The other day, while sitting on the toilet, my Corgi approached. He seemed to have something on his mind. Indeed, he prefaced, "deorre, I have something on my mind. I don't understand humans."

"Really Corgi", I retorted, a bit off guard in my present state of cartharsis. "Say more" (even a therapist from the toilet).

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Sources have reported that there is no coincidence in George Bush's continued low poll ratings and Britney Spears behaving significanly beyond the proverbial envelope in recent months. For most of his presidency, the Bush machine has attempted to divert public scrutiny from it's setbacks, failures, and other mis-deeds by pointing to or fabricating political crisis and calamity. Only a few dedicated followers believe the 'boy who cries wolf' anymore.

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We all walk through life, leaving a mark. Whether we intend to or not. The question becomes, then, what kind of mark? What type of footprint?

Do you walk lightly, leaving nary a trace? Or do you plod through, leaving a heavy mark of chaotic imprints in the metaphorical soil? How will others remember you, when you have moved on to wherever it is you will move on to?

This? Merely a simple invitation to reflect...

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With the apparent downfall and downtimes of several other blog sites, an influx of talented and knowledgeable bloggers has occured here at the 'party'. This is a good thing, yes?

Recent mention has been made that there is much 'splog' here at Blogger Party. Please pardon my ignorance (pronounced Ignance in my part of the woods), but, just what is splog?

What the heck is this splog you speak of?

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Blame conservatives. Blame liberals. Blame women. Blame men. Blame blacks. Blame whites. Blame browns. Blame religion. Blame atheism. Blame science. Blame drugs. Blame alcohol. Blame capitalism. Blame communism. Blame socialism. Blame competition. Blame cooperation. Blame homosexuality. Blame hyper sexuality. Blame homophobia. Blame sexual frustration. Blame money. Blame lack of money. Blame beauracracy. Blame anarchy. Blame small business. Blame big business. Blame fat people. Blame skinny people. Blame smokers. Blame non-smokers. Blame god. Blame Jesus. Blame satan. Blame Bush. Blame Gore. Blame global warming. Blame watermelon(?). Blame Korea. Blame jock itch. Blame education. Blame lack of education. Blame the bank. Blame fast food. Blame bodily fluids. Blame mommy. Blame daddy. Blame brother. Blame sister. Blame steroids. Blame modern technology. Blame lack of modern technology. Blame anybody blaming you.

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I do love the music. Listening to it. Feeling it. Tapping my toes to it. Getting lost in it. Ah yes, the music.

I love writing music, also. Creative energy can be hugely cathartic. So many experiences leading to so many emotions leading to so many songs. There is, after all, a Tale in Every Tune.

I have recently placed a 7 - song CD, BackTo My Home, on CafePress. In reviewing each song I find that I am able to step back in time and relive the moments and circumstances leading up to each tune. Get Back To My Home, for instance, speaks to the primal longing for peace and comfort in a world of change and turmoil.

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Electronic communications such as test messages, instant messages, email, and blogging have certainly niched their way into the collective psyche and consciousness of the modern world. It is not difficult to find someone, somewhere, at sometime tapping away at a keypad or keyboard. Click-click-click-click is the common sound of this relatively new form of communication.

Very convenient, efficient, and easy to squeeze into time frames that already represent squeezed time.

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Winter

I am one with my source. It is a very nice place that spreads out in many directions. Mostly, though, toward the white fluffs up above. I am barely a node and identify fully with my host.

Maybe that is why I don’t understand why some of the moving creatures below angle themselves and spray wetness on me. What’s that about? Other creatures stare and smile, and write things down on paper.

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I suppose I overlook that my 14y/o son is clinging to his emerging sense of identity when he "debates" so many "issues" that I had not realized were such fodder for conflict. I suppose it may have come off a bit condescending when I told him how cute he is in his seemingly angry need to have the last word. I suppose that may have been my attempt to have the last word.

Hmmm. I suppose I can deceive myself and say I was only trying to communicate with him on his own level. I suppose a therapist-type would suggest that I was full of the feces.

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I have been signing and playing guitar for well over three decades, and writing and performing for a good twenty of those years. Typically a solo act, I have been billed as softsounds.That is an accurate description of what I do--an acoustic, unplugged genre with an eclectic blend of styles that include easy listening, jazz, folk, soft rock, blues, and country. Perhaps, then, you can see why it is easier to simply call it softsounds.

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Sundays are just not the same anymore. It is horse fece day. Time for this gol-durn horse poopster to get on down to the barn and do what has to be done. It’s a ‘chop wood-carry water’ type activity. I feel connected to nature during and after the task. And the musty smell lingers sweetly on for hours.

Today, en route to the fece-filled cans of equine output, I noticed some major changes on a neighboring property. New wooden fencing had gone up, I presume either keeping something out, something in, or both. It would take further investigation to learn more. So I postponed my dooty duty and walked over for a better look.

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How often do you take a cup of coffee at the local cafe only to find the reddish-plum outline of a lower lip pasteled intimately on the mug? Does this lead to revulsion and near-hostile expression of disgust and disdain?

What do lips on a coffee cup, doorknobs, and coins have in common? Huh, huh, huh!?! What?!? Huh, huh?!?

Well, I am so glad you asked. They all share the finger- or lip-print of the ages. The rose-colored DNA and the smudgy-pudgy message of infinitesmal touches from who knows how many whos?

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Both houses of the U.S. Congress are poised to send a new document to the Bush. It will grant him the sole and ultimate decision to determine whether or not an individual--ANY INDIVIDUAL--may be detained for indefinite periods of time without legal recourse or even being informed why he or she is being detained. This, mind you, in the name of the war on terrorism. Never forget, goes the mantra, we were attacked on 9/11/2001.

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Fear. Money. Hatred. Evil. Terrorism. Deceit. Marriage. Non-marriage. School. Employment. Security. Time stress. Alienation. Isolation. Desecration. Dis-respect. Ridicule. Comdemnation. Condescension. Power. Control. Pressure. Illness. Diagnosis. Change. Death. Hopelessness. Memories. Intimacy. Self disclosure. Job dis-satisfaction. Parents. Children. In-laws. Pollution. Dissonance. Political correctness. Bureaucracy. Red tape. Taxes. War. Faux war. Penis size. Breast size. Racism. Sexism. Physical pain. Emotional pain. Lack of sleep. Car trouble. Cost of living. Spinach. Deadlines. Calamity. End times. Faux rapture.

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How often these words are spoken. To children, friends, partners, colleagues, students, employees, and more. "Get real", one may say to another, "there is no way that you will be able to do that."

Uh, thanks for the, er...affirmation and vote of confidence.

So powerful such words and assertions can become. And so limiting. How do you feel when somebody speaks to you this way? Do you recall having some plans or great intentions that you shared with another, only to find that other full of negativity and essentially saying that you are crazy or a fool for even considering your notion?

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