I’LL TAKE A JOB

I’ve either been out of town a lot lately or my back has been really screwed up (due to prior and recent injuries), or both. So either I haven’t been able to sit at my desk a lot recently or I couldn’t stand to for very long due to the pain (and I can take a lot of pain). But pain plus crippling has dissuaded me from blogging much, and has been just a bridge too far, you might say.

Nevertheless I have been writing and songwriting and inventing and so forth. A lot actually. But I’ve done all of that by long-hand, by memory (while clearing land, etc.), in bed, or in my notebooks for my daughter to type out later.

I’ve also downloaded and begun testing some new 3-D printer software for my Ikon™ start-up project.

And despite my back I’ve started preparing for Hell Week (which I had to delay due to my injuries) and started refurbishing my garage to convert it into a gym. Which, just to be honest, has probably not sped up my back recuperation rate any. I guess I should also mention that I’ve been trying to get more than three or four hours of sleep a night. You know, to be better set for Hell Week.

Finally I’ve begun finishing and preparing some new short stories and other materials for the Autumn magazine season.

With all of that in mind here is one of the new songs I’ve written lately. I’m still looking for a good composing partner. So if you’re one and are interested, or know of one that might be interested, then contact me here.

I’LL TAKE A JOB

I’ll take a job for nothing, like everybody else
I’ll do it all for nothing, ask me it’s just as well
One day I’ll leave for elsewhere, cause it’s nowhere that I’ve been
Like to say I’d come back, but I’m looking for the end

I’ll take a job to go there, work my way on through
Once I’m there I’ll leave it, like everything else too
One day I’m gonna up and go, cause there’s too much I ain’t seen
But mainly cause you live out there, I saw it in a dream

I’ll take a job
I’ll take a job
One they’ll rob
Of hope and pay
But I don’t care
Because one day
I’ll make enough
To look for you,
And that ain’t
No real job to me

I’ll take a job for what I want
I’ll take a job because I don’t
Much care the cost
Or time I’ve lost
In getting there to you

I’ll take a job with overtime
I’ll take a job, no loss, it’s fine
The money’s poor
But so am I
When I stare up at the sky
To see the stars
Of where you are
When I am here alone

I’ll take a job for nothing, like all the others do
I’ll use my job for something, and that something is for you
One day I’ll leave for where you are, just watch me here I come
Cause where I am ain’t nowhere when I’m somewhere all alone

I’ll take a job to get there, work my way on through
Once I’m there I’ll leave it, then I’ll start again with you
Soon I’m gonna up and go, cause there’s too much I ain’t done
But mainly cause I’m missing you, my job has just begun…

THE END OF ALL (WAR UNCHECKED)

THE END OF ALL (WAR UNCHECKED)

I play the Ogre in the sun
Battles in the unreal Wastes
Tracks upon the injured Earth
Men lost at bootless, useless tasks
Desperate in their race
To halt the Great Machine
Before it plows their graves

Shells fired true at noon
Scream and then erupt
Melting steel and flesh
Can any still be saved?

A flash and searing light
Mushroom clouds rise
High in Death –
Men are vaporized, but
Shielded from the shock
The Ogre shakes it off
The Ogre lumbers on,
All else is crushed like dust
Reduced to crumbled rock
In what can men now trust?
In what do they take stock?

Replacements rush the line
Their missiles roar in flight
The battle rages gold and red
Until the fall of night,
The ruins smolder long
The slag it runs like blood
The dark is still and cold
Men buried in the mud

No movement shows on scopes
No sound is heard to churn
The ground no longer shakes
No giant Beast comes forth
There is no steam or quake,
The moon spies no Mighty Monster
Neath the clouds of man-made smoke
As it runs the sky in haste –
It seems as if there’s Victory
That doom has been revoked

Yet come the dawn
Come the morning’s rise
Men in dread do hear
The distant turning wheel and clank
Of scored and tempered metal
Once more in motion on the Earth,
They feel the tremors, re-sight the Beast
As it lumbers on uncaring
Atomic piles of superheated waste
A mind of carbon frozen cold
An alloyed soul of silicates
That knows no mercy, rest, or wear
That shed no tears for corpses piled
Higher than its mighty head
With its massive maw of cannon red
And unblinking Cyclopean Eye
That watches all and sees all things
Far and wide
Except, of course, for what it does…

An Ogre plays beneath the burning sun
Battles rage in fresh ruined wastes
Tracks marred hard upon the dying Earth
Men lost in their hellish tasks
Desperate in their race
To kill the Great Machine
Before it plows their countless graves

Yet come the dusk before the dawn
Come the night before the fight
The monster knows not, cares not
Asks not, hears not the wounded
Cries and screams of men
For the Ogre has no doubt
It dreams no dream
Except the dream of what it does –
War unchecked, and winning that
The End of All,
Himself as well
To die alone
Beneath a burning sun
Unneeded anymore…

 

Sometimes at lunch I play Ogre. Against myself.

Ogre is actually based on the old Keith Laumer series Bolo. Some of my favorite sci-fi tales to read when I was a kid. I recommend both the game and the books.

