Tan Renga Challenge 2019: Day 18: Lightning Flash

Lightning flash above Athens, Greece

lightning flash–

what I thought were faces

are plumes of pampas grass

what is real, I ask myself

you or I or anything?

~Basho & Cie~

Notes:

The Hokku stanza of this Tan Renga was written by Matsuo Basho (1644 - 1694). The Akegu stanza was created by me.

Tan Renga Challenge 2019: Day 16: White Crane

White Crane (Japanese Woodblock Print)

How I wish to call

A white crane from Fukei,

But for this cold rain.

I am happy when it rains

That is when I feel at home

Kikaku & Cie

Notes:

The Hokku stanza was written by Kikaku, an apprentice and close friend of Basho. He created this work as a gift when Basho was ailing.

The Akegu stanza was created by me.

Tan Renga Challenge 2019 #14 + Poetry Pantry #481: Hibiscus Red

Image by Josch13 from Pixabay

unable

to get hibiscus red

the artist eats the flower

flower becomes the artist

artist becomes the flower

Fr. Raymond & Cie

Notes:

The Hokku (Haiku) stanza was created by Father Raymond Roselip (1917 - 1983), a Catholic priest who has been rightfully recognized as a twentieth-century master of English Haiku.

The Akegu (two-line closing stanza) was created by yours truly.

Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation #86 + Weekend Mini Challenge: A Portrait of Dystopia

Dystopian Portrait

Photoshop Manipulation by The Real Cie

Utopia was

Only ever a sad lie

Flawless fallacy

Pretty cars, pretty people

Not a place for those like me

~Cie~

Notes:

Today I found a couple of great prompts and flipped them upside down. 

The Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation prompt asks us to examine the concept of utopia in a Haiku or Tanka. Mine is more a Senryu than a Haiku. I do not question the existence of Utopia, but I postulate that it is more like Metropolis. It exists for a very small percentage of people. Most people are on the outside looking in, and some are completely crushed beneath the boots of the beautiful and careless dwellers of Utopia.

So, what portrait did I paint?

That of one of the people crushed beneath unrealistic expectations of beauty and brilliance and casually cast aside, not worthy of any sort of rescue because they do not adhere to society's standards of prettiness.

The person in the portrait is me. I chose it because I was sitting at a rather dismal-looking bus stop on the day of the 2017 Women's March. I would learn that day that not only had my health deteriorated more than I previously realized, but people are utterly self-absorbed, even the ones who claim to be "progressive" in their approach.

I managed to get through the entire march, which is a miracle in itself considering that I almost stopped several times along the way because I was becoming weak, but I had also become confused enough that I was afraid I wouldn't be able to find my way back to the bus stop. 

When the bus stopped, everyone else shoved on board and the bus driver told me he wouldn't be able to take me. I said I understood, and I understood his position, but I kind of thought all those other people were assholes. I started feeling that wouldn't have happened to me if I was young and pretty.

 I was ravenously hungry. I had a Snickers bar, but I was trying to conserve it for "the right moment." With a lifetime living with ED (stands for Eating Disorder), I had learned to deny myself food up until things became critical. They were critical, but not critical enough.

I got on the next bus about a half hour later and had to stand. I was wobbling all over and my eyes were rolling back in my head. Exactly nobody gave any fucks. In fact, one spectacular dudebro about my age chortled and said: "I had to stand all the way there, now it's your turn."

Despite the fact that my eyes were glazed over, I managed a withering glare and said in a steely if somewhat shaky voice: "Buddy, I had to stand the whole way there too. Don't even try to pull that crap on me!"

He turned away and noticed a confused-looking young woman holding a bus schedule. He grinned and invited her to sit down in his seat. She didn't speak much English. He leaned in close to her in order to better "help" her, I suppose, because he was just a helpful kind of guy, at least if the person in need of help was a pretty young woman.

When a seat finally opened up, I scooted my ass into it as quickly as I could and scarfed the Snickers bar as if I hadn't eaten in a year. By the time I got off the bus, my feet were swollen and aching so badly I could hardly walk. This time, however, an angel appeared in the form of a very sweet Latina lady in her late 30's or early 40's who offered me a ride. I thanked her profusely. After the callousness I'd just experienced, her generosity brought tears to my eyes.

