Pathological Discoloration

Pathological Discoloration

 

It was just the other day when I used the word, Piebald, in a blog.  Generally received and reviewed, the consensus was:  “I don’t get it.  What are you talking about?”  At that point I knew that I should write another blog, and cover up by displacement the words at the top of my blog space.  Say one thing, and then another.  Sheer volume will take care of the problem.  “If it is free, this media attention, is what I seek.”

 

Is what I seemed to come away with, when reading google news banners and it is so contradictory and has me out-of-sorts with myself.  “Another murder in Detroit.”, and I am thinking:  Glad I don’t live in Detroit.  But that is not really handling my business in the biblical sense.  When a person doesn’t understand what others are saying, it seems as if there is an instant disconnect and removal.  “Just walk away.”  Mother would say.  “Sticks and stones will break your bones, but words will never hurt you.”  “Just walk away.”

 

Today we are getting all this traffic on Twitter and its instant chatter and what do they say, “It is like a virus.  Often, toxic.”  So am keeping with Mother’s advice.  If you know there is trouble over there, “Just walk away.  Don’t go there.”

 

I decided to review the situation.  “ Was it something I said?”   Started out with a strange banner at the top of the blog as way of introduction.  Piebald Majesty.  First picture stated what words could not.  Piebald.  Adjective.   Of different colors.  And then I was busy talking about Indian Motorcycles.  Went on to offer a link, just in case people might be interested.   Cuteoverload.net.  But that just muddied the water when I posted more pictures and the add-on caption:  unusual-color-mutations.  

 

Was happy with the blog and posted it.  That was yesterday, and now I am trying to cover up and erase those actions.  New blog.  New title.  New subject.  But it isn’t.  For some reason I seem to have something on my mind, and will not be satisfied until it is all said and done, and the reviews are in, and it is all positive.

As if my actions are saying:  “Vote for Me.”

 

So now I want you to forget about Piebald Majesty, and concentrate on the new blog and its title:   Pathological Discoloration.  As if, what was written just yesterday will be displaced by today’s installment and you will just forget what was presented in the recent past.  Not sure if this is an acceptable arrangement, but seems it is by parallel pattern that I am obsessed. 

“Doesn’t matter what others said.  Today it is our obligation to listen and pay attention and take today’s contribution at face value, and accept the immediacy of net-worth without questioning the continuity of word flow and eventual truth.”   Occurs to me that Piebald and Discoloration are related, but without going into detail and particulars, I accept the idea that it’s a new blog and a new way of saying what was easily misunderstood, just yesterday.”

 

Acceptability over time, and when they say, “I don’t understand any of this.”  They mean it.  “No clue what this colorful language is trying to say.”   Not interest in motorcycles.  Strangulation in Detroit.  Not my thing.  Move on.  Change the subject.  And so he is thinking,  I must do what they do.  Don’t talk about the color of a person’s skin.  Don’t engage in gender conversation.  Sexual preference comes up, and I will ask to be excused.  New rules in society, and nobody cares if you spend $40,000 on a motorcycle, when most of us cannot find a job that pays a living wage.  Doesn’t matter what The Billionaire says.  Doesn’t matter that he seems to be discourteous to women. 

“It is the economy stupid.”

 

This is when I realize that words must be chosen carefully.   Pathological and Piebald both start with the letter P.  But that might not be enough to qualify and be proper in this context.  People will still say.  “What are you talking about?”  And that’s when I know, that locality and the way people think in my neighborhood might not be suitable for you.  National and global recognition of things in print,  and I cannot make the connection that you will understand me. 

 

Color and Colorful Conversation cannot take the place of what works for you and is proper.  Pathological bleeds and seeps and creeps into another man’s yard.  One look, and the alarm is sounded.  I say this.  You say that.  Who is to be the authority on all of this?

  The Supreme Court. 

( Depends on Where you live. )

The Hague.

 

I am thinking:  “It is my blog.  Say what I will.  You have no real place here.”    Suddenly I have but one reader of the material I present.  It is me.  Reviewing how my words look in print.  Edit and make suitable for public consumption.  Make it easy for others to know what is being said.  Seems like that would make sense, until I realize there are buzz words out there that are instant turn-offs. 

 

The NSA doesn’t care.  It is not on their list of dangerous or deranged.  Some people can say just about anything, and they get our approval, straight away.   Pathological  and Piebald, and is enough to stop a person in their tracks.  Turquoise discoloration of the umbilical cord will not be discussed.  Nor will motorcycles.   It is a new day.  We turn the page and yesterday is forgotten.  Lately, I am thinking. 

“This is how it is.”

 

It doesn’t matter if this goes viral.  Just a blog.  Title, followed  by a picture.   Trump and Putin kissing.  Contributions from the Internet, and it can easily be ignored by me.  Mother says:   “Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can never hurt me.”  Back in the day, cameras were not attached to one’s personal phone.  Hence, Mother never said.  “Graphics and Pictures can hurt you.”  So I have grown up thinking that if it is seen, it must be okay.  But then, as quick as is possible I remove myself.  Flee.  Hope the image of two men kissing will not stay with me.

