When my brother and me were kids, about that age right before you make the move to teenager, my brother wanted to be a science fiction writer. He loved Star Trek and stuff like that. He even had this big book, like a volume, you might say, that had inside all these blue prints of every ship in the Federation fleet or whatever they called it. It even included the enemy ships, the Klingons and Ramulans blah, blah.
Someone, somewhere actually sat down and drew up these blue prints with all the little details as if these things actually existed. Crazy. More crazy was someone else, somewhere else had the idea they would get it published on account they figured there were enough geeks in the universe that would shell out money for a book just like this. And they were right, at least one person that I knew shelled out.
That "They Were Right" party might have been a relative of mine. Our dad had this first cousin, which made him our second cousin, I think, or some cousin once removed or something like that. He was older than us so he was more of an uncle, the cool type, with no kids and a fast car. This relative worked at a big publishing company and every now and then he would send us a box full of free books his company printed. I didn't read so I didn't give a fuck but my brother went ape over the science fiction paperbacks. I have to admit, these books had really cool pictures on the front: lasers, aliens, space ships, astronauts with their faces melting off, that kind of junk. It really made a person want to pick them up and read what was inside but I never did, read the inside.
My brother told me his idea for this one science fiction story of his own. These aliens invade Earth but instead of landing spaceships and killing everybody with radiation or stuff like that these aliens turned themselves into microscopic parasites and invaded the human host, his words, not mine, and once inside the human brain, the aliens could make the humans do whatever the aliens wanted, like make the humans destroy themselves without the aliens lifting a finger. My brother was working this into a bigger story that would explain the second world war, as in the real reason for the war was that aliens infected Hitler and the Russian guy and made them start fighting and destroying the human race.
My brother had a big imagination but he was lazy and I don't know if he actually wrote any of it down and before too long he made the move to teenager, being older than me and always doing things first, and he got interested in cars so he started reading car and girlie magazines instead of sci-fi paperbacks.
He told me about another idea he had, too. It was about some guy in some kind of future city where everything was crowded and polluted but on another planet in another universe, I guess, maybe. It sounded to me more like a horror story than science fiction and it gave me creeps then and sometimes even now all these years later when the moon gets that look on his face like he knows something bad is about to happen but can't look away and your little hairs stand up.
The story was called "Method of Acquisition" and it went like this....
Some time ago, I read a criticism on modern poetry posted online. It was the author’s opinion that today’s poets are unable to write verse in classic forms such as sonnets and the like. He held that bards in our present era had abandoned poems with deep meaning that utilized rhythm, rhyme and structure, preferring instead, undisciplined lines of rambling, obtuse emotions.
There is some truth in this: the last Kenyon Review I read did not contain any Ballads, Odes or Epics. However, relinquishing classic methodology does not necessarily translate into ineptitude as the author implied. Rather than piling on with his many detractors in the comments section, I chose to prove that I was capable by composing a villanelle.
I mostly forgot all about it until this weekend when I received news that I had lost one of my dearest and oldest friends unexpectedly. He and I grew up together and formed the type of bond you might find between brothers, one that created a secret language, codes and references understood only by the two of us. He was a talented musician, playing the guitar was effortless to him, he simply channeled divinity. Despite his gift, he was never conceited, and was always charitable to the ham-fisted way I approached my instrument.
At the time I wrote this poem, I would have thought it inconceivable that I would be dedicating it to his memory one day.
I will blow a trumpet bright
To summon this old man from sleep
I will beat a snare drum tight
He slumbers on as if it is night
While all around the ladies weep
I will blow a trumpet bright
If cacophony helped him reunite
With life from his silken box he'd leap
I will beat a snare drum tight
My towhead has grown slowly white
I've watched friends go as the clock hands sweep
I will blow a trumpet bright
Now you have gone, my dearest light
Tears rise from the well of sorrow deep
I will beat a snare drum tight
I have grown old but yet not erudite
And still try and wake what I wish to keep
I will blow a trumpet bright
I will beat a snare drum tight
The birds are already up as I boot my trusty Ubuntu. It is still dark but the air is filled with bright, morning song. Each feathered genus with their own unique melody. In parts of Africa it is common for people to gather and sing before work. I like to sing. A person asked me if I could teach them talent. I said, no, but as a human we are all given a voice, the earliest musical tool so perhaps I am wrong. Last night I dreamed of singing. I was at a Rob Halford concert, only he was also playing guitar. I was asked to come on stage with some other men to sing a Judas Priest song but when the tune began, I did not know any of the words. Humiliated, I left the stage, went to my seat and grabbed my things for a hasty exit from the venue but there was more than I could carry and I labored to collect everything in vain.