I knew at that point that I could no longer take part in events such as marches because I was no longer strong enough to do so physically.

I lost my job a couple months later because I became extremely ill and was pushed to keep working by my supervisor in spite of having a serious respiratory infection. I had a small stroke while working one night and ended up getting fired. Once my savings were gone, which happened reasonably quickly, I ended up living in poverty and have been there ever since. If it weren't for my son allowing me to couch-surf, I'd be sleeping in my car.

Utopia exists for a very small percentage of people. I used to dream of being something wonderful, of being a star, but over the years I've come to see that often those dreams end as nightmares.

So, you have a portrait of the kind of person that society doesn't want to acknowledge even though there are a lot more of us than most people care to think, and my skepticism that Utopia exists for anyone but the well-heeled in anyplace but dreams.

Strange Connections: Good People in Bad Romances

Other than substance addiction issues, one might not think that Bon Scott and Amy Winehouse have much in common. However, both of them were involved to the point of obsession with people who were incredibly bad for them, and although musically speaking they are both artists I can't get enough of, I have to stop listening after a fairly brief period of time because I know what and who they're singing about and it's really depressing.

The other issue is the fact that I can relate all too well to being obsessed with a person who is really, really, really horrible for you. I did it more than once. People think that all-consuming "love" is wonderful. It's anything but, and usually, it isn't really love, it's an obsession. So, yanno, no thanks to ending up in the ER with bloody wrists over some asshole who doesn't deserve my pain. Better to be alone than to be with someone toxic.

Although, unfortunately, in my case, more often than not, I'm alone in bad company.

Plus, in the case of AC/DC, I can only listen for just so long (and that isn't long these days) before I start getting really pissed off about the way Malcolm Young went out. Dementia is the absolute fucking worst, particularly when it takes out someone whose intelligence was a key part of who they were. Malcolm Young was a high school dropout, but he was smarter than a lot of people with strings of letters behind their names.

The late Glen Campbell's wife said of dementia "It's better to die some other way," and she's absolutely right. Fuck dementia.

As Bob Seger once said, sometimes I wish I didn't know now what I didn't know then.

~Cie~

Observations of a Dead World: Burlesque Silliness with a Heartbreaking Ending

Hipster music journalists love to decry this band as a one-trick pony, but they were actually full of surprises. Sure, the same five songs get played over and over and over on commercial radio stations. Even though I was an early fan of AC/DC, I started changing the station whenever "For Those About To Rock" would come on so I wouldn't start hating it. That's how badly that particular song was overplayed.

Musical chops aside (and the musical choppage is strong in this lot) these guys were obviously not professional models. Bon seemed fairly well at ease with striking poses, and Angus is a ham. The others never seem to know quite what to do with themselves.

Mark Evans and Cliff Williams both tended to have neutral facial expressions in photos. Maybe it's a bass player thing. In this particular photo, I'm not sure there was much else that Phil Rudd could have done. After all, Angus was stepping on his head.

I really do wonder what Malcolm was doing, though. Did the photographer tell him to do that? Was there someone up above pouring some sort of beverage down on him and he was hoping to drink it rather than getting soaked by it? Is he performing a Stupid Big Brother Trick and pretending he's going to bite Angus' leg? Did he feel stupid when he saw this picture after the fact?

Although Angus was the one who became (in)famous for stripping off, Bon was the band member who had a tendency to dress like a member of Chippendale's. There are many photos of him wearing pants which looked like they'd been painted on, and he often struck poses indicating that said pants were about to come off.

This incarnation of AC/DC really wasn't around that long in the scheme of things. 

I've likened the way I feel looking at photos of AC/DC to the emotions expressed by the priest in Arthur C. Clarke's powerful story, The Star. The priest experienced a crisis of faith after discovering that the Star of Bethlehem shone as brightly as it did because it had gone supernova, destroying a peaceful civilization.

In some ways, AC/DC had a (crossed) binary star system. There was the band in its incarnation with Bon. This was the beta star in the system. It shone brightly but was short-lived. 

The alpha star continued on for 37 more years after Bon's passing. It started going into its death throes when Malcolm became too ill to perform anymore and collapsed on itself when Brian Johnson was no longer able to continue performing due to hearing problems and Cliff Williams retired because things had become too fucking depressing.

