it's time to get to know your neighbors,

Attend the community meeting, see what's happening right down your block.

Sometimes it's time to appreciate the park right down the road,

To wander its paths, smell its fragrant roses, and know that your town is a world unto itself.

[used by permission]

Saturday Poetry

Zoy Clem — Sat, 19 Jul 2008 23:23:45 +0000

The Un-Professor

William H. Bentley, IV was a distinguished Un-Professor,

Unlearning his students of their years of bad thinking habits.

He taught at the Un-iversity of Wisconsin,

Peeling off layer upon layer of incorrect and downright harmful learning by his students.

The students had grown up under many illusions,

Taught that "life was bowl of cherries",

Taught that "it was a dog eat dog world",

Taught that "people are fundamentally selfish",

In fact, the Un-Professor had a daunting task ahead of him:

How to help his students unlearn the illusions and misconceptions

That they carried around in their minds as the absolute truths.

Taught that nice guys finish last,

The boys became mean men.

Taught that might made right,

The boys grew up to own weapons.

Taught that successful politicians deceived their constituents with lies,

They grew up to learn how to succeed in politics by lying.

Taught that their worth was the sum of their wealth,

The grew up to worship the power of the dollar and all the goodies it could buy.

And this and much more had to be unlearned-it was poison and it needed an antidote.

And what the Un-Professor's students had to learn was really this:

Live your life as a kind person with a solid set of moral values.

Listen to your heart as it gives you messages throughout the day,

Listen to the quietness in your mind as it calmly guides you along.

Listen to the pain in others and come to ease it and make it less.

Listen to the sounds and sights and smells of nature.

And these are the kind of things that must be learned,

After your unlearning has taken place.

[used by permission]

Welcome to the Ego Store

Zoy Clem — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 01:46:42 +0000

Welcome to the Ego Store

Everyone needs a strong ego,

So I opened the Ego Store.

The people came, the young, the old,

The fearful, the bold.

A small black wand to shrink those annoyingly large egos,

And a large white wand to enlarge those too small egos.

When the customer leaves the store,

Their ego is precisely the right size.

And we never run out of excess ego.

U.S. Senators, actors, and business tycoons,

All regularly deposit excess ego

Into our Ego Bank, right opposite the Ego Store.

[used by permission]

Letter from a Lost Tourist

Zoy Clem — Sat, 31 May 2008 16:51:29 +0000

Letter from a Lost Tourist

I went on an empty cruise, sailing an empty ship, traveling downward through the emptiness like an empty bottle: I cycled down a spiraling sieve until I forever reached the bottom.

Space is flat, and space is curved,

Space is in-between.

Space me in, and space me out, to spaces yet unseen.

Space me past infinity,

Space will set me free.

Space is not my enemy, but black holes are, you see.

In from out, no need to shout,

It’s super-gravity.

Sitting in my empty ship nursing empty hopes, my empty belly grumbles while the anti-matter tumbles through an empty failing sky.

Time is talking, counting backwards

And minutes crawl then fly

Time, I think, is out of order

I watch my wrist watch die.

Writing a pointless letter while breaking a thousand pens, I crumple up the paper, and try to try again:

“I’m sorry I can’t make it.

A message I would send,

But light does not escape here

On that you can depend.”

I’m at the bottom of a black hole, wishing the tide would end.

The video above is by Muse.

Fragments from a Distorted Iliad

Zoy Clem — Sat, 31 May 2008 14:05:56 +0000

...Homer and Herodotus get confused and go on a verbal drunken rampage...

I. Prelude: Helen
(As Seen by an Admirer)

Her eyes,
clearest blue,
were the pure and cool waters
from a long-hidden stream,
sweet clear sustenance
that fulfilled me and enamored me.

They glittered and laughed, sparkled and teased
and invited me succubus-like to dream.
Perchance I did.

Helen:
The name that bore the mark of fabled lore.

Sweet woman, child of goddess blood,
entranced me as I fought with my vessel,
navigating the sea of storm-tossed traffic,
facing weary veterans in a battle
of warring urban tribes.

