Song Parody

I posted the following on Facebook yesterday… (so you would have to check there to verify some of the next paragraph’s content).
I know I have been wildly overposting (and on a certain set of subjects, admittedly), but when a friend asked us to play a little game of what-popular-song-do-you-really-dislike (a good game for all of you to play, too), another high school friend suggested my least favorite song, the Lee Greenwood audiophobic turd from the well gone, unmissed Reagan era. Its trite melody is uncannily and execrably mnemonic, perhaps the master ear worm. So that makes it annoying. However, those awful lyrics are not just sappy but stupid, truly meaningless (and if anyone cares, I could go into an extended syntactico-logico-philosophico-historico-political critical analysis on its more or less utter lack of actual content). There may be worse poetry, but it usually isn’t associated with such an irritation of a tune or jingoistic hoopla.
So during a conversational lapse whilst The Lovely One and I took a noontime walk, as the demonic strain tormented my thoughtstream with those satanic lyrics, I began to compose my own contemporarily relevant parody.
There is still one very bad line* (not to mention the deliberately lifted entire verse from the original), and it’s definitely nothing but a work in progress, but my friend suggested I should give my little satire a wider exposure than as a sub-sub-sub comment/reply on his post.
Enjoy.

“I’m Afraid I’ll Get the Virus”

Tomorrow everything could be gone
That we’ve wanted all our lives
We may have to start again
With just hand wipes by our side
So, washed up with soap and suds
Let’s keep living here today
Isolation makes for freedom
That the virus would take away

I’m afraid to get the virus
That COVID-dash-19
And so, you see, I’m staying home
That’s where we all should be
I’ll gladly keep away from you
And defend our lives this way
Without that distancing anyone could die
If the virus has its way

From the lakes of Minnesota
To the hills of Tennessee
Across the plains of Texas
From sea to shining sea
From Detroit down to Houston
And New York to L.A.

There’s fear in every American heart
So it’s time to hide away

I’m afraid to get the virus
That COVID-dash-19
And so, you see, I’m staying home
That’s where we all should be
I’ll gladly keep away from you
And defend our lives this way
Scrub those hands, fbud, or anyone could die
If the virus has its way
I’m afraid to get the virus
That COVID-dash-19
And so, you see, I’m staying home
That’s where we all should be
I’ll gladly keep away from you
And defend our lives this way
No hands to face now, or anyone could die
If the virus has its way

(c) 2020 Magickal Monkey Enterprises, Ltd., S.A.

A New Poem

I wrote this yesterday morning. The coffee arrived today.

photo-2017-04-21-16-57.jpg

Actual Quantum View result


UPS, Oops

I think it pleasant
That packages being delivered through
United Parcel Service and their
Dark brown vans
Around here
In the Midwest
Usually pass through
Earth City, MO,
As confirmed by clicking the link in your personalized email
To confirm the progress of your coffee,
Finally on its way west from Tennessee.

Although philosophically disconcerting
That the message is named “Quantum View,”
Suggesting the clarity of place in this process
Determines just the uncertainty on speed
One would prefer to remove.

Imprecisely quite like how GPS
For photos and journal locations
Pinpoints not my home but
The antique green CenturyLink communications pillar
Diagonally across the street.

 — 2017/04/20

(C) 2017 Magickal Monkey Enerprises, Ltd., S.A. 

photo2-2017-04-21-16-57.jpg

My official location, it seems.

LookHere

Look Here

If you should, searching, ever leave me,

then you must run very quick away,

for without your presence I am not free,

and I would pursue you day on day,

fettered by your desertion, seeking we.

There is no gladness, never play

in your absence; all joys are transitory:

I must know you to hold the world at bay.

Because you slipped your blood beneath my mind,

where deformed childhood strangled life and eyes,

and lovingly unwove the knots, never be unkind,

for you alone negate, defy that universe of sighs.

If you should ever search to leave me,

remember, you will unspeak who makes me be.

from a revised typescript (edited in pencil and black ink)

2 October 1975 / 14 December 1975

©2010 John Randolph Burrow, Magickal Monkey Enterprises, Ltd, S.A.

Grill (some construction required) 2015

Saturday in April, Afternoon

I built a grill today,
This afternoon for ninety minutes,
As clouds closed in out of the graying southwest
With thunder,
Utterly absorbed in the frustrations and eventual successes of the task
(Just how many hands do those technical artists,
For surely no writer was involved with those inimical instructions,
Think one consumer has? I needed three several times).
Old body, fat, barely able to elude gravity,
Elevating from knees and ass, knuckles grinding familiar pain,
Found new ways to get at what I had to do.

