milestones music and the selfie

 MILESTONES   MUSIC   AND THE SELFIE






My thoughts today are pushed in the direction of this blog and its content, inspired by contact, indirect, yet finding a place in concrete expression.  Milestones, music and the selfie, all going down hill, when 1980’s is the high and low point, depending on who you are and your personal assessment of things.  Downhill as a reference to the Russian Winter Olympics, now complete.  Nervous disorder and bad network programming prevented me from full enjoyment, and mostly enjoying the idea that it is over.  







So what is it I want to address in this session?  Started this yesterday, and now its tomorrow.  You know what I mean.  Days approach and replace the other, making for a constant flow where you forget how it really was.  Pick out a few points of conversation and make that your key address.  " I was young.  The music was good.  I did like to party."  And this is a constant with milestones and music.  They serve to connect the young and old, even if you just laugh at the idea of Elvis standing on stage or in front of a camera on the Ed Sullivan Show.  As if it didn’t happen, and now I want to include the SELFIE.  Please pardon me, if I have no clue.  This is coming from one who does not own a cell phone or the mega-camera that makes the Selfie possible.





We know that it comes down to being local and self-centered.  It can’t get any worse than a world of black and white movies without sound.  Or can it.  Ask me and I will say, " This is about me."  And its obvious, The-Me-Me-Me generation has taken all of this to the next level.  Guns and Rap and Music.  Might disturb me.  But everybody else seems to know what The Selfie is all about, and goes on with life.  Not sure I am right, and is why I am writing this blog.  I am amused.  



A New Spawn.  Small importence, to be replaced by a new creation, sooner than one would expect.  Rapid change and Milestones.  Maybe that is the true meaning of life.  Not sure.  Still working on the greater aspect of you and I and the party-people.  I do know, that without music, I would not have survived this long.  So I say a prayer to Elvis and the people who made 78 RPM records.  It had to start somewhere.  Why not:  Me-Me-Me. ?




I think it is essential to realize how its over before it starts.  We get this, when we listen to old music.  Music of our youth, etched into us.  We smile when there is a come-back and for a short while the old guys get on stage, play their music, and then go away.  We pay.  We play.  We are happy.  Celebrating Flaming Lips or that group or person that inspired us to live at full speed, have babies, and not bad-mouth any of this, including The Selfie.  




For the most part, I stay away from the Naked Selfie.  Know it happens and must serve notice to the body parts that are usually missing , but then again it has to do with common decency and social law.  Perhaps the cell phone and Instagram is changing all that, but not for me.  Older now.  Seen most of this in black and white.  Have children of my own.  Done.  Done.  And I repeat.  I think it is essential to realize how it is over before it starts.  




Looking on the bright side.  There is now a SELFIE MUSEUM.  Some place to put all of this, the conversation and the reality.  Warp and Shift and steady progression.  Didn’t see it coming, but they did.  The Me-Me-Me people.  God bless them all.  The unexpected happened and it was beautiful to me.  At Woodstock or some other gathering of the tribe.  Primitive.  And look at us now.  With a family pass, going to a show in Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane or Perth, or mostly where you are.  Hard to imagine.  Young wild child, now taking their babies to their first concert.  




Music blaring loud, and surely you remember the first time.  And that is where it all begins.  Milestones and Music and The Selfie.  Didn’t see the last part coming for me at the Rest Home.  But now, its true.  Serious digital-age penetration.  Guess my psyche can handle it.  Lived through  Elvis and The Beattle love songs, and then The Rolling Stones and The Who. 




Won’t be the one to say, " Are we there yet? "  Would be foolish to think Me-Me-Me is the last of it.  Introduce yourself.  Show me something.  Now move on.  3-4 billion on the planet and you have seen nothing yet.  Amazing technology.  Amazing you.   And then there is me.  Almost forgotten.  But not yet.   Say Woodstock.  Now go drink your tea.  Let’s get this day started.  You and I and The Selfie.  In living color.   Cue the music.  Live on.

The Dating Investment

INVESTMENT AND  DATING




The sun is going down on the beach.  People are packing up and going home, but you must remember, as a child or as a young mother, when the kids are at water’s edge or in the water, and they hear you calling, " Time to Come In. ", and they just ignore you.  I am having that kind of day.  Neither in the water, or am being ignored, perhaps somewhere in between.  Either way, there is a disconnect that seeks a resolution.  A beautiful day in the sun.  At the beach.  Now shadow is covering me, and I must move to get full benefit of the warming rays.  Winter up north, and Summer down south.  How far south, well I suspect that is up to you and your present day resources.  So lets just say, some are active and some are not.





