Hard Powder and the Like

Posted on May 4, 2017 by John Swinburn

I stumbled across a bit of interesting information this morning, something I want to file away as a reminder in a year or so. A film called Hard Powder, starring Liam Neeson, is being filmed in or around Vancouver, British Columbia and Kananaskis Country, Alberta. It is an English-language remake of a Norwegian film, In Order of Disappearance, I recently watched and enjoyed enormously. The new film is scheduled to be released sometime in 2018. It’s the story of a snow plow driver whose son is murdered by a drug lord. The father decides to take revenge. His efforts result in a turf war between competing drug cartels that attribute the results of the father’s rampage to one another. The Norwegian film was highly entertaining (if not particularly artsy); I hope I will say the same about the remake.

In other entertainment news, I gather a new season of House of Cards will begin in just a few weeks. It’s one of the few bits of television that I insist on viewing, though I must admit lately I’ve been seeing more and more series worth recording and watching, especially Netflix originals. Others from Netflix include Narcos and Longmire. The service has a number of other originals that pique my interest but, so far, not enough to merit sitting in front of the television for several hours.  My wife and I also enjoy The Americans (an FX original) now in its fifth season; next season will be its last.  I watched only two from the Danish Department Q series; I really must make a point of watching the final in the series, Department Q: A Conspiracy of Faith.  Actually, I think a marathon binge watching both I’ve seen, followed by the one I haven’t, might be a reasonable investment of my copious spare time.  Or, I could write. Maybe that’s what ought to command my attention. Yeah, that’s it.

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Booking

Posted on May 3, 2017 by John Swinburn

Tomorrow (that is, Thursday), I’ll participate in a critique circle, part of the Hot Springs Arts in the Park week-long celebration of arts of all forms that flourish in this wonderful enclave. Tomorrow’s critique circle, led by the current host of Wednesday Night Poetry, Bud Kenny, is limited to eight participants, each of whom is asked to bring nine copies of a five-page-maximum piece of writing for critique.

Lately, I’ve come to the conclusion that I have more than enough writing to produce a book of compilations of my work. I need to sort through it, group it in logical sections that relate to one another, and have someone edit it. I insist on hiring a good editor; though I’m not bad at editing, I’m not particularly good, either, especially of my own work. So an editor is required. Beyond that, I need to polish and, in some cases, finish, my stories. I’ll be interested in the feedback of strangers tomorrow when they review the piece I’ve selected for them to read.

As I envision it today, my compilation will consist of three utterly unrelated sections (which may be a mistake…I’ll look forward to feedback): short fiction, essay, and poetry. Though the styles between the three sections will, obviously, be different, I believe I can weave themes that connect the sections so that the entire compilation will make sense as a stand-alone work, but so that each component section could stand by itself, without the other two. We’ll see.

I have neither the interest nor the patience to ask that traditional publishers look at my work and determine whether it meets their criteria of demand and marketability. But I realize, too, that the market for a book as I envision it is apt to be severely limited. Okay, I won’t get rich, I won’t get recognized, and I won’t get much distribution; that’s fine with me, as my motives don’t mesh with those outcomes. I want to publish something that, someday, someone might happen upon and say, after reading it, “that guy had some interesting, thought-provoking, and even inspirational things to say.” I would like to think that, one day, someone will read what I’ve written and say I had both a way with words and ideas worth considering.

After my little critique circle (which follows a meeting, in the morning, of other writers who seek input and inspiration and instruction), I’ll visit published writers who are hawking their books in the Garland County Library. Then, my wife and her sister will join me as we spend a few hours at the Craft Beer Cellar, a new establishment in Hot Springs that’s participating in Arts in the Park by way of educating visitors on all matters beer. I love that! I will sample a few.

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Time Crystals: A New Form of Matter

Posted on May 3, 2017 by John Swinburn

Four years ago, I read an article in Wired magazine about a concept advanced by a Nobel Prize-winning physicist, Frank Wilczek. According to the article, Wilczek “developed an apparent proof of “time crystals” — physical structures that move in a repeating pattern, like minute hands rounding clocks, without expending energy or ever winding down. Unlike clocks or any other known objects, time crystals derive their movement not from stored energy but from a break in the symmetry of time, enabling a special form of perpetual motion.” The concept fascinated me, but I tended to side with a theoretical physicist detractor, Patrick Bruno, also cited in the article, who argued that Wilczek “mistakenly identified time-dependent behavior of objects in excited energetic states, rather than their ground states.” How I came to the conclusion that I even understood enough about the matter to take sides is beyond me. Today, though, I came across another article about proof that Wilczek was right and Bruno (and I) was wrong.