Today I played a particularly superb scenario that I had also written for myself. It was a “Total War Scenario.”

By the end of the scenario the human forces had been completely annihilated and the Ogre could not move having also been almost entirely destroyed.

I’ve decided to call it my War Unchecked Scenario. Or the End-All scenario.

Rarely have I fought or devised a wargames scenario that resulted in such almost perfect annihilation of both sides.

After ruminating on what it implied for a little while I wrote the poem above, The End of All.

I was surprised at how well the poem came out, especially since it was based upon nothing more than a wargames scenario. And it has been very well received and critiqued by my family, friends, and the followers of my poetry and writings. Then again I always try and envision any wargame (or role play game, or real life training scenario) as realistically in my head as possibly in order to execute it properly and to see what real life lessons might be learned.

So this poem will go into my file for Espionage and Military and Survival Poetry. Later I will seek to have it published. You are welcome to make your own comments on it as well.

Beautifully Remote Cabins

Moss & Fog

There is a real romanticism about being tucked away in a cabin, away from civilization, away from electronics, able to reconnect with the natural world. For a lot of people, it’s just a daydream. For some, it’s very real. Here are a collection of amazing cabins from around the world, that show a great sense of beautiful isolation. Via BoredPanda:
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Walmart with PhDs: Talking Academia with Rebecca Schuman

Discover

After writing a doctoral dissertation on Kafka and Wittgenstein, Rebecca Schuman hoped to join the ranks of tenure-track scholars. Instead, she found herself become one of the most outspoken critics of the entrenched — and largely unsustainable — habits of American academia (and certainly the most scathingly funny one).

A columnist for Slate, Rebecca also writes frequently for the Chronicle of Higher Education?s Vitae site, as well as on her blog, pan kisses kafka. Her memoir, Schadenfreude, A Love Story is coming out in February 2017. I chatted with Rebecca about 21st-century universities, the emotional pull of teaching, and life after academia.


What’s the most useful way of conceptualizing academia today, especially for people not in it — is it a profession? A vocation? A dysfunctional family? Something else entirely?

Academia is all of those things depending on your perspective, plus one more important one that you didn’t mention:…

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Ladies of Legend: Danae, Andromeda and Medusa

Beyond the Dreamline

The Greek Myths Volumes I and II (The Folio Society, 2003) by Robert Graves, Mythology: Myths, Legends, & Fantasies (Hodder, 2013) by Dr. Alice Mills, Bulfinch’s Mythology (Gramercy Books, 2003) by Thomas Bulfinch, Eyewitness Companions: Mythology (Dorling Kindersley Ltd.) by Philip Wilkinson and Neil Philip, http://www.greekmythology.com/Myths/Mortals/Danae/danae.html, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andromeda_(mythology), http://greekmythology.wikia.com/wiki/Andromeda

Trigger warning: references to incest

Danae is the daughter of Acrisius, with either Aganippe (not the horse Aganippe, or the nymph, a different one) or Eurydice (not the Eurydice who married Orpheus, a different one), depending on which version you read, and the granddaughter of Aglaia and King Abas of Argolis. This is important, because Abas and Aglaia had twin sons, Acrisius and Proetus, and when the time came to settle the succession, it was decided that they should take turns at ruling the kingdom. It’s a lovely idea that did not work at all. Proetus seduced his niece (the…

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Woe is Me

THIS IS NOT A TARANTULA

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My literary idols hail from Mantua and Florence.
I sat on a runway in Sicily for 15 minutes, once.
That’s the closest I’ve been to their greatness.

In my youth I owned a Davy Crockett hat
and once spent three long months in Waco, Texas.
That’s the closest I’ve been to The Alamo.

I traveled to Concord and Philadelphia,
walked the old, stone streets and touched the Liberty Bell.
That’s the closest I’ve been to Revolution.

I camped for two days in the South Dakota Badlands
and spent two hours walking around Little Big Horn.
That’s the closest I’ve been to Genocide.

I visited Robert Johnson’s grave at midnight
and put my hands in B.B. King’s in Indianola.
That’s the closest I’ve been to The Blues.

I met Bob Dylan on the road in Montgomery
and put the fear of God into his security team.
That’s the closest I’ve been…

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#141 CORIGLIANO | NO 3

symphonyeater

Composer: John Corigliano

from the artists official site:

The American John Corigliano continues to add to one of the richest, most unusual, and most widely celebrated bodies of work any composer has created over the last forty years. Corigliano’s scores, now numbering over one hundred, have won him the Pulitzer Prize, the Grawemeyer Award, four Grammy Awards, and an Academy Award (“Oscar”) and have been performed and recorded by many of the most prominent orchestras, soloists, and chamber musicians in the world. Attentive listening to this music reveals an unconfined imagination, one which has taken traditional notions like “symphony” or “concerto” and redefined them in a uniquely transparent idiom forged as much from the post-war European avant garde as from his American forebears.

Music: Symphony No. 3, ‘ Carnival Maximus’

Impression: Stating that this symphony is unlike anything I have ever heard would be a major understatement. I will need many more listens to even begin to…

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