Political Poetic Parable

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Narrative:

Righties’ twofold ambition: untold, unneeded wealth;
Unchecked and unbalanced; parliamentary heft

They’ll pay no never-mind; re their crashed mental health
Stand atop rickety platform; good ideas / ideals bereft

They bludgeon common folk constituents; with that dense drama
Render poor jobless and homeless; bloodied by intense trauma

When Stockholm Syndrome / gaslighting; gets huddled masses to cower
Their rash votes snag for brash Righties; till-death-do-us-part power

Moral:

When rank and file find unmet needs; atop hard to reach shelves
That’s far too oft, self-inflicted; since they vote ‘gainst themselves

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Stay Publicly / Properly Masked!
Stay Safe at Home!
Stay Healthy!

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It’s ALL UnSustainable! (Parable)

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Once upon a time, in the Land of Opportunity, there lived Arthur Artisan, a post-global-apocalypse-era job hunter, consumed by both anxiousness and exhilaration. While, for him, such seemingly at-odds emotional ingredients did feel downright counterproductive (and rather unnerving, too), his conflicted state of mind could hardly be deemed unique.

Would that not be experienced by most anyone, who’s about to reenter and retest the reawakening work-a-day-world waters? Who’s simultaneously able to entertain a keen awareness of having found one’s true vocation?

Fortunately, for chef-wannabe Arthur, he’d been able to table such fruitless drama. Long parable sort, he had no sooner begun circulating copies of his cleverly crafted résumé, completing job applications and interviews, than, tout de suite, came the big pay off! The personnel manager singing out those magical lyrics, “You’ve got the job!”, had, most assuredly, been music to this new-hire’s ears!

And, this was no ordinary entry level job, either. Quite unexpectedly, his yet-to-be, real-world-tested, culinary training had already earned him the prestigious title of Head Chef, no less!

A mere 24 hours later, he found himself donning his tall white toque; toiling within the three specialized kitchens of a swanky, five-star eatery. And, in short order, via his superbly created/plated delectable dishes, and courtesy of word of mouth props from his 600, newfound, loyal patrons, almost overnight, he’d become renown, far and wide.

The massive influx of hourly phoned reservations both delighted the maitre d’ and worked him to a frazzle. During each hectic day, of these 600, approximately 200 ravenous diners (typically 40 parties of 5) would show up.

But, alas, that success, in itself, had become the fly in the ointment. And, ahem, Arthur did sigh his relief that this was only metaphorically speaking; not some actual, drowning in the soup, disgusting, winged, buzzing bug.

Yet, in less time than it had taken to set his sighs aside, the real bugaboo had managed to float to the top.

And that took on the form of Arthur’s big boss, Tasman Taskmaster, whose utterly unwise business strategy was to severely curtail food prep time; thereby permitting Arthur only 5 scant minutes per hungry patron. Talk about Fast Food! YIKES!!! That Mr. Taskmaster hadn’t hired another chef or two could be attributed to his also being an overhead obsessing tightwad (the details of which are best left bused to another parable, another day).

Anyhoo, tout de suite, Arthur’s “OH NO” moment of truth had arrived. Nary one doubt, he was working for the proverbial sweatshop whip cracker from Hell.

Sadly, it had been the sheer elementary school mathematics, which powered the driving force behind this 5-Minute Rule; that is, what was driving Big Boss to slave drive his Head Chef. To crunch that bean counter’s numbers.

200 diners X 5 mins prep time per diner = 1,000 mins burned up daily (16 hrs 40 mins to be exact).

So much for the 8 hr workday, huh? So much for the recommend 8 hr sleep cycle, too!

There simply was no time for Arthur to lead an active, healthy social life outside of his workplace; hell schlep thru any existence at all! No time to complete household chores, tend to property upkeep, to even do his own laundry and grocery shopping. Hell, he’d have probably starved to death were it not for his sampling the food he was preparing and his scarfing down the shift’s end leftovers, which were (unforgivably) destined for the dumpsters.

Seeing too, how his own career was dumpster bound, Arthur Artisan took a hike and took his talents elsewhere.

The End?

Our Parable’s Primary Moral:

Life is too damned short for anyone to waste away within any toxic environment

Our Parable’s Secondary Moral:

Everything will begin to coalesce upon our comparing Arthur’s unenviable vocational woes and far from ideal workplace conditions / expectations to society’s typical Social Network Platforms; indeed, the very one you and I stand atop as I type, you read.