The more recent article, from late January 2017, says scientists unveiled a new form of matter: “time crystals.” Researchers at the University of Maryland and Harvard University reported successes, following steps outlined by U.C. Berkeley Assistant Professor of Physics, Norman Yao, in making and measuring the properties of time crystals. “This is a new phase of matter, period, but it is also really cool because it is one of the first examples of non-equilibrium matter,” Yao said.

Theoretical physics is far too complex for my mind to comprehend, but absolutely fascinating to me nonetheless. The fact that we truly do not fully understand the full scope of the laws of nature (and/or the manners in which they operate in opposition to one another) intrigues me. The possibility that this “impossible” achievement could lead, at some point, to resolving the incompatibilities between Einstein’s general theory of relativity and quantum mechanics is simply stunning.  I suppose it’s possible that neither theory is “correct” and that a third over-arching theory will emerge from the ashes of the two of them. Regardless, I find it thrilling to learn that enormously important, if inexplicably complex, work is being done. Pure research, with no immediate or even eventual practical application, is among humankind’s most remarkable endeavors. Pure research aims for understanding, rather than application. I admire that.

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The Smoke of Creativity

Posted on May 2, 2017 by John Swinburn

When a man’s mind compels his hands to create art but his hands fail to deliver what the mind demands, his passion may morph into rage. Not an unrestrained external rage that endangers bystanders, but a smoldering animosity that sears his brain as if touched by white-hot steel. Perhaps the hands’ refusal to follow the mind’s commands is an instrument of instruction, a means of teaching patience—or acquiescence to the limits of one’s skills. But, instead of learning, that failure to produce the desired outcome can lead to burning; the incineration of inspiration in a mental kiln of one’s own creation. Soot and smoke and the creosote of oxygen-starved ideas settle on a once-clear image, leaving it buried beneath a layer of unmet expectations.

Posted in Art, Creativity | Leave a comment

Used to be

Posted on May 1, 2017 by John Swinburn

I used to be strange but now I’m just normal
I used to be casual, but now I’m quite formal
I used to be smart, but now I’m dense as a rock
I used to be as timely as an atomic clock.
But something has surely changed.

I used to be silent, I said nary a word
I used to be a whisperer, could barely be heard
I used to be muscular, used to be strong
I used to be sexy, looked good in a thong.
But something has surely changed.

I used to be taller, as tall as a tree
I used to be careless, completely carefree
I used to be thinner, slim, firm, and lean
I used to be nicer, not surly and mean.
But something has surely changed.

It’s the first day of May, four months in
The year’s getting older, older than sin
I’d better start changing, for better not worse
Or at the end of the year, I’ll ride in a hearse.
Something has gotta change.

Poor poetry, lousy lyrics

Posted in Lyrics, Poetry | Leave a comment

Card Flow

Posted on April 30, 2017 by John Swinburn

I have an idea for a card-based game. It would engender interaction between people at events at which personal, one-on-one engagement would, typically, be a little awkward.  I have in mind creating a deck of cards which would ask questions about the person questioned that would bring people out of their shells. Maybe I haven’t said enough, but I’ve said all I’ll say: what is your reaction?

By the way, I love you. At least I think I do. How can I know, for sure? There’s no way of knowing; we just have to let things flow. 😉

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In Disgusted Defense of Ann Coulter’s Right to Speak

Posted on April 28, 2017 by John Swinburn

As I read news of the cancellation, reinstatement, and subsequent cancellation of Anne Coulter’s speech at the University of California at Berkeley, I question the intelligence of the people who violently oppose the her speech. Do those people not understand they are playing right into her game of incitement? Do they not realize their threats of violence against her and her right-wing nut-case supporters do much more harm to progressive agendas than any good her absence could possibly achieve? I loathe Anne Coulter. In my view, she represents the epitome of intolerance, ignorance, bigotry, hatred, and even misogyny. My opinion of the woman is that she is a demented ball of ugly, poisonous goo that, if the world were a more just place, would simply evaporate into harmless vapor on a hot summer day. But the world is not such a place. And the First Amendment applies even to people whose malicious and malignant ideas decent humans find repulsive.