I'm in the camp that thinks that AC/DC needs to rock in peace, to remain a nebula rather than trying to cobble together some sort of zombie version of itself. To be clear, I am not one of those ageist assholes who thinks that only the young and the hawt should play music. I subscribe to the belief that as long as you can and want to play, you should, and most of the truly talented musicians I can think of are not "Hawt." 

Angus and Stevie Young should work on other projects. Whatever they create together ought to be good, because they're both talented musicians. Certainly, there's no problem with them playing AC/DC's material. AC/DC was, after all, half Angus' creation. He was the face of the band while Malcolm was the brains.

Without its brain, AC/DC was a different band. It was still a good band, but the material on Rock or Bust shows the marked change in a band that had lost its leader and one of its key components. Still, the band could arguably continue working under the AC/DC name at that point. Malcolm's replacement, his nephew, had learned much of his technique from the original and had been given the green light by Malcolm himself to take up the reins.

With the loss of Brian Johnson and Cliff Williams, AC/DC was done although Angus Young was still there.

I feel very sad for Angus. Not only did he lose his best friend of a lifetime, but he also lost the project which had been his reason for living for some 44 years. I hope that if continuing to play can bring him some semblance of peace, he will do so. Despite being a broke fuck, I would find a way to support his work by buying his albums. However, I hope he lays AC/DC to rest. Whatever lineup was created at this point would be a hollow echo of the band's past glory.

AC/DC needs to be allowed to fade to black.

~Cie~

AC/DC, doing stuff that got them on the Satanic Panic Shit List.

Blue Monday + Macro Monday + Through My Lens + Inspire Me Monday: Fish and Seahorse Cutout

Image taken May 2017 at the Denver Aquarium for Mother's Day and my son's birthday lunch. Image copyright Cara Hartley/The Real Cie. As always, you are welcome to use the image, but please credit me.

I often have a tendency to get long-winded on my Inspire Me Monday posts. This time I decided to take my own advice and chug a nice, steaming hot cup of STFU.

~Cie~

Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge #254: Sweet & Heart

Image by 849356 from Pixabay

Our home sweet home Earth

Used up, broken, drained of life

By those with no heart

~Cie~

New Happenings from Around the Netherworld

Image by rawpixel from Pixabay

Hello Delivered Ones, Horror Harridans, and other followers of things Netherworldly! We have a few new things going on in our twisted little Universe, so stop your grinnin' and drop your linen, it's time for announcements!

My new pal Ghost Town Grover is getting used to my inevitable presence and he and his spooky friends are even springing new ideas on me for stuff we can sell. This newfangled website business is kinda weird for good ole Grover, but he don't mind if it gets the word out about his General Store.

We have a couple of new blog hops in the Netherworld family. First is the Silent Sunday Blog Hop over at Dark Hearts Love Too, the Netherworld's poetry cafe.  Pretty much the only rule is you have to share a photo that was taken by you. Swing on by and share a link if that sort of thing is your bag, Baby!

Next, we have the Come As You Are Party happening at the Crazy Creatives Cheerleading Camp. This party was created in response to the fact that a lot of blog hops really aren't very welcoming of people who aren't normal and "pretty" in a very narrow way. This is the blog hop for the Rest of Us: the unwanted, the unloved, the downtrodden, the fallen behind, the pushed aside, the Outsiders. You can share pretty much whatever you want with a couple of exceptions. If you've ever felt like you just don't belong, this is the place for you.

We hope a few of you will come on by and check out our new to-do's!

~Cie~

Sadhguru on Jiddu Krishnamurti

So much has been said about Jiddu Krishnamurti <>
So many myths made, legends too<>
He denied and poo-poohed them all<>
He was just a mirror he said, a mirror by which we all were reflected<>
When asked who he was he answered 'Nobody'. <>
He declared we didn't need gurus nor priests. No Popes. No Imans. No Rabbis and specifically no leaders especially not himself. <>
He refuted the notion he was special or the incarnation of Siddartha Guatama. He didn't believe in reicarnation. He didn't believe in belief. <> 
This wonderful speech by Jaggi Vasudev (Sadhguru) paints a glorious picture of a man whose influence is still felt to this day.
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Weekend Meditation #85: Photoshopping Haiku: Cherry Blossoms

Cherry Blossoms at Lake Biwa

even an old man

sees the beauty in the new

spring cherry blossoms

~Kobayashi Issa & Cie~

Notes:

Here is the original Haiku by Kobayashi Issa:

even an old man

has New Year's eyes...

cherry blossoms

In this exercise, we make a subtle change to the original Haiku. In Western society in the Northern Hemisphere, the New Year falls in Winter. I applied my Western sensibilities to the poem and turned the cherry blossoms into a reference for the change from Winter to Spring.