We grilled shrimp, be-pestoed, after leaving all three fires roaring full out
For fifteen minutes,
As instructed on the page of tiny print that followed
In the folio-huge Owner’s Manual booklet
The sixteen drawings of the constructive steps,
Which weren’t, let’s stress again, stages to madness
Today, at any rate. Infuriating only sometimes, too.

Eating, I came to wonder how many more grills I’ll put together.
Will this be the last? Pray not. Avert! Away!
(It spattered little droplets to quickly steam upon the black lid,
But no rain — thunder without storm. Again.)

I’ve done how many now? Five? Eight? A dozen surely not.
I never had a grill (well, there was a little charcoal thing way back
Even in the days of the Colonial house where the bathroom leaked
We rented back at the time my father died, alone,
Crushed under the van whose brakes he wished to warm
That year, just days before Christmas. Stephen phoned me
With the news while I was at work.
I took the call in the superintendent’s office, which was on the corner
That half flight down from my room then.) until we moved here.
But that was over thirty years ago. (We’ve really lived here that long
Now. The mortgage was paid off half a decade back.
You are retired now, longer than you’ve had to pay your own
Property taxes yourself, no escrow any more.)
With each new grill, it seems there’s more I need to do
And less the manufacturer has put together first —
This one without a propane tank.

Shall I finally take time and care to keep this one going,
Cleaning the grates, scraping out the greasy droppings
From the currently unencrusted bottom?
Make this one last?
Until the night has me for supper and the property,
Possessions — books, electronics, clothes and all whatevers —
Cease to matter.

Not too soon.

  — Sunday, 18/04/2015

photo-2017-04-18-11-08.jpg
The grill today, two years later. The interior is burnt-fat-encrusted, but the grates are clean.

Assaulted by HPB (Again)

I guess I must become more venturesome and imaginative with my means of disposal for old items, henceforth principally books. Because I really took a lesson today, firmly from behind, from Half-Price Books.

Hello, I’m back, amusingly enough (to me, anyway). Since last you heard from me, I worked diligently all summer, effectively since that last embarrassing post, that stayed stuck at the head of the home page here for so long, until mid-September. Trapping bugs again for USDA APHIS PPQ (only Gypsy moths in 2014 — found two, too).

Then we, My Beloved and I, went to Toronto for our annual vacation, late October. A lovely time that was, too, including our opportunity to see The Book of Mormon.

And desultorily after that I have struggled cleaning out the back room in our basement — kind of my closet and a general storage space, also where my paperback science fiction and mystery books resided (and twenty years of old sci-fi magazines and… ). Although I have only removed crap and books and magazines from one corner so far, that effort created four garbage bags of… garbage, an entire truckbed of recycling, and (to the point of this post) thirteen boxes, some of them small but two of them quite large, of books, mostly mystery novels.

Today, The Lovely One using up her last few vacation days before the year expires, we loaded those boxes into her car and drove, the morning air misty with light snow flurries, to Half-Price Books — notorious to fans of the blog for offering me just $263 for my/our entire vinyl (and cassette) record collection a few years (but not so many blog posts) ago.

They outdid themselves in stinginess today, though, bidding only $39 for the several hundred volumes we carried into the Marion store. They insisted most were unsellable in poor condition (meaning they had been read).

But I took it, returning only my Brother Cadfaels (once a complete collection) and the Ngaio Marsh volumes (also once all of her mysteries), that I could locate in the stacks they had created out of our boxes, with us. I felt abused.

Sigh.

Time perhaps to learn to do more than merely buy on eBay, methinks.

Of Gas & Precipitation

Presented, to your dismay, sans contrition…

A Poem

He blew two sequent farts
of such obnoxious distinktion
that the effluviatic foetor
malingering in the domestic atmosphere
drove him out of doors.

Yea, verily, even into the rain
that, proverbial Bardolotriessence,
raineth quotidiantic,
quondamnically.

— Tuesday, 29 April 2014

20140429-095849.jpg

Episodes of Epistaxis

Recently, Life has, repeatedly, given me a bloody nose. And I don‘t like or understand it.

I never previously suffered with nosebleeds (okay, possibly once when I smacked my face into something, but not frequently and not mysteriously, as has been the situation this past month). Now, not to panic — such bleeding has only occurred four (or five) times, and it always clots away pretty fast, in an hour or less, nostril squinched closed between fingers clutching blood-absorbing kleenex (okay, Big Corporate — “facial tissues”). I havenʼt even been deprived of much of my precious sanguinous fluid, but this bodily misbehavior is new and puzzling.

Sure, it has been very cold (last night may again have set a record subzero low) and therefore dry both indoors and out, but I never spontaneously spouted red before… I would like to know what‘s up.