This is a recurring theme in my nightmares, I am in a hurry to go somewhere but I can’t collect all of my possessions before I can leave. No matter how hard I try, I keep finding more junk to pack up. It is okay to lay awake in bed. My other theme is trying to punch my father in the face but my blows have no force. At one point in my Halford dream, I had a big cardboard box I was trying to fill with surgical gauze. Frustrated, I began hitting it like a boxer at the heavy bag, wishing a heavy weight would do the same to me until my ribs were shattered and I could die of internal wounds.
It is not okay to lie awake in bed. It is bad grammar or you are not be facing reality. Either way, don’t do it.
It will be hot in Houston today. It will likely be hot in Africa, too. It is gnat season, they have have descended. Clouds swarm for the sole purpose of annoying humans. Maybe they come to save their own kind from animal testing. In biology lab, we observed fruit flies beneath a microscope as we eye-dropped different chemicals into their environment. The results were not astounding. Caffeine made them jumpy, barbiturates made them sleepy or dead, it was hard to tell even with a microscope. I enjoy coffee and the chemicals inside. I often wish for a barbiturate whenever I am lying or laying awake.
There are some terrible bugs in Africa. I know of a fly whose bite can cause blindness. I learned about this at the Jimmy Carter Presidential Library in Georgia. The former commander and chief started a charitable organization to help those people suffering from the malady and research treatments for the disease.
If you remove the G, the word is short for Nathaniel. I know a Nat but never see him anymore. I would have heard by now if he has passed on but I suspect Nat considers people to be as annoying as gnats and so stays away from us. Every time I attempt to write free form without stopping like Jack Kero-something, I end up with a rambling mess and wonder why I didn’t go outside and sing with the birds.
Memorial Day is the traditional start of the Summer season. It is hard to believe the holiday is right around the corner and as it approaches so does the promise of sun drenched days at the beach or pool, barbecues, fireworks, and of course, the family vacation. But before you pack up the Winnebago and head out to the coast or a National Park, consider a getaway to less traveled locations. They might be closer to home, a lot cheaper and less crowded.
As the title of this article suggests, I am suggesting we all take a moment to enjoy the little things in life that naturally slow us down and help us ponder the reason for our existence. Of course, I am talking about some of America’s most natural wonders: Speed Bumps.
Here are some of my favorites.
Legions of grieving fans pay a visit to the grave site of fallen music icon Prince ever year. This pop-star pilgrimage makes up a whopping 94% of Minnesota’s annual tourist revenue. That means while big crowds are queuing up to pay their respect, you can take advantage of the small lines at the Cedarhurst Speed Bump of the DOT entrance off 394. This majestic formation dates back to almost a decade before anyone had ever heard of Prince yet still retains the brilliant industrial yellow which is best viewed in full daylight. Closed on weekends.
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Nashville is well known as the Country Music capital of the world but what many don’t know, or won’t tell you about, is the Speed Bump of Park-N-Pay just outside the bright lights and fanfare of the legendary Honky Tonk Highway. This noble beauty rises with a gentle grade to a modest but elegant summit. Sadly, at the time of this writing, the right side of the Bump has suffered a fissure and there is a danger of splitting free and crumbling. Be sure to call ahead for information about closures or hazardous conditions.
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An ugly controversy over ownership has surrounded Glenbrook Speed Bump in Cleveland. However, the bitter dispute has done nothing to detract from the august, I daresay, imposing shoulders of this Bump of rugged beauty. Locally known as “Old Tarhead,” Glenbrook is comprised of dense conglomerated synthetics created in a crucible of high pressure and heat. Old Tarhead’s composition sets it apart from the other stone based formations on this list. He is far younger, too. You can begin your ascent of Old Tarhead from either side of the two territories still squabbling over possession, East from Kohls or West from Ulta.