Tan Renga Challenge 2019: Day 13: Prayer Beads

Image Source

prayer beads dangling

a harvest moon prayer...

mountain home

to pray for understanding

the universe shall approve

Kobayashi Issa & Cie

Notes:

The Hokku stanza of this Tan Renga was created by Kobayashi Issa. The Akegu (second stanza) was created by me.

Tan Renga Challenge 2019: Day 12: Miscanthus Bud

Image Source

the Dutchmen, too,

kneel before His Lordship --

spring under His reign.

inevitable forces

to which all must bow someday

by my new banana plant

the first sign of something I loathe --

a miscanthus bud!

all things must have their season

even those things undesired

another year is gone

a traveler's shade on my head,

straw sandals at my feet

straw soon replaced by leather

weatherproof boots are a must

now then, let's go out

to enjoy the snow ... until

I slip and fall!

not such a big deal in youth

in old age a bone may break

Basho & Cie

Notes:

All Hokku stanzas were created by Matsuo Basho (1644 - 1694). All Ageku (closing) stanzas were written by me.

I would like to dedicate this set of poems to my mother's and my late father's friend Richard, who passed away yesterday from complications stemming from ALS. I hope that one day a cure is found for this terrible, debilitating disease.

Tan Renga Challenge 2019: Day 11: Tan Renga Hineri: Only Tracks

Image Source

late summer

alone on the beach

with only tracks

leading me to the unknown

who can know where the time goes?

I follow the tracks

to the melancholy sea

sorrow grips my voice

I remember who I was

I remember her lost dreams

Dreams impossible

foolish girl with head in clouds

she not of this world

she visited the seashore once

dreaming she could swim away

Jane & Cie

Note:

The first Hokku (Haiku) in this Tan Renga Hineri was created by Jane Reichhold (1937 - 2016). The other stanzas were created by me. 

Tanka Splendor: Sea Shells

Image Copyright D Sisson

Seashells on the shore

I'd like to crawl inside them

Hide myself away

Safe inside where the hard world

Cannot hurt me anymore

~Cie~

Tan Renga Challenge 2019: Day 10: Icicles

Image Source

muffled and silenced

the snap of an icicle

engulfed by fresh snow

in summer it seems a dream

a few months from now, common

Kim & Cie

Notes:

The Hokku (Haiku) stanza was written by Kim Russell. The Ageku (closing) stanza was created by me.

Tan Renga Challenge 2019: Day 9: Snails

Snails in Moonlight

Artist Unknown

I bow to my master

Matsuo Basho told me the way

to watch a snail

Haiku taught me to embrace

the way of snail and turtle

Chèvrefeuille & Cie

Notes:

The Hokku (Haiku) stanza of this Tan Renga was written by Chèvrefeuille. The Akegu (closing) stanza was written by me.

I am not being hyperbolic in any way when I say this. Participating in this exercise has been life-changing for me. Haiku is no longer simply a poetry form for me. It is a way of meditation, a way to improve not only my life but possibly the lives of others as well.

Hallelujah

This was never a hymn nor overtly spiritual although it sounds like both. Leonard Cohen's song of a love gone wrong is filled with religious symbolism. It is like Blake's poem 'Jerusalem' which has more to do with politics and challenging the industrial revolution than in praising Jesus of Nazareth even though it does. Both songs praise what they perceive as God. 'Hallelujah' draws a comparison to God and love and to the point when 'God,' much like the Hindu belief that at the point of orgasm we enter Nirvana/Heaven, explodes within us revealing God not as a deity but as the great unnameable, universal, feeling of joy and love.  The original meaning of the word Hallelujah has overtime been fogged. In the Hebrew Bible Hallelujah is actually a two-word phrase, not one word. However, "Hallelujah" means more than simply "praise Jah" or "praise Yah", as the word hallel in Hebrew means a joyous praise in song, to boast in God. 