And that (rather moderately strongly motivated) curiosity prompts me to (after yet another two-month gap) to post anew here on Wakdjunkaga‘s Blog.

I have for years been taking a prophylactic blood-pressure-reducing (and arthritic base-of-thumbs pain-alleviating) nightly aspirin (or two) which I have ceased for several weeks, thanks to this novelty of spontaneous bloody eruptions from my left nostril. Did (optimistically) thinning my blood cause this (possibly age-related) unpleasant phenomenon?

And, abashed, I acknowledge that I do possess witlessly a lifelong unwholesome habit of digitally disentangling dried olfactory viscidity, and an errant fingernail may have in a thoughtless moment abraded a surface vein or capillary. (Yeah, sometimes my affection for periphrasitic pleonasm may have its euphemistic benefits.) And such boorish personal expurgations (but always restricted to private moments) may have unconsciously occurred since the epistaxis began…

However, I have diligently attempted to cease both possibly conducive activities — medicinal and chamferous. So far to no avail.

WikiHow "How to Stop a Nosebleed" — There are an amazing number of manga images of nosebleeds when one googles the term Try it yourself.

WikiHow “How to Stop a Nosebleed” — An amazing number of manga images of nosebleeds result when one googles the term!

The first incident was February 2, as I was bent over trying to tie my shoes before we left town for the day (which we did but an hour or so later than we might have done without exsanguination). I had the idea perhaps the stress of doubling my fat belly to reach my ankles might be causative (and I still wonder, as you will see). A small second eruption seeped spontaneously while we were looking for birthday cards at Target a few hours later; I plugged myself and sat on a bench by the doors, feeling inadequate until she had bought her selections, by which time, maybe ten or fifteen minutes later, it had ceased.

The second was the most startling so far (okay, maybe third). February 8, in the evening, as I was just begun on my shower, suddenly there was red all over. It took me a minute both to see and to realize. And it was really gushing, too. Just great. Janet scurried to my aid, and I had to stay both naked and incompletely dry for too many minutes before clambering one-handed into nightclothes and sitting myself quietly in my TV-viewing recliner for a good forty minutes (or more). She had to clean up my phlebotomistic mess, unfortunately. I eventually went to bed dreading that I might suffer another bout onto my pillow — although I did not.

Assuming I didn‘t skip any events, the third/fourth experience delayed until the 26th. During the gap I did halt the aspirin intake, mostly, but had returned to a baby tablet at night while we had been away for her birthday celebration at her sister‘s house. So I had consumed minute aspirins five nights (maybe fewer, as I don’t recall if I took one every evening). This time I had just finished dressing myself to head east for the nightly workout when I realized I had swiped blood onto the back of my hand. Eff! This bout extended over an hour, with several resurgences, each always on a reduced scale after I believed it had stanched. No workout that night…

And the fourth, most recent was yesterday morning (thus two within a week lately). I had arisen, not particularly early, ready to shovel snow, as we had received a new four inches or so overnight (actually all Saturday afternoon and into the night, and I had scraped away what might have been two inches midafternoon, after a previous inch Friday night). This time, I had gotten outside and pushed two big passes of snow away, realizing I really should get out the snowblower, when, on my way back across the driveway to the garage door, I saw red spots form on the snow. Effing eff of eff! Yesterday, I pinched my nose for maybe twenty minutes and three absorbent paper squares until She-Who-Must was ready herself to do the snowblowing, when I just jammed a new kleenex (“nasal tissue,” whatever) into my nostril, most of it hanging down over my lips, and quickly hatted and gloved to go out and help/show her how to get started. I kept at it (scraping at snow and machine tracks), with one replacement of the instantly frozen kleenex until the job was done a half hour later, and my epistaxic episode had concluded. (I liked not feeling like an invalid, worthless, while the incident proceeded.)

And that is where this new unpleasantness in the corporal husk stands as of now. Puzzling and distressing. Is exertion to blame? Am I headed for apoplexy? Will a perhaps lacerated blood vessel heal and end my predicament? No more aspirin, ever? Should I investigate nosebleeds as a consequence of lisinopril and/or simvastatin intake? Suggestions?

Advice or insight on this annoying development would be appreciated.

(Sorry about the gruesome topic, but I did previously write on ocular migraine symptoms and lipoma surgery. This issue — hideous pun — seemed to be right in line with those topics — quite popular, at least by hit counts. And I really would appreciate some advice.)

(composed with Bluetooth keyboard in MacJournal for iPad, transferred by wifi to the computer for editing and uploading for further editing to WordPress)

©2014 John Randolph Burrow, Magickal Monkey Enterprises, Ltd, S.A.