The-Are-Not-People and I have been in the shade, propped up, reading.  The topic:  101 things every new investor needs to know.  And remember.  At the beach.   And I get distracted.  Kids are playing and I am more or less alone to do my own thing.  Which is reading and not really being active in life.   Reading is a mental thing.  My thing.  A real mental case.  Some would say.  Book Worm. Online phone or computer.  E-reader even.  But for now, I will not get into a debate.  The sun is going down.  Time to pack it up.  Go home or somewhere else.  That’s the basics.  " Time To Come In." 

Call it a day.



At the beach.  Reading about Investment.  And the window in the chat area comes alive.  It says:  " Talking to you as often as we do online, has become a real chore, and I must tell you, a real time investment for me.  Hope you are worth it.  Trust you won’t disappoint me."  And at first I blame it on the sun.  Totally distracted.  Young people in scant attire passing in front of me, during most of this beautiful beach day. 



And its easy to get too involved.  Be it reading.  Or making sure the children are not swept out to sea, while you are fooling around on your computer.  Daunting task, real life and how routine matters, are now quite complex. Pretty much you must pick your way through the jungle of choices that are out there and hidden in the vines and undergrowth, mostly digital.  Reading about Wall Street and money investment.  A friend online reminds me, online friendships are an investment, too. 





And so here I am.  Sun not quite down.  Kids still in the surf playing.  Now I have more than a little on my mind, and I realize how little I know.  About this subject.  Investment.  Dating.  Real Life on and off-line.  And is boiled down to basics, when the kids surround you, saying:  " I’m hungry.  What’s to eat? "  And at that point it all gets real.  Nothing theoretical about it.  One is forced to act.  ROI  ( return on investment ) must wait. 





And its best to give it no mind, when somebody online challenges you, with evaluating self-worth and the dating aspect of having friends online.  Maybe its not dating at all, but how do you know?  That becomes one of the unknowns that come up when you read and try to understand.  Investment.  Dating.  Real Life.


I think you have heard all of this before.  Talked about it.  With friends.  Is long distance relationship the same as talking to a friend daily on the IM Chat Channel?  Not sure.  Not sure if I am wasting my time, trying to figure any of this out.  Little ones at the beach, playing and doing well without me.  They need their alone-time and privacy, as long as they are protected and safe.  So it catches me by surprise, when suddenly somebody comes online and tells me, they don’t want to chat anymore. 






And I tell myself, I need to study up.  Have no clue.  Investment.  Dating.  Real Life.  And never thought about it this way before.  Am a confident man.  But having children changes all that.  Can never be for certain that you are the boss, the man, and the final authority.  But you get the message.  At the beach is still real life.  It has consequences.  The rest is unclear.  Does having friends on the internet have consequences too?  And like I said.  To each his own.  I think you have heard all of this before.  What is the impact of the unintended consequence, when your day at the beach is interrupted by a very important message.  She said,  " Pay attention.  I have time invested in you." 



And suddenly you understand.  Investment.  Dating.  Real Life.  Its all one, in the modern age.  No separation.  Its all in front of you.  Think fast.  Be in control.  Have something of value to exchange in the present moment.  Say.  " I understand.  Can we discuss this tomorrow.  I’m at the beach and the sun is going down.  Need to pack up.  Get the Littles home safely and all that." 

And I am pleased when I see the reply.  " Y-certainly my friend.  Good talking to you.  Have an investment or two myself.  Take care of yourself.  Be safe."  And suddenly you understand.  We live in a complicated world. 

Real Time.

ON A DIFFERENT MOON

A DIFFERENT MOON

It doesn’t have to make sense to me, I participate regardless.  Was thinking this, when I sat down to drink tea and get my day started, and all I could think about was writing a blog, even as I had no topic nor inclination to fabricate one.  But then, as is the usual process, it came to me.  The content for today’s write, materialized and began to format itself on the page.  And it was as if I was sitting here, On A Different Moon, watching it happen. 

And it will be easier to explain, in hindsight and after this blog is posted and others get involved.  But the universe is vast.  And different moons are more numerous than one might think.  From earth view, the bright yellow full moon that stands over me and the shoreline that is my boundary between sense and insanity, changes very little.  But the fact is, each and every day, change is constant. 





And as it all adds up to complete the passage between the journey and the destination, I realize.  Its difficult to finish the puzzle of life in general.  Split screens and silly intersections of cross-traffic, and it is most difficult in a global world seen with surveillance cameras, to see the universal view of a life I have lived.  Under a microscope.  A colony of humans.  First World War.  Then Baby Boomer production.  And now from the point of an aging population, I look around.  