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No list of American Speed Bumps would be complete without the Whispering Oak Twins in Houston. Found far of the beaten path, this unique pair of Bumps can be be a bit challenging to access but the rewards are breathtaking. Side-by-side, the massive width of the Twins more than makes up for their elevation, which a first time visitor may find underwhelming, and the dominating deposits of chalky white that stripe their indomitable backs are awe inspiring. During wet weather, you may be treated to the sight of a glistening stream running between the Twins. To be on the safe side be sure to check local weather; flooding in the Houston area is common.
Over the last three years I have undergone around ten cranial MRIs.
I found my first experience unpleasant but I expected that with each successive one, I might grow accustomed to the procedure or at least find a way to better endure them. Neither has happened. In fact, they get worse each time.
Rather than complain, however, I decided to convert my personal tribulations into useful knowledge for anyone who may be facing an appointment with mechanical resonance.
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The MRI
Overview
MRI or Magnetic resonance imaging is a tool that creates a detailed image of body organs and tissue, repressed childhood memories, greatest fears, disgusting habits, the deep, dark secrets that you hide from everyone including close friends and your spouse, your true political affiliation, biases of all sorts and every password to every account in your name.
Also known as the Truth Tube or the God Pipe, this unique machine was first conceived by neurologists in Nazi Germany. However, the plans were seized during the allied invasion and developed after the war by a special consortium of scientists and United States agents in an underground laboratory outside Phoenix, Arizona. The MRI uses special magnets modeled after the original Ingots of Jehovah excavated at a site in modern day Jordan near the Dead Sea.
Why the MRI is Used
The MRI is a non-invasive means for doctors to examine the body, peer into your soul and read your mind. Before the MRI was released for use on the general public, physicians were required to cut into a subject with the help of a trained surgeon or barber for internal examinations. Because demons and their waste products, called sin, create all human maladies, doctors were limited in their treatment options since the large openings created by surgical incision allowed the demons to escape before being properly excised with special regimens of prayer and bleeding.
The arrival of the MRI also enabled the government to become more involved in the lives of U.S. citizens and offer better processes for managing your affairs from the time you are born until the time you are no longer needed.
Risks
All medical procedures carry inherent risks and MRIs are no exception. The powerful magnetic field created by the Ingots of Jehovah will attract any metal inside the body and bring it to the surface of the skin along with the truth of why you have foreign bodies inside you. It is highly likely that the microchip to monitor your activities injected during one of your vaccines will be disabled. The MRI technician will replace the malfunctioning chip with a new one after your procedure has been completed at no additional charge.
While extensive resonance will not damage your internal organs it may reduce their resale value if and when you decide to sell them to internet harvesters in order to supplement your retirement income.
Exposure to intense magnetic waves for an extended period of time, especially if the magnets are reproduced from Materials of Divinity, may produce magnetism in certain individuals. This is known as Favorable Response to Grace or FRG. You will find yourself attracted to others who experience FRG. Feel free to associate with these individuals. Conversely, you will be repelled by those who do not have a Favorable Response to Grace. You must avoid such people and report any suspicious enterprise you happen to witness.
An MRI is painless due to the numbing effect and the sedative mixed into the contrast solution of the intravenous line. However, during the procedure you may feel weightless as if being lifted from the earth on the wings of angels. This is normal. Because the God Pipe is constructed from replicas of Holy material, it will produce sensations of being called Home by the Almighty. Hours after the euphoria of your procedure, you may experience headaches, joint pain, feelings of great loss followed by a period of depression lasting for up to a month.
What to Expect
MRIs are only performed during months that contain the letter M, so appointments are scheduled before Autumn.
Your MRI will be scheduled for 6 AM but the doors to the facility will not open until 6:30. Dress for the weather. Do NOT converse with other patients waiting outside under any circumstance.
You will fill out a lengthy questionnaire. Your answers will be compared against the results of your test so take time to carefully consider your response to each question on the form.
You will be ordered to disrobe and wear surgical scrubs with the texture of sandpaper. This helps exfoliate the skin, making it more transparent for the imaging process. Your clothes and valuables will be stored in a private locker. Be sure to leave a copy of your living will and emergency contact information among your possessions in case something happens to you inside the God Pipe.
The imaging center is kept at a low temperature to protect the valuable instruments. Uncomfortable cold is also necessary to suppress the brain waves associated with hope.
You will be secured to a moveable bed. Your ears will be covered to protect your hearing from the voices of Divinity, the sound of popping bones and the lamentations of your soul.
