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.”