(Update: I tried WordPress’s ‘verse’ format option, then mucked with the excerpts below until it looked right, only to discover it looks right only some fraction of the time, and runs off the page and is otherwise unreadable the rest of the time. Sigh.)
The neurons are finally coming back on line, as much as they ever were, after the physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausting clean-out of the old house. Almost ready to start worrying about the next phase: finding a new place, and all that that entails.
In the meantime: found some more stuff I’d packed away and all but forgotten. Part of which is:
These files contain writings going back to about 1990. Among other things:
- Pages of limericks. There was a time in my wasted youth when I practically though in limerick format – ta Da te ta Da te ta da and so on, such that spitting out a limerick was almost like breathing. They are mostly terrible. (Aside: people who don’t or can’t seem to follow limerick rules just – I don’t know what to say. Write something else if this is too hard. Sheesh.)
- About 50 pages and an outline for a novel, a retro-space adventure. Swashbuckling space pilot, evil scientist, deal gone bad, frantic escape, insect-like aliens. The only deviation from standard is that the love interest is a crippled dwarf, a woman who is a genius and wit, but not a looker, with whom our dashing space pilot had a fling. Now, only she can save his life! It’s – not terrible. The main problem: my outline is far too spare for me to figure where in the heck I was going with this, 30 years later. On the plus side, the parts I did write I kinda liked…
- Some Trek fan fic from the mid-90s. At the time, I worked for a company that had a proprietary sort of chat software running on its internal systems. Basically, you had a group on a message, and each new message was appended onto the last, such that you ended up with a massive run-on discussion. Social Media, circa 1993. So the geeks talked about Trek, and I used to mock it (in a sympathetic, friendly way – I like Trek!) by throwing out ridiculous plot outlines that were not quite unbelievable. In honor of Rodenberry, I’d find ways to get people naked as much as possible. It was a hoot, so much so that when I left that job, I killed a tree to print selections out.
- A pile of short stories. Some are OK. When I start my new author-centric, politically silent blog to promote the fiction I want to sell, I may throw some of them up there.
- Tons of song lyrics. Mostly, attempts to be hilarious, but some more weepy/emo ones as well. Hey, I was young at the time! And stupid!
- Some poems. Yikes!
- Some more music.
But I should share a little. Why should I suffer alone? Here are snippets of lyrics and poetry from way back, starting with something really old:
(Circa Reagan. To the beat of marching soldiers. Call and response)
I don't like no Gorbachev! (I don't like no Gorbachev! - and so on) Give me Ruskies like Molotov! This Cold War thaw thing do us in I'd rather wear those leopard skins
(In a Jack Nicholson type voice over some distant apocalyptic explosions and Fred Flintstone sound affects – yabadabado, etc.)
Just bomb 'em back to the Stone Age Just bomb 'em back to the Stone Age. Just bomb 'em back to the Stone Age. Just bomb 'em back to the Stone Age.
And so on. Dated, yes, but maybe funny if you’re old enough to remember…
Shootout at the Whirly Wash
Face down in some laundry stenchy Bullets flew past the change machine The bastards just put a bullet in Frenchy bleeding like crimson red cotton sateen! Shootout at the Whirly Wash God, somebody just winged Michael Cover me, Shorty, I'm going in Like a red sock in a hot cycle She dropped her basket, looked over me Her trigger finger was twitching So what if I got some Shout on her T? I don't need to listen to her bitching Shootout at the Whirly Wash Doc's covering the detergent dispenser Lay down some fire! I'll head for a dryer! Ol' Bessie's lead will convince her! Fabric was flying and tempers ran hot We had 'em pinned down by the phone When the manager lady fired a round of buckshot I guess we'll just fold 'em at home Shootout at the Whirly Wash Long may its infamy reign! A tip if you ever get into that spot: Use COLD water on a blood stain.
That Bug Might Be Your Mom
I used to be a Western boy with microscope and gun But since I've gotten older, it's just not as much fun Instead I want to take a tour of the Nothing that's my mind For peace and love and happiness - what cool stuff I might find! Careful! Careful! Easy now! All my desires die Which is good, because I don't want to come back as a fly Which brings us to a tricky point, a poser through and through: what if that cockroach I just crushed was someone that I knew? I can sit with my legs crossed until both legs fall asleep I can become Nothingness, and nothing want or keep I can bank good karma by the pound with effortless aplomb But I just can't stop worrying: that bug might be your mom.
Yep. That was me what wrote that stuff, some thirty+ years ago. And I’m not sorry! Careful, or I’ll publish some more.
2 thoughts on “More Archeology, Writing Division”
Yep, that’s you! A light, enjoyable, and boyish humor — to this day. Shootout at the Whirly Wash is quite fun.