A FOOL’S DANCE
I think it best to laugh instead of cry. I think it best to dress up and go out, when the lights have been turned off, not because you didn’t pay your bill, but because in the modern era, we have hackers on the power grid, turning out the lights. And of course, its not enough to write a blog about. These events are part of the beheading of society, to induce the normals to buy more insurance, or if you are a little short these days, buy maleware software for your computer and your computer-life.
Life in the spotlight, and now there is maleware that turns on your webcam, takes pictures and tells you to pay up, else they will be reporting you to the police. Things have changed so much, am not sure I know the laws and what I might be guilty of. So instead of hiring a lawyer for some alleged misdemeanor or inappropriate action, I will spend my money on a night of dancing.
So, not intending to sit in a dark room, going over the list of catastrophes that happen in life. Instead, I will apply for help and when they ask, "Why are you here?", will answer with the partial lyrics from Frank Zappa’s 1979 song, that inspires me to try to keep my head in the right place, dress up and go out. I will recite this and hope it is sufficient. ".... don’t know much about dancin. That’s why I got this song. One of my legs is shorter than the other."
And if I am convincing, they will sign me up for disability assistance. Either it works or it doesn’t, but in this era where jobs are scarce, we the people need to band together and do something. We work, or we starve trying to find something to do. I think it best to laugh instead of cry. I think its okay to learn the Fool’s Dance, and partner up with you, for a night we won’t talk about, but at the time it will be a night we never forget. Stardust Memory Time. Dancing in the Dark.
No cause for alarm. When one of your legs is shorter than the other, and you climb off the bus, needing another foot to make ends meet, you improvise. Just got off the bus and am hoping to find balance in the next steps I take. Won’t try to right society, and now I know, each locality has special rules that you might be in violation of. Is one of the reason’s I travel with my disability bus pass. Is why I have sold my car, moved into the center of the universe, Universal City, perhaps. Centered and walking around with chump change. Willing to be a little slow and appear to be off balance. Willing to tell a strange. "One of my legs is shorter than the other."
And sure, its just the joke of the day. Out and about, and have decided its better to laugh than cry, when there are no jobs, and you need to improvise. Make fun while you can, and ignore that in a contest you will not win, but just being on the dance floor makes you feel better than sitting in a dark room, wondering when the lights are coming back on. No cause for alarm, he’s going out. Dancing Fool or the Fool’s Dance, not quite sure but am sure in the end, The Law will tell me. "No dancing on the grass. Keep moving."
And if I am convincing, they will sign me up for disability assistance. Either it works or it doesn’t, but in this era where jobs are scarce, we the people need to band together and do something. We work, or we starve trying to find something to do. I think it best to laugh instead of cry. I think its okay to learn the Fool’s Dance, and partner up with you, for a night we won’t talk about, but at the time it will be a night we never forget. Stardust Memory Time. Dancing in the Dark.
No cause for alarm. When one of your legs is shorter than the other, and you climb off the bus, needing another foot to make ends meet, you improvise. Just got off the bus and am hoping to find balance in the next steps I take. Won’t try to right society, and now I know, each locality has special rules that you might be in violation of. Is one of the reason’s I travel with my disability bus pass. Is why I have sold my car, moved into the center of the universe, Universal City, perhaps. Centered and walking around with chump change. Willing to be a little slow and appear to be off balance. Willing to tell a strange. "One of my legs is shorter than the other."
And sure, its just the joke of the day. Out and about, and have decided its better to laugh than cry, when there are no jobs, and you need to improvise. Make fun while you can, and ignore that in a contest you will not win, but just being on the dance floor makes you feel better than sitting in a dark room, wondering when the lights are coming back on. No cause for alarm, he’s going out. Dancing Fool or the Fool’s Dance, not quite sure but am sure in the end, The Law will tell me. "No dancing on the grass. Keep moving."
It has been suggested that one could take an upper or a downer or the pill as a cure for what ails you. But I’ve decided that is The Fool’s Dance, and as an alternative will try something different. Laughing. Dancing. Dancing Bare. Do the Short Leg Polka. Follow the steps of others like the Psycho Chicken, who has been there, done that, and now suggests, "The best medicine for a broken heart or a disappointment in life is activity and movement. Dislocation."
Not to say its less painful, when I Am Missing You. Half a foot more, and I will get over it. Not to say, feeling better is cost free, but then again, chump change and a discounted bus pass will get you far. Not sure what the limits are just yet. Have decided being on an open road, looking for you is better than sitting in the dark, waiting for the lights to come back on. Can’t dwell on what use to be. Fully functioning society is not what’s on my dinner plate these days. Doing a lot of the Fool’s Dance, fake optimism if it gets me closer to you. "Transfer please." And the door opens, and I am free to get off, anytime the ride gets rough and I need a breather in the park or just in fresh air.
When and Where does a Fool’s Dance end? When will you meet me halfway, and we can dance over the seams and cracks and patches that bridge the life we now find ourselves living. Going it alone is difficult. Asking for help, and that is difficult too. Misdirection and laughing has propelled me into this current day. I am getting worse and feel like a bird with a broken wing, but really my major problem is that I need a dance partner. Had one, and thought the dance would go on forever. But that’s not how it goes. At some point the lights go out, you lose your job or just can’t find one, and run out of money. And that’s when the Fool’s Dance begins. You have to scramble to get on somebody’s dance card. You have to make an effort to find a place to spend your day. Better yet, if I find you.