You must remain still during the entirety of your procedure. Motion can distort the images of your true nature, internal jelly and capacity to conform. Do NOT move.
You must keep your mind clear. Thinking can distort your thoughts as they are being recorded. Do NOT think.
Prayers cannot be heard from within the God Pipe.
An MRI can last from around 15 minutes to an hour. The more you move or think, the longer the procedure will take. The seriousness of your illness and levels of compliance are reflected in the length of your MRI and will be included in the results.
Results
The results of your MRI will be interpreted by a special technician called a CSR or Corporal Spiritual Reader. His findings will be sent to your doctor who will discuss with you the best course of treatment. A copy of the results will also be sent to the Bureau of Citizen Behavior for assessment. A bureau agent will contact you within 6 weeks to assign a case worker and provide information on where to report for further questioning and evaluation.
Disclaimer: none of the information on this page is real. Please visit a site like Medical News Today for information on MRIs.
The landscaper hails from Guatemala. His small family business is composed of himself and his nephew. I feel uncomfortably tall around them but both are strong as mules. They brought a mountain of black mulch and fresh grass cut into neat rectangles like industrial carpet that can be easily replaced when someone spills their coffee in the office. In the spots where they patched the lawn the new turf sparkles like emeralds against a yard, sallow from winter. It is Saint Patrick’s Day and only fitting that the morning be filled with the business of greenery. The landscaper is a tee-teetotaler, though. After a hot day of extracting a stump of a long dead cypress like a stubborn, rotten molar clinging to its dead roots as if it wished to leave behind only a legacy of discomfort and exasperation, I asked him if he would go home and enjoy an ice cold beer. His family life was too demanding to succumb to the comfort of the bottle. At least that is what I gathered from his broken English. Not much of the Irish blood that boils in my veins made it to the jungles of Central America. Plenty flooded into New York, though. Amateur Day is what I called it. An excuse in March to get tanked and make an ass yourself as if anyone needs an excuse to drink and search for a moment of joy during a bleak month in a filthy Northeast metropolis. It is ironic Saint Patrick was credited for expanding literacy when observing throngs of revelers in the street, falling down, fighting, vomiting, getting stuck in a revolving door. It is not ironic that as a boy the would be patron was sold into slavery when one considers how many Irish are chattel to demon rum. A coffle stumbles from bar to bar chanting a phrase that announces to fellow countryman they are from Sligo. I know little of Guatemala or what part the landscaper comes from. I suspect they have their own share of drunken revelers. He and his nephew loaded their tools into the trailer. A silver braid of municipal water from the spigot on the side of my house washed the earth from their sturdy hands. They were still wet when he and I shook to seal the deal the way men do, his grip surprisingly gentle for hands accustomed to hard labor. My grip might be considered substantial for a man who types on a keyboard all day. It is likely attributed to my Irish heritage and years of clinging to the bottle for help in clinging to this life, sometimes just out of spite. As they drive off I think how lucky they are to not need a drink at the end of a grueling day. I should be so lucky, after all, I am of Irish stock. And like any good Irishman, I will toast their health and have a drink for them and anyone else who cannot.
During normal business hours my time is not my own, I am not at liberty to dwell on personaDuring normal business hours my time is not my own, I am not at liberty to dwell on personal matters.l matters. My daily tasks occupy all my time during normal business hours and I leave details of my life hanging on a hook by the door with my hat and coat and umbrella if the forecast calls for rain and the morning commute is gray and the train is filled with damp passengers contemplating the idiomatic pieces of their existence before arriving at office doors where they, too, will surrender those parts of themselves in order to focus on matters at hand during normal business hours. Coats will hang, glistening with pearls of fine mist or dripping into puddles on the floor.
I might wonder if it is raining back home on the farm where the cows stand, steaming in the barn as they wait for the cribs to be filled with a breakfast of hay carefully stored during the hot days of July. This is during normal business hours, yet I see my calloused hands lifting the bales into the rack before cutting the rough twine, allowing the tightly packed dried grass to explode in a cloud reeking of mildew and summer sun. A sun that shines two seasons away on beach sand the same shade as the stalks of hay that long bovine tongues pull into the gnashing mill of grinding molars. I pause to lean, during normal business hours, in the doorway of the barn, gazing at the leaden sky, listening to the far away roar of surf and smell brine in the moist air and taste the mild saltiness on the tip of a bottle of beer that is so cold and refreshing after a swim in the ocean and riding a breaker back to shore like a slick sea lion to bask in the sun, you silly, fat, lazy thing.