Below are three versions of the song starting with John Cale's masterful version and concluding with the original...

I'd heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
Well, it goes like this
The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Well, your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya
She tied you to the kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips, she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Well baby, I've been here before
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew ya
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch
And love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Well, maybe there's a God above
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya
And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Weekend Wrap-Up: A Leap of Faith that Hopefully Doesn't End in a Giant Splat

Image by Marta Cuesta from Pixabay

Greetings, Crazy Cheerleaders, Delivered Ones, Esoteric Escapees, Horror Harridans, Naughty Netherworld Dwellers, Ones Seeking Enlightenment or at Least Food For Thought, and Ones Stranded in Eternity!

I have reached a crossroads in my life. Not a little itty bitty crossroads either. A big hum-dinger of a crossroads. So big, in fact, that I wrote the following poem and note about it:

Image by Stefan Schweihofer from Pixabay

cricket silence

between scraping sounds

autumn begins

for me a new beginning

or perhaps the end of all

Jane & Cie

The Hokku (Haiku) portion of the poem was written by Jane Reichhold. The Ageku, or closing stanza, was written by me.

Come the fall, I should have pictures of the old hotel my son is buying to renovate. This probably sounds a lot posher than it is. This building is in a town listed on the Colorado Ghost Towns website, and it needs a lot of work.

For me, this move is literally either a new beginning or the beginning of the end. I have run out of options.

Here is the Grover Hotel. I am going to be in touch with the Colorado Historical Society on Monday to see what needs to happen for us to receive a grant to help us with renovation. 

The Grover Hotel was built in 1900, at the point when Grover was a boom town. After it was a hotel, it was a church, a hospital, and then a boarding house. I am not entirely sure how long it has been vacant.

There are significant repairs which will need to be made, including the roof. My son and I are meeting with a plumbing contractor and an electrician on Tuesday. We are fully committed to making this building once again as beautiful as it is stalwart. It has a lot of problems, but we believe that it can once again be an asset to this tiny town.

Concurrent with my commitment to making this move 100 miles from Denver, I made the decision to quit my job. 

I have never been unemployed for long periods of time. I've worked ever since I was 16 years old. Being unemployed makes me feel like I've given up, even if logic dictates otherwise.

I had two cars: a 2011 Ford Fusion and a 1998 Subaru Forester. The Forester was bought used and ignorantly. Always take any newly purchased car to your mechanic for inspection before committing to purchase. I did not do that. The Forester has been a money pit, and it overheated on me for the last time last Friday. I am going to let the mechanic sell it for parts.

This leaves me with only the Ford Fusion.

Working as a delivery driver comes with significant risks. Fortunately, the only two accidents I've been in with the Fusion have been minor and the other driver was at fault in both cases, so their insurance covered the cost of repairs. As a reminder, never make a deal with the other driver, always go through the insurance company for repairs. 

If I had agreed to have the parents of the young lady who slid into my car when the roads were icy pay me for the initial estimate, I would have been screwed six ways to Sunday. The initial estimate quoted repairs costing less than $500. The actual cost was nearly $2000. 

In any case, I am not in a position to risk my now sole vehicle by working as a courier. I need to concentrate on preparing for the move, including getting rid of a significant amount of stuff. 

I am very nervous about this move. I have plans to sell handcrafted items. I will be revealing my blog dedicated to these items early in the week, once the inspection has come back. The inspector wants to consult with a structural engineer regarding the foundation before he gives us his final assessment.

I am really no longer able to work "normal" jobs. Once the property has been purchased, I am going to have to go to social services in the county where the property is located and talk face to face about why my 401K, which I can't access without a significant penalty until I reach retirement age, is preventing me from qualifying for SNAP. Thankfully, I get Medicaid, but I don't get SNAP. I find this ridiculous, considering that I made less than $10,000 last year.

This place really is the last stop on the line for Yours Truly. If I can't make a go of it here, I'm well and truly done. 

I have a strange and amazing imagination and a lot of fine ideas. The problem is getting people to know about me.