And am working on this, as we speak. Missing you. Head in the clouds and moving around, just in case. Just in case you are out there, vectoring with me, because you know: The man is a dancing fool. The man never gives up. And its not that obscene hunger for excitement that has you with him. People like to dance. People like to have a little fun. And if you ask me, I will tell you. "come and dance with me. Its better to laugh than to cry." Barefoot in the Park. Doing the Fool’s Dance. And its free. Happy Days. From dusk to dark.
Not to say its less painful, when I Am Missing You. Half a foot more, and I will get over it. Not to say, feeling better is cost free, but then again, chump change and a discounted bus pass will get you far. Not sure what the limits are just yet. Have decided being on an open road, looking for you is better than sitting in the dark, waiting for the lights to come back on. Can’t dwell on what use to be. Fully functioning society is not what’s on my dinner plate these days. Doing a lot of the Fool’s Dance, fake optimism if it gets me closer to you. "Transfer please." And the door opens, and I am free to get off, anytime the ride gets rough and I need a breather in the park or just in fresh air.
When and Where does a Fool’s Dance end? When will you meet me halfway, and we can dance over the seams and cracks and patches that bridge the life we now find ourselves living. Going it alone is difficult. Asking for help, and that is difficult too. Misdirection and laughing has propelled me into this current day. I am getting worse and feel like a bird with a broken wing, but really my major problem is that I need a dance partner. Had one, and thought the dance would go on forever. But that’s not how it goes. At some point the lights go out, you lose your job or just can’t find one, and run out of money. And that’s when the Fool’s Dance begins. You have to scramble to get on somebody’s dance card. You have to make an effort to find a place to spend your day. Better yet, if I find you.
And am working on this, as we speak. Missing you. Head in the clouds and moving around, just in case. Just in case you are out there, vectoring with me, because you know: The man is a dancing fool. The man never gives up. And its not that obscene hunger for excitement that has you with him. People like to dance. People like to have a little fun. And if you ask me, I will tell you. "come and dance with me. Its better to laugh than to cry." Barefoot in the Park. Doing the Fool’s Dance. And its free. Happy Days. From dusk to dark.
Hello. Sorry I've been away so long. This is the first post I've read from you in a long w
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ReplyDeleteDance is the only way I can fully express myself and I do it mainly alone. I suppose my body is in reasonably shape. I walk, cycle and a bit of Tai Chi. When in Edinburgh I go to improvise dance sessions called 5 rythms.
Who calls me a fool?
I am away to Japan to the mountains in a few days but I hope we will renew our fruitful contact.
Welcome, traveler, to a long ago time in a far away place.
The time is the 1600s, before America became a nation; and the
place is Japan. Our story is about Basho, a gentle poet who was
a master of a style of poetry called "haiku". Today he is much p
revered in Japan, and around the world.
The Gentlest and Greatest Friend of
Moon and Winds
Basho (1644 - 1694)
Many years ago there went wandering through Japan, sometimes on
the back of a horse,sometimes afoot, in poor pilgrim's clothes, the
kindest, most simple hearted of men...Basho, friend of moon and winds.
Though Basho was born of one of the noblest classes in Japan, and might
have been welcome in palaces, he chose to wander, and to be comrade
and teacher of men and women, boys and girls in all different stations of
life,from the lowest to the highest. Basho bathed in the running brooks,
rested in shady valleys, sought shelter from sudden rains under some tree
on the moor, and sighed with the country folk as he watched the cherry
blossoms in their last pink shower, fluttering down from the trees. Now
he slept at some country inn, stumbling in at its door at nightfall,
wearied from long hours of travelling, yet never too tired to note the
lovely wisteria vine, drooping its delicate lavender blossoms over the
veranda. Sometimes he slept in the poor hut of a peasant, but most often
his bed was out-of-doors, and his pillow a stone.
When Basho came upon a little violet hiding shyly in the grass on a
mountain pathway, it whispered its secret to him. "Modesty, gentleness,
and simplicity!" it said. "These are the truly beautiful things."
Glistening drops of dew on the petal of a flower had voice and a song
for him likewise. "Purity," they sang, "is the loveliest thing in life.
The pine tree, fresh and ever green amid winter's harshest storms,
spoke staunchly of hardy manhood; the mountains had their message
of patience, the moon its song of glory! Rivers, forests, waterfalls,
all told their secrets to Basho, and these secrets that Nature revealed
to him, he loved to show to others, for the whole of living of life was
to him one great poem, as of some holy service in the shadow of a temple.
"Real poetry," said Basho, "is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry
is better than to write it." And whenever he saw one of his young
students being rude, in a fit of anger, or otherwise acting unworthily,
he would gently lay his hand on the arm of the youth and say; "But this
is not poetry! This is not poetry."
Note:
This story is from a children's book titled
Little Pictures of Japan, edited by author
Olive Beaupré Miller and beautifully
illustrated by Katharine Sturges. It was
originally published in 1925.
Hello John. Good to hear from you. It has been a long time. For a while just did not know how to send messages or such to you. Am trying to blog some, but for almost a year now, am surprised if I see a response or comment. Just not hot blogspot works . or so it seems. Enjoyed your exchange. Will be inspired to check in here more often. thank you for your friendship and word exchange. be well on your travels. You had quite a historical vote in your country. Amazing, the process over The Fight. Another sign that we are moving towards the time, when people are free to make significant choices. be well.
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