Though in my opinion Coulter’s and her supporter’s baiting tactics revolting and distasteful (let’s be honest here: I think she thrives on and encourages her opponents’ efforts to silence her), I am equally disgusted by people who would silence her by threat of force or violence. Those Coulter opponents who call themselves progressives, liberals, or otherwise claim to be righteous in their indignation at Coulter’s brand of right-wing bigotry—those people who use tactics I would expect to see used by fascist regimes to silence the opposition—are not, in my book, progressive in any sense. They are Coulter’s alter-ego, playing at the other end of Coulter’s ugly playground in which vicious teams of ideological zealots egg one another one in the hope they will draw blood.

People who listen to, applaud, and endorse Coulter’s brand of bigotry will never respond to reasoned argument and persuasion; they are beyond intellectual redemption. Neither will they respond, at least not in a positive way, to threats of being silenced or harmed. The same, I’m afraid, is true of people at the opposite fringes of the ideological spectrum. If they were to read my words, they would make all sorts of intellectually indefensible arguments as to why their efforts to silence Coulter are perfectly legitimate and, indeed, required in a democracy. Those people, too, are beneath contempt; like Coulter and her supporters, they seem not to have evolved intellectually and emotionally beyond tribe mentality.

Let the woman I consider morally bankrupt speak. Let a woman to whom I might label a disreputable scourge have her say. Let any succubus slut utter a string of lies. And be willing to let anyone say equally offensive things about anyone else they please. That’s how democracy actually works. Bigots’ arguments have virtually no basis in reality, nor do they find purchase on any ground that serves as a foundation of human decency. Bigots’ supporters will crumple under their own weight. Their opponents, of which I am among the most fervent, do not have the right to silence them or threaten them or their supporters. As thrilled as I might be to learn that Ann Coulter has turned to compost, it’s not my role, nor that of my philosophical kin, to bring about that happy transformation by sealing her vile lips. Unfortunately, bigots are in no danger of extinction; but like it or not, the Constitution protects them. Though I don’t like bigotry, I favor the free exchange of ideas, even bad ones. We must tolerate the lowest of the low to ensure the good can bubble to the surface.

Posted in Communication, Intellect, Philosophy, Politics, Rant, Ruminations | Leave a comment

Psycholinguistic Musings

Posted on April 27, 2017 by John Swinburn

Sinew. That word can evoke, for me, images of sturdy steel bands, thick in the middle but narrowing almost to points on the ends; ribbons of metallic lies constrained at either end by truth. It’s as if truth confines the streamer of lies with such a thin membrane that mendacity might spray forth with mighty force, at any moment, such that honesty could shatter into a million irretrievable pieces. That’s what sinew sometimes means to me. I understand the dictionary definition of the word, of course; but dictionaries do not, in their search for meaning, plumb the depths of irrational psycholinguistics.

Am I alone in attributing consciousness and motives to certain words? Does my mind function at a more base level than most humans’ brains work? Does my tendency to anthropomorphize concepts and the words that describe them suggest an innate madness, a psychological flaw that puts me in the company of serial killers and cannibals? I hope not.

A flawed theory exists that suggests superior intellect tracks in parallel with madness; I believe that’s not true. Madness and its precursors, in my view, track inversely to intellect; Charles Manson and Jeffrey Dahmer and, were I their pathological kin, I struggle to link ideas to rational actions, yet the fulcrum is badly off-center. The parallel is not with superior intellect but, rather, with broken thought patterns colored by experiences best-suited for people whose minds are far-better-equipped to understand and handle them. I realize my words here constitute a drift, a swirl of unrelated ideas clamoring for attention where attention has no interest in being paid. Flummox! What, exactly, is that word? I think of it as meaning confuse or bewilder, but I am not sure.