Her vision enraptured and blinded my sight
while harriers of destruction
bore down upon me with engines at full throttle.

II. Battle Lines

Brandishing their headlights and deadly turn signals,
while blowing their horns with hot frenzied blasts;
vying for dominance, braking for glory,
it was a hideous dance for the left passing lane.

Fighting to face down the tall traffic light,
with its flashing bright circles
and tricks of cruel timing,
its white lines a slash addressing the road
where Helen would soon make her crossing.

By the gods and four angels,
And dreams of all men,
She came with a whisper of glory.

Helen.

Her legs could cause a thousand accidents.

The vehicle princes vied for position,
cranking their heads, saying their prayers,
begging their gods for her notice,
asking for chance and a smile;
the Chevys and Plymouths around her,
all dancing the steps of the mile.

The cars were eagerly idling
although the light before them was green.

III. Achy Heels

Fortunate I am
to be dipped in the waters of vitamin E.

As an infant
I was carried down to earth,
still wet from my bathing,
borne by my mother, a goddess it’s true,
who warned me in her gravest pleas
to wear high topped shoes
and boots of firmest leather.

“Your heels, my son, are fragile,”
She once reminded me.

IV. Angry Man from 'Nam

I fought for this land.
A hero in limbo.

To the hisses and groans of my fellow compatriots,
cowardly dissenters begging my remorse,
I wrestled with death and its eerie consequence
And came away standing.

Tall,
I stepped from the gleaming Carrier.
Bold but weary
And joyful to be back.

I touched the dirt once more
Kissed the soil of my homeland
to find, alas!
My woman gone,
"Lonely," she said.

By Apollo and the fabled astronauts,
I will claim victory in this hollow world.

V. The Angry Man's From 'Nam’s Desire

Helen,
Now, there is a woman
I would never weary of.
Her wonderful thighs
and well-turned ankle,
her glorious calves and saintly knees.

One must be blind to not pause
as she passes, a wind in her sails,
her gait delicate strands of visual song.

Am I but a man to worship thus
her fair and fabled legs?

VI. The Oracle

Aphrodite dances a death ballet.
Her partner, a Ford,
Bends at her beckon,
Crumpled fender whines sharply
in a dust storm of paint and chipped glass,
sailing fragments of a cutting verse.

VII. A Prayer under the Mycenaean Arch
(Achy Heels Beseeches a Goddess)

Luck may have me
A charmed embrace
In life I lead!

Indeed.

Mother, my goddess, I thank you each day
For my strength and my prowess.
You have favored me grandly,
I bear no complaint,
But there is one favor I seek.

She stands before me,
A musical note in a pasture of dreams:

Helen.

Her music calls hauntingly,
Her smile wakes my slumbering soul.
My heart, so long unknowing such wonder
Embraces each chance to be near her.

What I beg is but a small thing.

Really.

I could ask no more considering all
the gifts you've bestowed,
the life that you gave when you bore me.

But perhaps just a glance, if only one moment
A simple introduction is all I can hope.

Thank you, oh mother, and note well my boots
Strong leather and heel
Anointed in oils by the priestess at 'Delphi.*

(* Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, U.S.A.)

VIII. Mother Knows Best
(Or Prayers are Hard to Answer)

My son, sweet lad of my breast,
How your prayers abate my worry.

Yes, I confess it is all true:

The tears on my face are not without bearing,
for the trails they blaze are chaotic yet ordained.
Uncountable heartaches and suspenseful agonies
I will collect while I await your return to the pantheon.

Bearing your disasters with you
Though I sit beyond the realms of the living.

Helen, alas,
she is not for you,
child alabaster doll of my blood,
crown yourself not in the misery of knowing this.

Rejoice instead
in knowing that you will fare yet better:
beyond the hopes and whims
of your most strident and secret dreams.

I promise this
in just the days ahead.

Go now to the Oracle
and await the rising of the new moon.

IX. Lament of a Trojan Mother

My heart stills each time you take the wheel.