I am also not known for my normalcy or for being sugar and spice. I am not sweet, petite, or pretty, and I tend to speak my mind. One person referred to me as flinty. I identify as a curmudgeon. I have heard that well-behaved women rarely make history. It would be a shame if such a badly behaved woman as myself was buried by time and dust, I think.

Click to Enlarge

I'll go more in depth with this issue later, but I think that it's worth mentioning that many people can no longer afford to live in the city. This house is being purchased with money that my son's father inherited. I can tell you this: $200,000 may sound like a lot of money, but it isn't.

We could piss this money away on rents of $1200 per month (and rising) for a modest, two-bedroom townhome. I love this place, I really do, and at $1200 a month, it's cheap for the Denver metro area. But the rent rises every year and staying here has become unsustainable for two disabled people who are receiving absolutely no help from the housing authority.

We could buy a condo in the outlying areas of the Denver metro area. The only acceptable one we found would have been $240,000. It had three bedrooms and one bathroom. My son is inviting a friend to live with us. We would have felt like we were all on top of each other pretty quickly, and there would always have been a queue for the loo. Not fun!

We could purchase a mobile home for around $90,000 and piss away $700 a month on lot rent. Mobile homes do not earn equity, they depreciate like a car does. I will discuss the money pit which is the mobile home that I own and am clearing out to sell at another juncture. Everything is broken down in this place and I have never had the money to replace or repair it. There was a flood which required treatments for black mold in the aftermath. It's possible that the place will need to be condemned. I'm hoping it can be salvaged because I'd like to potentially get back a little money from it.

The Grover Hotel will cost $90,000. Admissibly, it needs a lot of work, which will come out of the remaining money. However, it has six bedrooms spread out over two floors. It has a basement. It has an attic. It has a back yard. I'm not sure who you'd have to kill to get something like that in the Denver area, but I do know you couldn't get it legally.

Housing costs are driving the working class out of the cities. This means they either have to make long commutes, or they end up unemployed and on welfare living in rural areas. 

Denver, like other major cities, likes to brag about how they've created apartments with wonderful amenities right next to the transit hubs. While this is true, the rents start at $2000 per month for a closet (small studio apartment). The working classes cannot afford to live in these places. I guess we can set up tents in the parking lots of abandoned buildings, hope that the restaurant throws out some edible food, and use the area between dumpsters for our toilet while hoping not to get bit on the ass by a rat. No, I'm not being hyperbolic. This sort of thing is actually happening every day.

My son and I will come back to Denver once a week for our woodworking class and pick up a week's worth of groceries. Denver is more than 100 miles from Grover. We may visit the Botanic Gardens once a month. We lose out on all the cultural activities that we loved, such as going to the museum. I was working, which meant something to me, but I have to stop doing that and hope for the best when it comes to creating my own products to sell.

This is the sort of thing that happens when people are punished for being part of the working class and for being disabled.

We need to stop looking down our noses at the working class. Not everyone can or wants to be a CEO. That person at the McDonald's who made your burger and fries enabled you to not have to make your own burger and fries. Why in the world anyone believes that people in the working class should be punished by being forced to live in poverty is beyond the scope of my imagination.

American society as it currently stands is not sustainable. We either need to implement changes that benefit the middle and lower classes or things are going to break down even further. This never leads to anything good.

I hope you will all visit my new website when I reveal the URL. I want to do some giveaways and think of ways that we WAH folk can help each other.

~Cie~

Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation #84: What the Apple Blossoms Know

Apple Blossoms

(Photographer unknown)

Apple blossoms watch

I rush forward resisting

Time passes for all

~Cie~

Notes:

This meditation asks us to work Unduo (movement) into our piece. I believe I succeeded in this.

Tan Renga Challenge 2019: Day 8: Autumn Begins

Image by Stefan Schweihofer from Pixabay

cricket silence

between scraping sounds

autumn begins

for me a new beginning

or perhaps the end of all

Jane & Cie

Note:

The Hokku (Haiku) portion of the poem was written by Jane Reichhold. The Ageku, or closing stanza, was written by me.

Come the fall, I should have pictures of the old hotel my son is buying to renovate. This probably sounds a lot more posh than it is. This building is in a town listed on the Colorado Ghost Towns website, and it needs a lot of work.

For me, this move is literally either a new beginning or the beginning of the end. I have run out of options.