 

So now I am becoming more sensitive.  Be careful what you say.  Be careful of the pictures you display.   Has nothing to do with words and mental pictures, as much as it has to do with popular culture and today’s guidelines for what is proper.  And this is where I become aware.  “I don’t know you.”  “I have no idea what you consider offensive.”   Is okay when you say, “I don’t get it.  Your blogs make no sense to me.”

 

It has me thinking.  Won’t run for public office.  Won’t ask you for money.   Will continue on as if blogging is a hobby, suitable for me.  Has me thinking.  Nobody cares if you spend a lot of money on a motorcycle.  Nobody cares if you buy turquoise jewelry from The Indian Store.  What we care about is more immediate.  And that is when I realize, this has become a world-wide-information-infection and is spreading.  From local to global, and it has something to do with me.  Thing is.  I just don’t what my role in all this is.  The word is spreading.  The pictures are viral.  And soon I will be scared of my own shadow and the mosquito that is attacking me.

 

Downright sickening, when I think about it.     Pathological discoloration and Colorful Language.  Images in my head, and I have decided.  Turn your back.  Run away.  Mother was right.   “Just walk away.”

  

 

Piebald Majesty

Piebald Majesty

The trouble with morning is that I need something to get myself kick-started.  Don’t need a new $40,000 motorcycle, but like the idea of bringing Indian Motorcycle and brand back to life.  Some folks are doing that as we speak, and would say.  “It’s a classic.”  Proper line and power and style, and perhaps that is what we are looking for.  And that is the trouble with morning, it over-laps that other spelling: mourning and because I can’t separate the lines between before and after, there is a certain pattern forming and without tea or coffee or clarity, it all blurs and becomes one.  Classic styling blends with piebald majesty, and the will-power to differentiate one from the other is missing.  By lunch time this will not be a problem for me, as I will have written down my thoughts, posted a blog, had my morning/mourning coffee or tea, and set my course in the day I seem to be wrestling with just now.

 

Piebald Majesty

This part is not original material and must be given credit.

Link:    cuteoverload.net/10-animals-with-unusual-color-mutations/

All this concerns the use of the word piebald.  Starts with another person's blog:  10 animals with unusual color mutations and brings us to the beauty  I am referring to as piebald majesty.  Its morning and I am yet to be clear and specific, yet have confidence that others have come before me and can help on this matter.

 

Why say piebald when you don’t really want to say, spotty or blotched.  Color or pattern mutation will suffice.  Indian Motorcycle.  Classic.  Picture of animals that look different and yet most of that is cosmetic and once you get beyond the exquisite variance in look, one is able to identify the item or individual or animal.  Motorcycles or pink dolphin and we seek to make it simple, recalling the original and not something else.

 

Reading about Venus the cat from the suggested link, and keep with me that this is a cat with two faces.  Explains a face split in half.  Goes towards explaining the expression that is derogatory when used in the human person context:  two-faced.  Duality and discussion or mentioning of morning or mourning in the same sentence.  The good news is that I didn’t use photo-shop to bring this example to you.  Just borrowed an internet link and work of an internet contributor, whose name I do not know.  Named the site:  cuteoverload.net  and will leave it at that.  What is really on my mind is that if we credit all this to the works of nature, then in some small way I feel like it has nothing or very little to do with me, and a lot to do with the mysterious nature of creation.

 

Now I feel better and am warming to the idea that this is something I can do.  Wake up.  Begin to write, without an original thought in my head.  Let the mix of night dreams blend with daytime reality and by the time I am done with my first cuppa  (tea or coffee or lemon water ), I am on a roll.  I like the idea that the words:  Majesty, which in this case refers to pedigree status, appears side by side Piebald, which at best can be said to be nature’s tattoo overlaid on the pedigreed-one.  Odd phrasing but then again the point of all of this to me is how variation is the key to sorting out that which is in front of you, and how diversity can be explained.

Have a sister-in-law, who has a sister who paints birds.  Received a birthday card recently that was a blank bird card and then made complete by writing on the inside that said it perfectly:  Happy Birthday.  Yet, looking at the card as it came from the envelope,  I turned it and turned it until the image became recognizable to me.  Color and shape and pattern and is nature’s way of protecting its off-springs.  Protective coloring or camouflage, and when I see humans wearing such clothing, I think of war.  And there I go again.  Duality.  Morning or Mourning.  Majesty or Piebald.  Here I go again.  Flip-bored or wait, is it Flipboard.  Too many variations and suddenly simplicity becomes complex, and we wonder:  “What is he talking about?”

 

Two-faced or wait one face split in half, and it is up to me to recognize you.  No need to shoot a selfie in the mirror to realize my face is a  piebald mess and I should apply makeup before I appear in public.  Blogs are but a device to conceal the true identity and look of the contributor.  Read the words and be not concerned with appearance.  Be nondescript but not invisible.  Use an Avatar.  Have identity, but not in the sense that it is valid and true.  Protective colors become a shade of yesterday appearing in the reflection of a future, we are never guaranteed.  So what am I looking at.  A freak.  A fake.  A variation.