Localizing that more to my own blogging avocation, it’s been my regularly posted content, which has attracted nearly 600 followers. The bugaboo, here, is how my staying meaningfully connected to even one third (200) of them would inflict fictional Arthur’s identical time constraints on real Tom’s real world life. In other words, I don’t have 16 hrs 40 mins each day to fully savor every mega-talented blogger’s content; to post meaningful props in their comment sections re their oft entertaining narratives, spectacular poetry and overall, sheer artistry.

And, I’d be remiss not to mention how my doing so would leave me no time to compose/post my own content.

Beyond that, just how, pray hell, do bloggers who boast 10K, 100K and even 1 Million followers, ever manage to stay connected? I’d challenge each of them to, without peeking, name them all by screen name!

Beyond beyond that, I curse that math that hath morphed me into an unresponsive, almost non-member of the WordPress Community.

My sincere apologies to all, who I had never ever intended to snub, yet, nonetheless, still did.

Alas… long sigh… today’s headline doth sum up, succinctly, the paradoxical, anti-social nature of so-called social network life:

It’s ALL UnSustainable!

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Stay Publicly / Properly Masked!
Stay Safe at Home!
Stay Healthy!

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No Love Lost ‘Tween ‘Em (Parable)

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Once upon a time a petty, peculiar entity, known as Politically Right, managed to deviously and completely camouflage all of the grotesque aspects of that odious ideology. And, more to the point, did so to conceal these horrifying, severe character flaws from the sincere, ethical entity known as Morally Right.

A whirlwind courtship soon ensued; a chase that had left them both winded. Barely catching their breath, in time, this unlikely couple found themselves at the altar exchanging their wedding vows.

In what had to have been a bad omen, Morally Right could not help but notice how the chapel pews, reserved for Politically Right’s family and friends, had remained vacant; well… uh… unless one had counted the swarm of annoying, buzzing horseflies. How odd, indeed, that was; seeing how, at the time, the nearest barnyard dung heap had been countless kilometers distant.

But, to cut to the chase, the leftover wedding cake hadn’t even had sufficient time to go stale AND the morning after, mild champers hangover had yet to fade when Morally Right already realized this was turning out to be the proverbial Marriage Made in Hell.

Flat-out refusing to take any crap from anyone, Morally Right immediately wanted out of this abusive relationship and, soon afterwards, put Barry Barrister Esq. on retainer. This learned, veteran, divorce attorney, citing the grounds as irreconcilable differences, fought diligently on behalf of his client and, ultimately, won! TA DA!

Alas, this all panned out as the plaintiff’s Pyrrhic victory; seeing how Politically Right (no big shocker) also turned out to be the utterly barren of all conscience, proverbial deadbeat; and more to the point, the quintessential alimony scofflaw. And, when confronted with the all too real prospects of legal garnishment of ill-gotten captal, that tightwad bolted like a bat out of hell; booking a private jet and heading south.

That scumwad’s destination was none other than the oppressively torrid, horrid nation-state, Vulgaria, where autocracy and amorality ruled supreme and the flawed laws had been intentionally, meticulously crafted to attract and harbor the dregs of society.

And, Politically Right, fitting that corrupt characterization to a T, at long last, had found the very partner that all iniquitous dreams are made of. And, albeit not the conventional coupling, this new marriage, too, was made in Hell (not that Politically Right would’ve ever deemed that to be bad).

Epilogue: To this very day, Barry Barrister Esq. continues to battle on. On behalf of Morally Right, he’s been relentlessly seeking extradition of the wayward Politically Right.

Parable Moral: In any War of Words, it is the Morally Right’s duty to verbally assail the Politically Right; and prevail!

Readers, please take note: As is true with many struggles between good and evil, this is far from over. Any new developments will get promply relayed and posted here.

Ergo: Stay Aware… Stay Tuned… and…

Stay Publicly / Properly Masked!
Stay Safe at Home!
Stay Healthy!

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Filing a New Flight Plan

It was seven-ish this early Sunday a.m. when, from afar, I ear witnessed the telltale dull thud against the dining room windowpane. Even while en route to investigate, based upon past similar occurrences, I already knew what I’d discover. The key, yet to be addressed issues:

• The particular species involved
• The navigation error’s survivability

Well, the identification came immediately / conclusively; namely, The Robin (Michigan’s official state bird). And, judging from how the “fluff” had yet to be replaced by the typical solid orange, my unfortunate feathered friend, obviously, had recently left the nest.

As for sleuthing that navigation error and its aftermath? Knowing that I could not possibly provide aid, in any meaningful way; how my moving in for a closer look would only frighten the victim further, I remained indoors; less than one meter away.