One day, I suspect, linguists and psychologists and neurologists will collectively and successfully endeavor to bridge the gaps between theory and measurement and prediction. That will enable them to preemptively identify and prevent deviant acts by people compelled by madness to commit monstrous atrocities. That prospect is at once buoyant and chilling. At what point do we cross the threshold between protection and police state? What degree of certainty would be required to allow us to comfortably imprison or otherwise deprive a person of his or her liberty due to predictions of future behavior? I suppose we’ve already crossed the line to some extent when we execute people convicted of murder but who, we learn later, did not commit the crime. Though there’s a difference between predicting future behavior and punishing past behavior, the need for certainty in either case argues for the exercise of extreme caution and exacting standards. If absolute certainty cannot be achieved, how moral are our decisions to imprison on the basis of potential or kill on the basis of probability?

Posted in Language, Philosophy, Ruminations, Writing | 1 Comment

Coger Veintidós

Posted on April 26, 2017 by John Swinburn

My first colonoscopy in a number of years will be performed this morning. I hope the exploration is uneventful. According to Blue Cross/Blue Shield of Arkansas, the procedure is covered if they find nothing, as the procedure would be considered a “wellness service,” for which I would pay no deductible. But if the doctors were to find something wrong—polyps, for example—the procedure would be reclassified as diagnostic, at which point it would be subject to meeting my $6350 annual deductible. I argued with the BC/BS representative until I was blue in the face, expressing my displeasure with what I consider an unconscionable policy that allows the company to “bait and switch” it coverage. It did not good. So I wrote a letter to the Arkansas Insurance Department, complaining about the situation and asking to know, if indeed the policy is real and legitimate, the regulators and/or legislators who are responsible for this morally reprehensible Catch-22 that feeds the greed of the company’s executives. The AID sent a letter to BC/BS, asking the company to address the matter. I’m waiting on BC/BS to respond. In the meantime, here’s hoping today’s procedure goes without a hitch or an issue.

Afterward, I look forward to having a nice meal; yesterday’s liquid-only diet was not terribly satisfying. Of course, I understand one day of a liquid-only diet pales in comparison to that with which some people must deal, so I’ll try to keep my whining to a minimum.

Posted in Greed, Health | 2 Comments

ANZAC Day Haka for Life

Posted on April 25, 2017 by John Swinburn

Today, April 25, is ANZAC Day (the acronym stands for Australia and New Zealand Army Corps), one of the most meaningful and important national occasions for many Australians and New Zealanders. It marks the one hundredth anniversary of the first major military action fought by Australian and New Zealand forces during World War I, the landing of those forces at Gallipoli—the beginning of an eight-month campaign during which 8,000 Australian and almost 3,000 New Zealander soldiers died. Until today, I had heard of ANZAC Day but knew of it only in passing.

A post on an Australian friend’s Facebook page led me to explore it in more detail. My friend’s post wasn’t about ANZAC Day in particular but about an event held in Perth, West Australia in conjunction with ANZAC Day. The event is ANZAC Day Haka for Life. A haka is a Maori tradition, a choreographed posture-dance performed by groups of people who display vigorous body movements, rhythmic stamping of the feet, loud  chanting, and facial contortions. Traditionally, haka were Maori war dances intended to instill confidence in warriors and fear in their enemies. The Haka for Life event, though, was performed as a show of support and readiness to help men engaged in personal emotional struggles that could end, if not addressed, in suicide. Here’s a link to a video of the Haka for Life Event. Fascinating and moving stuff.

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We Know Too Much and Too Little To Understand

Posted on April 25, 2017 by John Swinburn

We cannot begin to imagine the way communities of ants or seagulls or squirrels function. We assume, if they function in communities at all, they operate according to genetic encoding over which they have no control; they are “animals,” after all, so they do not think, feel emotion, or grieve the loss of friends and family in the way of humans. That’s probably true; not “in the way of humans.” But I suspect we simply do not understand ants and seagulls and squirrels; our own tendency to attribute to their behaviors human motivations and human communications cloud our attempts to understand them. I doubt they think and feel and communicate the way humans do; but I think they “think” and “feel” and “communicate” in ways we just do not understand. We assume, because their brains do not seem as complex and sophisticated as ours, they cannot be as complex and sophisticated as we humans are. That arrogant logic makes it unlikely we will ever have the capacity to understand them. The only way we might ever understand other beings is by shedding our notions of what constitutes thought. That, though, is harder than it seems. How can we imagine ways of thinking and feeling utterly foreign to our own experience? I do not know. But just imagine a dream in which you are thinking and speaking in Japanese (assuming you have no knowledge of Japanese); you cannot, because the ability to think and speak in Japanese is beyond your comprehension. It’s possibly to learn Japanese, but to do so requires shedding reliance on the way in which one forms words and strings them together. But what ant or seagull or squirrel is able or willing to teach us concepts and perspectives so distant from our experience that we cannot even imagine them? Yet we might imagine how a seagull or an ant or a squirrel thinks. “The world is food and so am I.” That single “thought” might color experience in a fundamental way. Couple that with a “thought” that in some fashion defines affiliation or affection in a way that makes the object of affiliation or affection “not food” and you have the building blocks of community. Perhaps. Based entirely on my own human way of thinking. Which limits my ability to understand things beyond my comprehension.