With surveillance  camera. 

And nothing seems familiar.  Like being On A Different Moon.  I take it all in, but struggle to relate as I write it all down, hoping later to find comprehension, floating between the word-flow that makes this blog what it is.  What it is.  Just part of the puzzle I will never finish.  Comprehension will never be;  What I thought it would be, in the beginning.  But like I said.  It doesn’t have to make sense to me,

 I participate regardless.






I watch with camera-eyes on a world-wide-hook, that relocates my senses with a click of a mouse.  Makes possible mind travel.  A sense that I am everywhere, but not where I think I am.  Takes time and comprehension to assemble the pieces of the puzzle, and put it all together.  The total picture and understanding of where I have been, for what purpose, and for what results.  On a computer.  Global manipulation at every level, and even as it makes no sense to me, much like being shown a different moon, without the possibility of putting a foot on it.  I participate thanks to visualization and remote viewing.  The process completes me, and I think myself better for this experience of being there in the mind’s eyes.  But not in reality.  





And this brings me to the point that is being made.  Global and Universal and even off-planet, and it all includes me, because we now have cameras in space, that zoom in and out, and while doing all that, locate me in the process.  Theoretically, it all can be seen and analyzed and comprehended.  But not by me.  Which substantiates the point this blog is making. It doesn’t have to make sense to me, I participate regardless. 

 And I wonder why.




 And now I am waiting for the opposite point of view.  When those On A Different Moon, look down on me.  And say, " This man and his life is incomprehensible to me."  And they do not participate.  

End of Subject.

sweet and sour

SWEET AND SOUR

I don’t like it when one of my online friends is in the hospital, or under-the-weather for any reason.  Don’t like it when local dude has pneumonia and wife has to put the foot down, do the hospital screen, and restore order, and good health.  So I read the blogs, and get insight.  It helps me.  Less isolation and some control, how I take it all in.  Chat and personal, not so much.  Is my basic nature.  But I am alive and aware, and so from time to time, there is a Stoney Comment. 


 

All of this as part of the chapter and verse of his days.  Retired.  No football, and baseball is a Spring away.  Or so it seems.  Was up early today.  Before 9 am, had a nap.  Getting up at 4 am will do that to you.  Agreed.  24/7 and keeping up with the times.  I try.  And so today, my blog:  Sweet and Sour.



I am jumping around from misery, darkness and what-the-heck, avoiding real life because today at the beach, its raining.  .  Reading the headlines for about 10 minutes in my day, and feel bad when all there is, is bad news.   North Korea with nukes.  Bad news.    Then I switch gears.  Remember the good times and the bad.  And it happens.  Ups and Downs.  Not just at the Winter Olympics in Russia.  And get an idea.  Time to write about Sweet and Sour. 





So I am old.  Bad news bears.  Old too.  Pardon me, as I go back to 1984.  Not long after one of my worlds, fell apart.  Was a sickness of the time.  People coming and going, and leaving me to cope.  Didn’t like it much, but was me, growing up.  Ups and downs.  Like that. 



1984 and there was an  Australian television series, titled:  Yes you guessed it.  Sweet and  Sour.  So its in me.  Watched some.  Screen time.  Diversion.  A script about the face of vagaries in one’s life.  Remember the phrase, "Life can be sweet and sour."  So that’s where I am today. George Orwell's Novel 1984 and the Sweet and Sour series, seen on Aussie TV.  Wading back and forth and lamenting and celebrating at the same time, the influence of technology on me and my life well-lived in the margins of suffering society, world-side.  Main Story-line might be fictional, or indeed one that plays out in the time I have been on planet earth.  Sweet and Sour.  Ups and downs.  Like that.  Music to my ears. 








 
It is rough and tough, when you want more out of life than that which has been received. Expectations and a jam session in an old boot factory.  Sweet and Sour is not really about my asian-period, although I had one.  Wasn’t really a bed of roses or perfume sweet.  But lost myself in New Zealand and then in various Sydney pubs.  1984.  Tried to run, before I could walk with chopsticks in my hand.  Got old fast.  Couldn’t feed myself.  Takes a little getting use to.  Eating with sticks.  Being alone.  Doing your first backyard barbecue, and nobody shows up.  It happens.  Ups and Downs.