 

And am mentioning this because I am taken with the idea of having my picture taken standing beside  an Indian Motorcycle and now it makes me consider this.  Go to a museum and find an original Indian Motorcycle and snap my picture when the security guard isn’t looking, or go to the new dealership just down the road and have my picture taken with the variation of the bike they have made look like the original 1920’s bike:  The Classic.

And all this talk about Being in the Majesty’s service, and pedigreed originality and having unquestionable presence and dignity, becomes indignant and revolting when in the next instance I click to another page and instantly am faced with Hillary or Donald and am appalled.

 

As if morning and mourning become one.  As if Piebald Majesty becomes a statement of fact and contradiction appears before the judge and when its all over and a verdict is given, I live with the idea that nobody is perfect and the sooner I get down with that, the sooner I will realize that over time nothing remains the same what was the perfect look of youth just yesterday, is now the piebald majesty of maturity and wisdom, and the mosaic patterning of life from beginning to end, and it is okay.  Okay to buy a new Indian Motorcycle.  Okay to pay cash and make up the difference for the short-fall by using my credit card.  Okay to tell you all of this and show you a picture of gypsy pony and leave it like that.  “Nice ride.”  He said.

 

The Reality Show

The Reality Show

 

Today is the back-end of Mother’s Day 2016.  Sunday night and I decided this should be a fish and rice and perhaps sushi day.  Since I am home alone, and it is a special occasion, turns out there is great motivation to do something different.  Let me dial you in and explain straight away what might be different about me,  or more to the point, what is different about this day, my approach to this day, and finally how difference becomes the key motivator in change.  Mother’s Day and this demonstrates some of things I want to bring into the conversation.

 

Mother’s Day and you would think, this is the perfect time to drop the act and tell us something about yourself or your family.  “What was your mother like?”  sounds like something you might be asked on your first date with a total stranger that is looking for the perfect guy she could take home to her parents and with great enthusiasm just blurt it out?  “What do you think?  Is he a keeper?”

Going back to the idea that it is a special day, and we should handle these matters with special care.  Wasn’t long ago I took a look around and decided that my blogs seldom reflect the actuality of my circumstances.  But then it dawned on me that this was intentional.  A blog should be factual.  No artificial depiction of person, or place or particulars.

 

For me long ago I decided this should not be the format I would follow.  Could get serious if one mixes business with ones personal life and particulars.  Identity theft comes to mind.  People scoping you out and saying:   “Let’s meet.”  Many things were considered, but then again all this became center stage only 10 years ago, say  2006.  Bandwidth and many were able to afford connection prices and before you know it, this is big business.  Create a presence on The Internet and see what happens.

 

So here we are and it is a special day.  Mother’s Day.   Tomorrow it will be your birthday and after that comes something we can celebrate if we choose to.   Have been thinking about this for a while.  Stoney Blogger blogs for entertainment.  He wants to be creative.  Create, but not destroy.  And over the last 10 years since blogging sites have become popular, he has come up with a way to blog and please himself at the same time.  Win-win situation.  But then it comes to mind that we know very little about The-Real-Person.   His pictures are all wrong.  He writes.  He adds pictures.  And at the end of the day we consider his contribution to our social and public life, and come up with this.  “Not much.  Entertaining, but not much else.”

 

Was thinking about that and wonder how things could possibly be different.  With that in mind, I decided to look around, and give consideration to my local environment and ways.  “ How does Stoney-Blogger spend his days.  Does he work?  Is he smart or as his blogs suggest,   a little different?”

 

Mother’s Day.  Make this day special and something worth remembering.  If you were  Stoney, how would you do this.  Would you tell a story about your family and when you were living at home.  Would you tell that story about how you came to dinner and everybody was sitting around the table, with proper plates and silverware and place setting.  Food was being served and it was but a proper feast.  You found your place but noticed something wasn’t quite right.  Before me was a paper napkin, and plastic spoon and fork and knife, and a paper plate.  Suitable for a picnic, but not for a Sunday Night Dinner.

Before I could say, “Mama.”    The head of the table person stood up and made this announcement.  “We took a vote.  Then broke your plate and put it in the disposable bin.  Tis time for you to go.  We Broke Your  Plate.”

 

Year’s later and I am thinking back.  Did this really happen?   What were the circumstances of my last formal meal with my family?  Special Day and should I share it with the people in Blog-sphere?  Are there limits to being yourself on the internet?

Have decided this is what happens next.  I write about myself in a way that explores what is to be considered proper etiquette for conduct on The Internet.  Who decides such things?   How much can you really put out there about the Real You?  And this makes me smile.  Is a project and a challenge I intend to follow up on.  But not today?  Always difficult to decide what to tell and what to keep to yourself.

 

“Did they really break my plate?  Or did they just hide it, because that’s what they would do on a special occasion when they wanted to let you know.  You are special.”