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Ethiopian Food and Human Decency

Posted on April 24, 2017 by John Swinburn

I’ve discovered that my wife and I are not the only people around Hot Springs who enjoy Ethiopian food. Recently, I posted a query, to a Facebook group dedicated to Hot Springs area restaurant reviews, about whether my unsuccessful efforts to find Ethiopian restaurants in Arkansas might have overlooked a place or two. Unfortunately, the responses confirmed my belief that the state is devoid of any such establishments. But I learned that others in the area share my love of the cuisine. So, I’m exploring the possibility (in my head only, for now) of organizing an Ethiopian food group that might, on occasion, gather together to make and eat Ethiopian cuisine. As I contemplate this idea, though, I begin to ask myself whether I associate adventurous tastes in food with other characteristics I find appealing, such as political leanings. I answer in the affirmative. Yet I know it’s quite likely that many deeply conservative, even offensively conservative, people enjoy Ethiopian cuisine. So, as this idea bounces around in my head, I wonder whether the people in the Facebook restaurant review group who expressed interest in Ethiopian food would be the sort of folks with whom I’d want to dine? The reason these thoughts of politics and enjoying the company of others who share my tastes comes to mind is this: a member of the same group recently made a number of offensive and irritating comments on a post I made. He seemed intent on starting an argument. His comments were annoying not only to me but to a number of others who called him out on his remarks. Curious to know more about this irksome pig, I looked at his Facebook page and was surprised to find he shares my political perspectives. Even if he were an Ethiopian food aficionado, I would not want to dine with him; his like-minded stance on politics would not overcome his offensive personality. Perhaps a requirement for membership in an Ethiopian food group could include an affirmation that members would avoid discussing politics and would endeavor to treat all other members with respect and kindness.

Why do I need to even consider questions of decency and kindness and compassion in contemplating the formation of a group of people who share an interest in a particular cuisine? Why, indeed. Dealing with people makes me tired.

Okay, I’ll deal instead with ideas for a menu: kitfo, gored-gored, zilzil tibs, injera, yegeb tibs, doro wat, shiro, gommen…I could go on and one. But I won’t.

Posted in Compassion, Food, Philosophy, Politics, Serenity, Stereotypes | 2 Comments

I Rant, UU Rant, We All Rant

Posted on April 23, 2017 by John Swinburn

This morning, I listened to a Unitarian Universalist (UU) minister deliver a message that, depending on one’s perspective, might be considered either uplifting or lodged between belief and infuriating bewilderment. There was nothing wrong with the message, nor the mode of delivery; the woman delivering the message was not the issue. The issue (if there is one) rests with the interpretation I find myself able to make. I’ll readily admit I do not find the ceremony attached to UU worship services particularly appealing; in fact, I am uncomfortable with it. The ceremonies seem to me attempts to legitimize an aberrant diversion from Christian and Jewish roots by borrowing the rituals of the abandoned parents. That’s probably too strong. But I am less than enthusiastic about the “worship” services in the UU environment. While I can appreciate others’ embrace of the ritual, I find myself…not repelled by it, but very uncomfortable with it.