Tan Renga Challenge 2019: Day 7: Wisteria

Image Source

In the moonlight,

The color and scent of the wisteria

Seems far away.

As far away I think as

My sense of belonging here

Buson & Cie

Notes:

The Hokku (Haiku) stanza of the poem was written by Yosa Buson (1716 - 1784). The Akegu (closing) stanza was written by me.

I have never felt that I belonged in this world. When I was younger, I always hoped I'd find people I belonged with. There have been a few where I feel like they put up with me to a degree or felt sympathy for me, but I have never had a sense of finding my "tribe." The only person I'm really at all close with is my son. I tend to form only very superficial relationships with other people.

Dinners with my mother are perilous and fraught with small talk. She has never approved of any of my choices, and she knows almost nothing about what is really transpiring in my life.

I am not at all close with the other members of my family. I would not recognize most of them if I passed them in the street.

At this point in my life, I do not wish to party and socialize. I have one friend whom I confide in via email, and that means a lot. This friend lives a few thousand miles away from me, so it isn't as if we could get together for coffee.

I have felt a degree of understanding and acceptance from the people participating in this little Tan Renga challenge, which I usually don't get a sense of during such challenges. 

I usually feel as if I am an outsider who has crashed a party when participating in blog hops, and the general sense is "what is that freak doing here at our exclusive soiree?" Some of the blog hops I participate in are very focused on clothing and fashion although other sorts of posts are allowed, and if you don't think I'm an absolute outlier when it comes to fashion, you don't know me at all. I can't afford nice clothes or even new clothes, and I look like an unmade bed most of the time.

One would think that I would feel more at home with creative blog hops, but I usually don't. I've been surprised by the feeling of peace I've gained participating in this one. Maybe it's just that no-one has attacked me yet. Hopefully, we can do without that happening this time.

Happy 29th Birthday Michael

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Haiga copyright The Real Cie

My son was born on this day 29 years ago at 8 A.M. I was unconscious at the time. He was a long baby with no meat on his bones: 19 inches long, 5 pounds 12 ounces. He lost 4 ounces of that weight after being born and scared the hell out of me. He had to be fed every two hours because his blood sugar kept plummeting.

My son is a very intelligent chap, but he doesn't do things the way our current society thinks people are "supposed" to do things. He's high-functioning autistic and battles depression and anxiety. He has a great artistic eye and loves photography and woodworking. He learns best by doing and does very poorly with attempting to learn from textbooks and lectures, which is why he ended up not doing well in college except for in his German class.

My son and I are stocky people, so with the foolish biases that modern society holds about larger people, most people think we eat a lot. We don't. We are food insecure. We ration our food and tend to only eat one or two meals a day. 

Our neuropsychological conditions and my physical issues mean that neither of us can work conventional jobs. Since modern society has Draconian ideas, disabled people are punished and not allowed adequate food or housing.

I am not being hyperbolic when I say that if it weren't for my son, I would not still be in this world. So, now you know who to blame for my continued existence.

Happy birthday, Michael, and may you have many, many more, and may each one be better than the last.

Yo Mama

Tan Renga Challenge 2019: Day 6: In Shadow

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autumn moonlight--

a worm digs silently

into the chestnut.

presenting a sunny face

though my brain feels full of worms

Basho & Cie

Notes:

The Hokku (Haiku) stanza of this Tan Renga was written by Matsuo Basho. The Akegu (closing stanza) was written by me.

Matsuo Basho was born in 1644 and died 28 November 1694. As a point of coincidence, my father died on 28 November 2010.

As Chèvrefeuille explains, Basho's Haiku references his desires for a man. Basho was a Samurai, and, as with the warriors of ancient Greece, homosexuality was considered normal and acceptable. Relationships between older men and adolescent boys were also considered acceptable.

I do feel that homosexuality is normal and acceptable, but I think it is better not to have sexual relationships between adults and youth.

My portion of the poem does not refer to my sexuality. Being heterosexual, I never found myself in the position of keeping my sexuality a secret. It refers to living with mental illness in a society which stigmatizes people who struggle with depression and suicidal thoughts. 

Some people think that in this age of readily available psych meds, no-one should struggle with psychological problems. Many people do not respond well to psych meds, and not all psychological problems are chemical in nature.