 


Romantic tension.  There wasn’t much.  Just lost the love of my life to sickness.  Mine mostly.  Signs of the Time.  Technology and we made a big deal out of main frame computers and IBM.  Those days are now gone.  Sweet and Sour.  Win some.  Lose a lot.  Microsoft and the new way.  Stock rises.  Instant millionaire, but not me.  Stuck in the side deals of my undoing.  Never got over it.  Real Life and the way it was. 


 

But I am better now.  Manipulated time and place.  Became like those around me.  Brash and Confident.  Fit in real good.  Traveled around, probably more than I should.  But it worked out.  Neon in the Tokyo night.   Flash-floods in Taipei.  Hillsides wash away, and I was left covered with mud.  I remember things like that.  Animated and furious, when it involved me.  The ups and downs.  The headaches and the controversy.  Sweet and Sour.


 

And then I took to wearing crocodile shoes.  People started noticing me.  What I lost, I could not get back, but then again I just moved ahead.  Dazzling people with technology and fast moving vehicles.  Took me home.  Eventually.  They said.  "Burnout."  And that was true. 


 

Fast moving times.  A lot of changes.  Win some.  Lose a lot.  So today it is raining at the beach, and I am here.  Singing in the Shower.  Some things you just can’t fix.  Singing off-key is like that.  Discordant.  Sweet and Sour.  Hard to endure, but we manage.  Is how I am looking at things today.  Life can be sweet and sour.  But finally, we settle.  1984 becomes the winter of 2014.  Read it and weep.  Fast moving times.  






And now my tea is flavored with honey.  Honey.  I miss you.  But forget about it.  Baked and Stewed.  Sweet and Sour.  Good times are coming.  Certainly, over-due.  And I offer the first clue.  Ditch the electronic paper.  Forget what google news has to say.  Won’t be long before this too, is obsolete.  And we can look back for history of such things.  George Orwell and Orsen Wells.  1984.  My time of personal nightmare and a future life without you, but with technology.  Sweet and Sour on Aussie TV.  Seems like so long ago.  Downstream.


 

St. Timothy

St. TIMOTHY




St. Timothy was a St. Bernard.  Woke up this morning, thinking about all this.  And now I am writing a blog, to sort it out.  What was it about, all this that is still with me.  Animal Planet Mind.  I do this in the moment of declaration, that goes like this:  "…..  Who loves me, loves my dog."  And that writes the final line of this blog.  If we can’t get there, by some form of common agreement, go no farther.  But then again, here we are.  Big headed dog, and they say, "Big Heart.  Rescue Dog.  Saves people."  But I never saw that side of St. Timothy.  What I saw was winter staring me in the face, and big dog at my feet, as smoke went up the chimney.  Cold outside, and why in the world would we go out there. 



So understanding the difference between St. Timothy, and a St. Bernard, whose main job was rescuing people is quite simple.  The cask around the neck was mostly symbolic.  We didn’t do alcohol in those days, but did have a bottle of brandy upon the shelf.  Mostly ceremonial.  Say what you will, the dog and I didn’t drink.  But there was a lot of smoke. 



And didn’t really go outside, as much as you would suspect.  But when we did, huge dog and sled and a copious amount of slobber, hair and dog poop everywhere.  Better we go out, than do all that in the house.  And as his buddy we had a good understanding.    I would feed him, and he wouldn’t bite me, or sit upon my face, as I lay there sleeping.  Man and dog.    St. Timothy was a St. Bernard.  That stayed with me for a while, and we were good together.  Long winter.  Good companion.  Didn’t drink, but tolerated the smoke, and that’s all that was required.  Way back then.  Times are a changing.  Not sure people love, like that big dog loved me.  And I was addicted.  Woke up this morning, thinking about all this.



So that was a long time ago, that St. Timothy was in my life.  That chapter is over.  But I am still alive.  And that in itself is a miracle.  So maybe St. Timothy did rescue me, but at the time I was oblivious to it all.  In my hospice period.  And the dog was there, to care for me.  Probably it was the food and water he liked, and that was just the arrangement.  I would feed big dog, and he would do the rest.  Working dog.  Found people who got lost. 



And now that I think about it, he found me.  Lost soul.  And did lick my face, to keep me in a state of consciousness.  And it must have worked.  Years later.  Still here.  In a state of mind that reinforces the truth.  St. Timothy rescued me.  In a snowstorm.  Probably dying. Only the dog knows what we did to regain control, survive and live on.  And so in memory, this dog lives on for me.  Sunday morning.  Incredibly powerful, in a personal way.  For me.  It was a long time ago.  St. Bernard named St. Timothy, showing me the way.  The Path of Love.  Man and Dog. 