Notwithstanding the aforementioned disenchantment with the service, I found certain aspects of the message, especially the message that all of “us” are and should be seeking to embrace even those with whom we disagree, appealing. To a point. One of the fundamental precepts of UU is a belief in the inherent dignity of every human being. I take issue with “every.” For example, I think Donald Trump and many of the people with whom he has surrounded himself are beneath contempt; in my view, they have no dignity and deserve nothing but acidic scorn. While I wish I could see the value buried beneath that monstrous shell, I cannot because I do not believe it is there. I’d rather acknowledge my judgment of those people than assert, falsely, that I see dignity and decency in even the most monstrous among us.

Yet, the wish for decency and the encouragement to seek the dignity in others is a powerful and moving message. So, I waffle. I waffle between being turned off by the “church” tone of the worship services and being appreciative of efforts to seek goodness and decency through ritual.

When confronted with incredible acts of compassion and decency, I am moved to tears. When I see people risk themselves and their comfort and lifestyles in service to others less fortunate, I can barely contain my emotions. Yet when I witness the more base aspects of humanity that prey on others and seem to experience no compassion for their victims nor guilt for their behaviors, I can barely contain my rage.  Perhaps I can put it in perspective by writing about this pair of  hypothetical situations. First, consider a dog that’s been mistreated and abused its entire life and is cornered in an alley by child who teases it. If the dog lunges at the child and bites it, I feel pity for the child and for the dog; both will deserve my compassion. But consider another situation: a rabid dog responds to taunts by a man—trying to lure the dog into a van to take the animal to participate in a dogfight—by ripping the man’s throat open before being shot by animal control officers. I feel no compassion for the dog, nor the man with a potentially deadly throat wound.  Does that make me a bad person? I don’t know. Maybe.

Does any of this explain what I’m thinking about UU? No. But I didn’t promise it would, did I?

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Computer Politics

Posted on April 23, 2017 by John Swinburn

I have an idea for a story. A team of computer scientists conducts an experiment which programs 535 networked computers to analyze input and make collective “decisions” based on the information. One hundred of the computers are designated “senators” and 435 are designated “house members.” During the course of a year, the scientists feed computers information that duplicates information available to the U.S. Congress. The scientists compare the “decisions” made by the computers with actual decisions made by the U.S. Congress; the comparison is shown to the public. The public immediately demands that their elected senators and representatives be replaced by the computers. All’s well for a short time, until the decisions made by the new computerized Congress start looking wonky and utterly at odds with the wishes of the American people. This public dissatisfaction with those decisions parallels a big increase in technology spending by pharmaceutical companies, large insurance companies, gun manufacturers, and other big business. Investigative reporters determine that the increased spending is being used by businesses that managed to replace spending on lobbyists with investments in hackers. I could go on, but won’t.

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Contestable

Posted on April 22, 2017 by John Swinburn

Today, I submitted seven entries for writing contests being held in conjunction with the Arkansas Writers’ Conference. I had promised myself I would submit at least three entries, so I managed to surpass my self-commitment by a substantial margin. Of course, submitting entries is no guarantee of winning contests; I won’t know whether any of my entries win or place until early June.

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Allegation of Criminality

Posted on April 20, 2017 by John Swinburn

We sometimes keep meaningless records longer than necessary. Much longer than necessary. As my wife was going through some old papers this morning in preparation for shredding paperwork we no longer need, she came upon a folder with records of a citation I received in the mail in December 2003.

The ticket alleged violation of 5620, Chapt. 7A-18, litter. In a note on the citation, the issuing officer, Cheryl G. Daniels, had written “debri (sic) adjacent to premise.” The citation said the date of offense was 12/19/2003. I had no idea why I would have received such a citation. I went outside, looked all around my house, and found nothing that might have warranted the issuance of a ticket. So, on January 1, 2004, I wrote a  letter to the City of Dallas Municipal Court, pleading not guilty to the alleged offense and, on the back side of the ticket in the place reserved for declaring my intent, requesting a trial by jury. Not long thereafter, I received in the mail a notice that my case had been scheduled for September 1, 2004 at 8:30 a.m. I was given the opportunity to summon witnesses (which I opted not to do). According to the notice, “the State will summon its own witnesses. A $5.00 witness summons fee will be assessed if you are convicted.”

On the appointed date, I appeared in Municipal Court, prepared to defend myself against a false allegation of being a litterer. I remember sitting in the courtroom, waiting for my turn to take the stand in my defense when, after several other cases were discussed and scheduled, the judge asked an attorney for the city to proceed with my case. The attorney recommended dismissal and the judge agreed. I was invited to the bench, where the judge, Daniel F. Solis, handed me a slip of paper with details of my case and upon which “dismissed” had been stamped.