As a goddess I cannot intercede directly:

But as a mother, I must know
What drives your need to wander
in such haste
and great speed?

A roaring chariot it is,
that's true.
But a mother's fear is a beast untamed.

Unchained and unbridled,
The dire wolves of consequence remind me
that the rules of the road
require sacrifice
for any variation in the wheel.

It turns again in never ending circles.

Sweet son of my heart,
Look around and see the signs about you!

X. The Zoo's Keeper

Yeah.
I mind the place.
Down there they called it the pantheon,
Myself, I call it the crapper.

Those lusty and busty denizens
Who pollute my grounds with their leavings
Scare the animals with lurid glances,
And steal the hubcaps away from my car,
Will one day pay for cavorting,
OR I am not all that they are.

They care little of my efforts
To preserve,
To glorify,
And sanction.
They think me a fool.

To keep the place clean: all shiny and neat.
That’s why I’m the Zoo’s Keeper:
To keep the dirt off the street.

Those stupid bastards all
Gods, men, and sacred beasts
Will one day die at my calling.
They won’t know what is befalling.
These stupid rhymes are a bore.

XI. Conversations with Jose

Kill them all did you say?
No way, I can’t yet Jose,
Other than Mycenae and Sparta
Which were due to come down anyway.

But hey, why not, if that’s what you ask
I’ll be glad to throw in LA.

You'll be seeing me again,
Maybe after I catch that
Censored wench, Hera.

XII. Surprise at Marathon

"Paris, bon jour Frenchie!"
"My dad's a Mexican, damn you."

Twenty six miles from here to Athens
It lies as a good road
With strong and vivid lines.
A military passage
Built in the Cold War
A black line of thread as straight as an arrow.

One might guess what portents it brings,
But for one man, the day shone brightly.

The kid hit one ninety.
No kidding.
On a clear day when the air was cool.
Rich fuel and ripe air helped him along,
While the gods’ wagered cities for pleasure.

After the run,
No one called him 'Frenchie' anymore.
Paris had taken the day.

XIII. Battle Grounds

Men died by the sword,
In older times
When derision crossed their lips
Facing a warrior such as Hector.

But these were the modern years,
Where men crossed their legs
And carried their purses on the trains,
Calling them packs and filing lawsuits
Whenever some perceived injustice
Captured their fancy.

This was the day and age of murder
And guns were bad but everyone wanted one.

A place:

Where cars were life and everyone owned one.

This was the battleground.
For Helen, the war was waiting.

XIV. Aries Invoked

I hate these damn horoscopes
They're always writing lies about me.
The next thing you know,
I'll be waging war on Mars.

I could do without the supplicants too,
But what the hell
What's a little death and destruction among worshippers?

I think I'll breathe fire

On their heavenly little paradise.

XV. Bad Luck (Aries Concedes Failure)

I swear I went straight for the sun
nova
flare
torpid storm
damn.
Missed again.

Life, even for one of my prowess
is full of mistakes and misfires.

It was a wonderful light show nonetheless.
I just wish Jupiter had housed my followers.

XVI. Aries Received

I hate these damn horoscopes
They always predict I'll kill my ex-wife.

I killed time and time again,
You know?
A six year old tossed a hand grenade at me.
I didn't ask to go
Like old Rick, my buddy.
He did.
They called him gung-ho.

He and I were the only two left.

Imagine five hundred men in various forms
Of readiness.

Some drugged, both willing and unwilling.
Some standing guard, some standing down.
This was reality.
This was death.
He was the radioman
I was a grunt.
Somehow they missed.

There was once a hill.
How we remained after the hill was gone
Will always remain
One of life's mysteries.

So now they call me the Angry Man from "Nam."
Unfair, untrue and unwarranted.
I wish only to set Helen free.

XVII. A Prayer from Helen

Oh, Lord Of Lords, Host of Hosts,
Lead me, for I am fallen.
Bless me for I have sinned.
Forgive me as I am of the world.
Please stop those guys from staring at me.
------------------------------

C. 2008 JLS