And that is my blog for today.  Probably one  of those stories that don’t make sense, unless you were there.  Centered in the experience.  Clinging to life.  Thin air.  Kind of high.  And if that wasn’t enough, was carrying a perish stick.  Stranded and this St. Bernard became my patron of mountain climber and lost soul.  Delivered me to safety.  Cared for me.  Miracle healing.  St. Timothy.  More than just a dog.  A true saint.  

pastel facade

PASTEL FACADE

 


Am having a reaction to The Red Bubble in my day.  For me, is a life long thing, reactions to everything, positive or negatively-speaking.  Red Bubble and am moving away from the reminder of blood and gore and war.  Blood work, and I do hope you feel better, but now this blog is all about me, mostly.  Self-fish that way.  Big ocean.  Just me.  Lost in the idea of vivid colors, or at best just blending in.  Months ago it was summer.  Now its not, and I am on the move, looking for a little sun. 








And the airlines can help me with all that.  Winter vacation for old people.  Where do you want to be?  And I can answer that.  I want to be back in my youth, on a sandy beach on that blanket big enough for two and a little sand, if that what it takes to get you to look up and smile at me.  And so its revision time.  Tired of the war and news of war games.  Necessary perhaps, but not at this time for me.  So have changed and allowed the flow of mixed colors to create a Pastel Facade for me.  Something to enter and hide behind.  Perhaps.











I know what is going on, psychologically-speaking.  Valentine’s Day is nearing, and have given up wine and sweets and many of the traditional items that point towards romantic love.  But spend all my time loving you, even if you are not here, and won’t be.  On Valentine’s Day.  La Facade Pastel covers it for me.  Not even a greeting card in the mail, and must I mention that the Mail Service is deteriorating and poor service is what is happening now.  Want you to buy stamps online, and use modern means to communicate.  Save time and money, and its a dismal scene.  Government getting smaller and less efficient, but this is a blog about Valentine’s Day and romantic love, and everything else can be covered by La Facade Pastel.  Color me indifferent these days.  She is not coming.  Check is not in the mail.




Notably blue.  Pastel Hue.  What do you want from me?  What do I want, myself.  Not really a question, as the answer had been formulating ever since you went away.  Miss and I miss you.  Of course I do.  Its all about love, and its not just about one day.  February 14th and some celebrate.  As for me, I’m trippin.  Not sure where I will end up.  Evasion tactics and endless war.  Inside and Out.  



 


Mockery of all that we were about, standing there in the fading light, kissing.  I remember some of that.  Don’t remember the fireworks, nor the screams of panic.  Was calm, and cool and collected.  Even now, that is the case.  Old buildings and pastel facade help me displace the immediacy of it all.  You are gone.  That’s all I need to know.  Appear or Disappear.  The essence of a magic trick, and won’t say lasting love is sheer trickery, but sometimes when I need to collect my thoughts, move out of the heat and glaring sun, drink some water and calm down, I think.  Love is difficult at best.  Geesh.  I miss you.





Blue Note Jazz Club.  Pastel facade and intentionally blue, with a happy saxophone in the background.   Valentine’s Day.  You and I.  Forgot the date, but it must have been February 14.  But what was the year.  Who cares, I know it happened.  Let me seek pleasure in that moment.  Love the music that brings me close to you.  Tunes, both now and then.  Subtle and Revealing.  Not sure I ever thought, we had it all.  But in the jazz club we had fun.  Celebrating Life.  Smooth together and that’s how I see it, even now.  Crystalizing jazz, funk and Latin.  Life on an Aruba Beach. 




Headed that way now.  Not sure if I will get there.  Not sure if snow and misery and war will prevent me, from being there.  Pastel Facade helps me think differently, block out reality, and seek love.  All the time.  In real time.  Not just on Valentine’s Day.  But always, am in love with the idea that I was truly in love with you.  Missing that and you and well it happens.  One more set after midnight.  One more glass of water.  Tears perhaps, but probably not.  A stoic.  Well disciplined.  Hide.  That feeling behind a pastel facade, listen to the music and do well.  That is the message I send.  To myself, mostly. 


In love.  Still.  Keeping it real.  Trippin or on a trip.  It all blends together.  Throwback to yesterday.  Nothings changed.  Mirrored walls and pictures of you, dot my memory.  Cling to the smooth dance moves that brought me to you in the first instance.  Spacious and with endless possibility, back them, was a form of generous love.  You and I.  And so it is.  In the lounge, but staying away from drink specials.  Enjoying the colors of you and those around me.  Special aura.  That’s what love is.  Special  Colors.  Inside behind the pastel facade.  My blog for today.