I have no idea, to this day, why I received that citation in the mail. But I was prepared to fight it, tooth and nail. As I think about the alleged offense and my reaction to it this morning, Arlo Guthrie’s story-in-song, “Alice’s Restaurant Masacre,” about being arrested for littering. Except he was guilty; I was not. And I have no idea why, almost thirteen years after I was cleared of the charge that might otherwise have sullied my reputation and ruined my life, I still have a copy of the ticket, my letter, and other records surrounding that dark event in my life. Well, I can tell you this: after today, I will no longer have those records. I’m going to cleanse that incident from my past with the help of a shredder.

Posted in Just Thinking | Leave a comment

Rejection

Posted on April 20, 2017 by John Swinburn

Rejection is a gift, because it erases unearned pride and self-importance. Rejection is a gift because it offers opportunities to repair things that are broken, things that led to the very rejection that revealed the brokenness. Rejection is a gift because it flushes pretension from one’s attitude the way rain flushes smoke from the sky. But rejection is dangerous, too, because it can crush dreams if given too much weight. It can destroy confidence if taken too seriously. It can break hearts if it isn’t retracted and healed. Rejection isn’t an sharp scalpel slicing through flesh on an operating room table; it is suture and salvation, woven into a healing salve. But rejection is hard, whether good or bad. Swallowed properly, with pride, rejection paints directions to the future, where meritorious pride lives like a king.

Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Unclothed

Posted on April 19, 2017 by John Swinburn

Turn around and see the remains of wishes,
withering and melting in smoke and ashes,
transforming desire into unfulfilled dreams.
There, on the floor, the clothes of hope
wallow in despair, restless in the realization
that desire is clad not in canvass but in sheer
costumes, garb that shreds in the gentlest breezes.
The illusion of fashion toys with us, hiding our
naked vulnerability behind a veil of smoke and
invisible vapor, shielding us from nothing and
protecting us only briefly from our visions of
ourselves, the people we are now and forever.

Posted in Poetry | Leave a comment

Refuge

Posted on April 19, 2017 by John Swinburn

I walk through walls of hatred like they were fog banks,
smashing bars and barriers of iron and steel as if
they were but ribbons of smoke, skirting the edges
of one dimension and grasping the fringes of another.
If this were a dream, I’d be wealthy and powerful,
but in this reality I am just an avenger struggling
to cripple the demons who swallowed my wishes,
savoring those ephemeral chocolate treats and
padding truth with skillfully crafted lies.

I am the music, a loud and unruly cacophony of rich
noise smothering pain and ridicule beneath a blanket
of sound that mirrors the end of an era of pain so
menacing that even its mention evokes shudders and
screams among strong, muscular men with rapier teeth.
This monstrous struggle seethes with rancor so sharp
that razors flinch with the metallic equivalent of fear,
that ghastly echo of horror so profound that even
love scurries away in search of an impossible refuge.

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Just in Case

Posted on April 19, 2017 by John Swinburn

Despite my string of one-off posts that do nothing but wash my reputation in hideousness, I am back, just shy of five o’clock in the morning, ready to do battle with good taste again. I awoke in a worse mood than when I fell asleep, not a good way to start the day. But here I am, angry and searching for a fistfight with the word.

Actually, I wonder if a fistfight is what I’m after? Maybe it’s more of a fight to the death, a last-ditch effort to come to grips with a poisonous relationship with a life that doesn’t deserve more time on the planet. That’s possible, I suppose. That might explain the insomnia, the wretched dreams, the sour attitude that curdles milk with a simple sneer. Yet I walked outside onto the deck a few minutes ago and felt a sense of goodness wash over me at the same time the cool air seemed to wash anger away into the gentle skies. I find myself upset with the way the world turned out, the way decency succumbed to madness; yet the cool air suggests Donald Trump and his minions might not have completely overwhelmed goodness, at least not yet. So I’ll drink my coffee and plot ways in which decency may prevail, but I’ll keep a monstrous plot involving decapitation and disembowelment in my pocket, just in case.