Oh, how relentlessly this, flat on its back, disabled bird responded to the survival instinct that’s been programmed into us all; continued to gingerly test / retest its wings; try, oh, so desperately to become airborne, anew; to, in essence, get back into the game of life.

Alas, all to no avail.

As is true with most stories, of this nature, we’ll now be taking upward flight to the realm of the parable. You see, Robin’s last assignment in life was to file a new flight plan; to soar higher than ever before; to make the transition to mentor for the benefit of any and all onlookers; to remind us to remain indomitable; to embrace precious life right up to our very last breath.

Hmm, to now say, “The End” would hardly be apropos. We’d better make that…

The New Beginning

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Stay Publicly / Properly Masked!
Stay Safe at Home!
Stay Healthy!

-30-

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Fortune Cookie Blog (allegory)

 

Once upon a time an ignorant little boy leader, who fancied himself
a space cowboy, established a Space Force to protect life on Earth.
Since he fancied himself a climate change denier, too, he could not
protect life on Earth. The space cowboy mucked up Earth. The End.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bridging the Great Divide ~ A Parable

 

Once upon a time, Conrad DeNier found himself debating Libby Learned. Both being nearly lifelong walkers upon the fraying, stretched thin, conservative / liberal tightrope, on that particular, fateful morning, their seemingly eons old War of Words promised to be as relentless and perilous, as ever. After all, neither party was ever willing to cede even one millimeter of ideological territory; NOT when it came down to the prospect of emerging victorious in the battle of the Haves vs. the Have-Nots.

However, this time around, Conrad would trot out his “new” ploy; totally unleash the ever-present spoiled brat, within. He’d hold his breath until Libby totally agreed with him. And so it was. Her closing point made, he first bleated out his counterpoint; next inhaled and puffed out his cheeks. Indeed, so enraged was he that, all the sudden, his heart totally gave out!

While unconscious, Conrad’s entire life flashed before his eyes; he even wound up seeing the light; both cosmically and cognitively speaking. However, as it had all been predestined, this would only be his Near Death Experience.

As the onrush of warmth gradually reanimated his lifeless body; returned him to consciousness, Conrad’s first sensations were of Libby’s relentless CPR. As he squinted through his eyelashes, “The Light” suddenly cross-faded to that of ordinary daylight. Now awash with feelings of utter stupefaction, to him, this had become the proverbial light bulb over the noggin moment.

In spite of their history of fierce animosity, when push came to shove, Libby had done the humane thing; had actually saved his very life! Seeing how she had been willing to set aside her own differences, he could not help but wonder. Could he not do the same? He even began to question the illogical nature of his own ideological selfishness. Why must he always seek more ill-gotten wealth at the expense of the less fortunate? After all, the sheer enormity of what he had already accrued, to date, could even last a spendthrift ten lifetimes.

Funny how it took a deep shade of physiological blue to get him to cede his seething, red hot intransigence; to temper it with a healthy helping of newfound, true blue hued tolerance. Conrad DeNier even wound up seeing Libby Learned in an entirely new light. Indeed, he now deemed his longtime foe a newfound friend.

The multifaceted moral to our story is fundamental…

Peaceful coexistence is vital. Allow selflessness to gain the upper hand. See the light before you see The Light.

 

 

 

 

“Lost Dogs” Blogs? Woof? Woof? Woof?

Check out these fun facts re our very own blogging community!

“Every second, close to 6 (the actual figure is 5.7) new posts are published on WordPress.com blogs. That averages out to 342 posts per minute. Just above 20,000 per day. And a grand total of 7.49 million annually.”

Now, just imagine how easy it would be for an author’s work to get lost in that blizzard of blogs. Well… most of us don’t even have to imagine.

The music world has dealt with similar issues, i.e. songs that aren’t getting the attention they deserve; e.g., 13 years ago, Pearl Jam packaged their musical rarities and B-sides into a double CD titled “Lost Dogs” (EK 90778 & EK 90779 ©2003).

And just as PJ did… I now package my postings into this “Lost Dogs” Blog.

That said, my main topic this day is not music. That’s because on Tuesday Nights @6 p.m. the weekly, WordPress Party blows the roof off the blogosphere! Folks, this bash is BYOB… Bring Your Own Blogs… and when I ring that front door doorbell with my elbow, that means I’m not coming to this blow out empty handed.