The photo of you on my desk is the only indulgence from nostalgia’s cabinet I allow myself during normal business hours. You smiling in front of Doge’s Palace after wandering, lost but unconcerned with finding our way through the dark twisted maze of Venice in search of wine and cicchetti. Most tourists leave the city after dark for cheap hotels on the mainland or cruise ships bobbing in the lagoon and you have the quiet, sinking streets all to yourself if you don’t mind the ghosts that glide like fog across wet stones. A melody I cannot place floats from a window, coalescing with the dulcet melody of the On Hold Ensemble as I wait for the call to be connected during normal business hours. What would ersatz background distractions sound like today had Bartok stopped writing for string ensembles and concentrated on Tin Pan Alley palaver during normal business hours? As complex as multiple, compound time signatures can be, music is confined to the restraints of time itself and must pass just as normal business hours must conclude eventually freeing me to dwell on personal matters once again.
How many MRIs do you need in order to develop a magnetic personality? The procedure is expensive so hopefully not too many if that is your plan. In his Dynamic Tension course, Charles Atlas instructs that proper posture is the first step in achieving a magnetic personality. He also suggested adopting an attitude of Hopefulness. His training is far more affordable than the resonance tube but there are no guarantees in life.
All of us contain a certain amount of hard wiring that we cannot change when we roll off the assembly line into our beautiful existence. If you don’t naturally attract a crowd, consider how lucky you are to even be part of a crowd. The odds of you being born a human are effectively zero if you can do the math and if you can do the math consider how fortunate you are to have a brain capable of performing such intense calculations. People born with big personalities tend to cruise through life always getting what they want but someone has to manage their money.
Among the many people lucky enough to be alive, I have met a few with not much personality but they did not seem to notice or be bothered in the least nor was it obvious they suffered any ill effects from being dull. People with no distractions get things accomplished and nothing is more distracting than other people hanging around waiting to see what you are going to do next. Stop trying to convince others that you are special, remember the odds of being born human are practically null. Now go and get something accomplished. People with magnetic personalities are depending on you.
Legions of grieving fans pay a visit to the grave site of fallen music icon Prince ever year. This pop-star pilgrimage makes up a whopping 94% of Minnesota’s annual tourist revenue. That means while big crowds are queuing up to pay their respect, you can take advantage of the small lines at the Cedarhurst Speed Bump of the DOT entrance off 394. This majestic formation dates back to almost a decade before anyone had ever heard of Prince yet still retains the brilliant industrial yellow which is best viewed in full daylight. Closed on weekends.
Nashville is well known as the Country Music capital of the world but what many don’t know, or won’t tell you about, is the Speed Bump of Park-N-Pay just outside the bright lights and fanfare of the legendary Honky Tonk Highway. This noble beauty rises with a gentle grade to a modest but elegant summit. Sadly, at the time of this writing, the right side of the Bump has suffered a fissure and there is a danger of splitting free and crumbling. Be sure to call ahead for information about closures or hazardous conditions.
An ugly controversy over ownership has surrounded Glenbrook Speed Bump in Cleveland. However, the bitter dispute has done nothing to detract from the august, I daresay, imposing shoulders of this Bump of rugged beauty. Locally known as “Old Tarhead,” Glenbrook is comprised of dense conglomerated synthetics created in a crucible of high pressure and heat. Old Tarhead’s composition sets it apart from the other stone based formations on this list. He is far younger, too. You can begin your ascent of Old Tarhead from either side of the two territories still squabbling over possession, East from Kohls or West from Ulta.
No list of American Speed Bumps would be complete without the Whispering Oak Twins in Houston. Found far of the beaten path, this unique pair of Bumps can be be a bit challenging to access but the rewards are breathtaking. Side-by-side, the massive width of the Twins more than makes up for their elevation, which a first time visitor may find underwhelming, and the dominating deposits of chalky white that stripe their indomitable backs are awe inspiring. During wet weather, you may be treated to the sight of a glistening stream running between the Twins. To be on the safe side be sure to check local weather; flooding in the Houston area is common.
John Truelove 