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Lima

Posted on April 19, 2017 by John Swinburn

Lima Struck was sixteen years old when her parents died in a fire she set. She claimed she did not aim to kill them, only to force them to find a new home more suited to her tastes. The fact that an accelerent, kerosene, was found around every point of ingress and egress around her parents’ bedroom suggested otherwise, but the district attorney chose not to press charges.

“She’s just a child,” he said on the steps of the courthouse after his decision was announced. “I’m not going to drag a child through that kind of trauma after she lost her parents in such a horrific way.”

Six months later, the district attorney committed suicide after photos showing him engaged in sex with Lima surfaced on the internet. By that time, though, Lima had left Scotch Bonnet, Nebraska for the greener pastures of Mopia, Vermont. She caught a ride with a trucker all the way to Mount Pleasant, South Carolina, then hitched short rides from town to town all the way to Mopia. It took her four days and seven blow-jobs to get there.

All right: tell me what grabbed you or turned you away from this. And if you have ideas about how it might move forward, tell me. I will reward respondents with copious appreciation and, if I’m in the right mood, a glass of wine or a fine Ethiopian snack.

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Noise

Posted on April 19, 2017 by John Swinburn

I listened. All I heard was noise. Noise emanating from idiots. What else could I hear? It was Donald Trump and his minions, drunk with power and anesthetized with stupidity.

That’s unkind, isn’t it? That shoves people into little boxes in which they may not belong. Certainly, I do not believe all supporters of Barrack Obama are good human beings; I know of specific people who support Obama who deserve…let me be blunt…to be placed in a garbage disposal and left to cleanse our community of filth.  That last statement bothers you, doesn’t it? Tough; this is my blog and I’ll be as offensive an unwilling to express charitable feelings as I want. So there.

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The Kittens

Posted on April 18, 2017 by John Swinburn

Three kittens walked slowly but deliberately through a pasture filled with angry, menacing dogs. A Doberman Pinscher raced across the field, snarling and growling and baring its teeth, stopping only inches from the kittens. The kittens walked on, unperturbed by the beast’s fearsome display. A German Shepherd was next, its deep, concussive barks sending shock waves through the air. Still, the kittens walked on, showing no sign of fear. When a Rottweiler bounded across the pasture, howling and showing its fangs, the felines stared at the massive creature as he approached, but did not deviate from their purposeful path across the meadow. The dogs, perplexed by the unwavering fearlessness and aloofness of the kittens, sat in silence as the cats traversed the field. Suddenly, a mouse raced across the grass directly in front of the kittens, where it stopped and looked at them, smiling the way mice sometimes do. The kittens exploded in a killing frenzy, ripping the tiny rodent into a thousand pieces, a red mist of its blood filling the air as its attackers devoured its flesh. The moral to this story, if there is one, is this: no good can come from smiling at calm kittens while they’re out for a walk.

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Your Love

Posted on April 17, 2017 by John Swinburn

Breaking the rules doesn’t always translate into thuggery.
Sometimes, it’s simply an expression of fear. Or anger.
Or wishful thinking so soulful and painful that anger
is the only relevant and meaningful expression.
I wish I broke the rules. I wish I’d admitted my
fear and expressed my rage and my paranoia in a way
that might have explained my anger.
But all I have to work with is now, and you, and all
I can hope for is your tolerance and understanding and,
if I’m extraordinarily lucky, your love.

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Just Breakfast

Posted on April 17, 2017 by John Swinburn

If this were a just world, I would have some form of curry for breakfast this morning. Something fiery to tantalize my tongue and awaken the sleeping creative beast buried deep inside my brain. But, alas, this is an unjust world, a world in which breakfasts attempt to retain their reputations as so boring many people opt to simply skip them, rather than endure the malaise of their mediocrity. Were I alone on the planet, I would craft a curry dish this morning to satisfy my craving. It need not be complex; a simple curried egg salad would do, spiked with sambal oelek to shatter the blandness of a dark and rainy morning. I suspect, though, I’ll end up eating something far less satisfying. Ach, there is no just breakfast in the cards this morning, I fear. And there is nothing to fear but fear itself. It’s just breakfast.

[Late-breaking news…after posting this, my wife got up and readily agreed to curried egg salad for breakfast. There is, indeed, justice in the world. I offer proof, below.]

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