Hopefully my ideas will go to your head / get a good buzz going… with no hangover in the morning… that I guarantee! Nope… no “hair of the dog that bit you” home remedies will be needed! Keeping all of that in mind… maybe you’ll help unbury / dig out a few of my “Lost Dogs” Blogs? Perhaps even dig what I have to say? If you wish to have your say… I can dig that, too… my comment boxes are standing by… mostly empty.

Bullying: Gateway “Drug” To Terrorism

A Parable

A Tale Of Two Timelines (Part I)

The Sect, Sex and Skin We’re In

“Dirty” Limericks re Donald Trump

Going To California… in my mind (Pt. 1)

 

A Parable

Once upon a time, there lived a brash, young Robin, who lived to assert his territorial dominance. That innate disposition was put to the test one sunny, mild, spring morning. As he perched on a budding lilac branch, swaying in the gentle breeze, he happened to notice another robin, also sitting on a nearby, budding lilac branch.

Flapping his wings and speaking in (what else?) fluent robin, he angrily tweeted, “How dare you invade my territory!” But the other bird simply appeared to silently mock his threatening gestures; in no other way did he respond to his scolding. So fueled by his aggression, Robin swooped in to make “the kill” never once noticing how he was attacking his own reflection in a garage windowpane.

In an attempt to end the bitter hostility, a Human came rushing out of his house, arms waving in the air. The Robin flew away, albeit, his retreat only momentary. As soon as the Human went back inside, the fierce battle of the birds, mind you, one real, one phantom, resumed; and then raged on and on for many, many days to follow.

In dismay, the Human watched further. He took no joy in witnessing this senseless war. Being a proponent of non-violence, he did not even want to see this Robin harmed or dead. No, the knee-jerk military style reaction of whipping out a firearm and blowing this bird’s head off, was NOT an option. Nor was the do nothing approach, for that would either result in that combative bird knocking himself out, or doing even greater bodily injury, should that windowpane shatter.

The Human, shaking his head glumly side to side, now drew parallels to this own species. Was not territoriality what fueled acrimonious wars throughout the pathetic history of the human race? Was not that Robin now facing the same horrors of war, namely, pointless destruction, injury and death?

And even more disturbing a thought; had not that Robin gone to war based on totally flawed reasoning? After all, there was no real enemy robin, ergo, there was no real threat to this Robin’s territory, in the first place.

With the wisdom of an astute diplomat, the Human, once again, ventured forth into the great outdoors, this time with a hammer in one hand, a large burlap bag draped over his arm and six golden nails in his shirt pocket. As soon as he held the thick brown fabric in place to cover the garage window and then nailed it up securely, the phantom robin was banished from the neighborhood, peace returned and everyone lived happily ever after.

The moral to this story is twofold:

Brains not brawn make for a lasting Peace!

And…

Always look carefully before you rush to war… you might just be your own worst enemy!

 

I originally blogged “A Parable” on MySpace… posting date: Tuesday, September 12, 2006. On this day, I only applied a light coat of polish… so what you just read is 99 percent verbatim to what had hit the www… so long ago.

My motivation for writing this story had been twofold.

1. As a young boy I had actually watched a robin repeatedly attacking the window of my family’s garage.

2. Birdbrain George W. Bush’s similar behavior. He, too, had needlessly, pointlessly gone to war (with Iraq)… his basis for doing so based on the illusion / delusion of that nation possessing WMD / being a threat to America.

The MSM had a golden opportunity to nail in that “burlap fabric” to cover (or is that uncover?) W’s illusion / delusion… well… i.e., had the Fourth Estate been a team of real, investigative journalists properly doing their  homework.

So… how relevant to today’s world is a nearly ten-year-old blog?

Well… as far as priorities go… keeping the peace still bottoms out the list of today’s crop of crappy, scrappy GOP POTUS candidates… the Middle East continues to reel and spin out of control from the devastation from  W’s destabilizing Iraq war… Republican Senators and Representatives / Supreme Court Judges have learned nothing… I repeat… NOTHING… from their law-breaking / unruly ways and… via their roadblocks to progress… continue to preserve, protect and defend W’s failed policies… NOT the U.S. Constitution. AND… last but not least… the MSM is still not doing its job to educate Americans of this monumentally sorry state of affairs.

As proof… well… if Americans were being properly clued in… a birdbrain such as Donald Trump (a human/robin hybrid sporting Trump’s head and tweeting wildly… on Twitter?) would’ve been laughed off the stage… no… strike that… would’ve been booed off the stage long ago… and those dissenting voices would’ve been singing out… in full harmony… in our bipartisan chorus.

I did come up with a third, updated moral to “A Parable”:

Don’t be a birdbrain by voting for birdbrain Republicans.