Jeopardy (20 random answers to your unvoiced questions.)


Photo by Stephan Seeber from Pexels


I’ve been eating too much pizza lately, and today it went all down my blouse. Why pizza, and why is that a problem? Well, pizza is my go-to junk food, especially since I’ve sworn off red meat for a while – pepperoni doesn’t count. Thursday night, taco pizza, Friday lunch, calzone, Saturday lunch, personal pan pizza – all members of the pizza family.

While I would eat other kinds of pizza, pepperoni pizza is the only true pizza for me.

Why should I reveal this to you, dear readers? That’s a good question, and speaking of questions, Ezzie spewed about a bunch of answers in one of the upcoming episodes (first series on EJO), and dared her readers to guess the questions. Her answers were fictitious, of course, but let’s try it here.

  1. It depends on who you ask, either when I was 17 or 20. I’m not sure the earlier one counted.
  2. Pizza and Pepsi. Chocolate fudge mousse cake if there is any room left.
  3. Once.
  4. None.
  5. Wet, but not too warm.
  6. Slow, very slow.
  7. Feet, skin, in general. It’s a toss up.
  8. Peter Gabriel, So.
  9. Stravinsky, The Rite of Spring or Lutoslawski Symphony No 3
  10. Abstract, modern (ultra-modern?)
  11. Autumn.
  12. Salman Rushdie, The Moor’s Last Sigh.
  13. Angels.
  14. Science.
  15. Dance.
  16. Paris.
  17. Thought about it, but never did it.
  18. Evanescence.
  19. Brainiac.
  20. Publish a novel.

I’m going to leave the questions up to your imagination. (Some are obvious.)

Today’s haiku is my sixth haiku with a dance theme, this is the darkest of all: Sycophant Sling.


Thinking too much


Photo by mentatdgt from Pexels

Another shout out to Belgium. TCoA is certainly popular there, as well as India, but by the end of the day the US stormed back for the most hits. It probably has to do with what time of day I post and where it falls into their day. I posted three times yesterday on TCoA, two of them being later in the day, so India and Australia probably missed out. The late posts have probably slipped into today’s numbers.

Not that I pay any attention to them, although it is interesting to know where I am read.

I’ve been in an odd mood lately, as you can probably tell from my haiku, today’s especially: Psychosis Stomp. I’ve been thinking of the usual things (sex and sex), but I seem to be most distracted by weird things. Of course, yesterday’s bonus haiku (La bo su ni) was written in a language I made up several years ago. Even now, my eye latched on to a book on my shelf, Unendlicher Empfang (Infinite Reception). It’s a book about a composer that interests me. He is obsessed by infinity and processes. Yes, it is in German, and I have struggled through it.

I mentioned my attraction to shiny things a few days ago – silly things, like a pitcher of orange juice spilling to the floor in super-slo-mo caught my eye today. That’s much more interesting to me than cat or dog videos. (I’m allergic to cats, but they love me.) I’ve been struggling to avoid politics. It’s just too depressing.

Now, today’s photo struck me for odd reasons. Yes, she has a tummy to die for, but for me, I want that skirt. Could I rock it? Probably not, but I can dream. What really attracted me to the photo were the egg flats – that’s two flats of 36 eggs! Either she does a ton of baking, or eats a lot of eggs. I assume with a kitchen that size, she isn’t part of a big family. There are only 2 wine glasses in the dish drainer, I assume from dinner the previous night. I can’t imaging keeping that tummy with such a volume of eating, baking or otherwise.


Hot in Belgium


Photo by Diego Portrait from Pexels

And I’m not talking about waffles. Today TCoA has been lighting it up in Belgium, accounting for over half of my hits. I’m going to have to be more careful with my French in the future. (You won’t have to worry about me incorporating any Flemish in my writing.) My French is weak, but I have spent a few weeks in and around Paris, so I do know a few dozen words and phrases, and, of course, I know some music French. Some time ago, I attended a conference in Belgium, in Leuven, to be precise. I spent a couple of days in Brussels and drove up to Bruges. Like most of my European travel, I was able to survive mostly in English, making a token attempt at French from time to time. My German is much better, but in Frankfurt, the locals wouldn’t speak German to me. I ordered ein Bier at a bar, and the bartender immediately replied in English. They were happy to speak German to me in Copenhagen, where it’s like their third or fourth language, and they understand that Danish is difficult for outsiders.  (I’ve spent a lot of time in Denmark.) I confess that I didn’t attempt Finnish when I was in Tampere, other than Kiitos, which means thank you, but they were fine with that, as most could speak English.

So where is this all going? I suppose it is all about traveling, which mostly means Europe for me, having lived in the UK for 22 years. I’ve been to Canada several times, and to Mexico once – for about a half hour – it was a day trip from Tucson.

I’m pretty useless today. I ran/hobbled just short of 6 mi this morning and have to go face some bright young freshers in a couple of hours. I should be preparing my classes, but instead I’m blog-blog-blogging. I have most of a new Ezzie ready. I was mostly done last night, but I wanted to go over it again first. I’ll post it later today. I suppose today’s haiku (shadow ballet) is a remnant of that. I’ve been thinking a lot of being out in the moonlight on a summer evening, perhaps dancing naked in the moonlight, but that isn’t going to happen here. The backyard is fully visible to an adjacent roadway. The din of tree frogs, crickets, and cicadas is also a little maddening at times, not to mention the bugs. We have a LOT of bugs here.

I’m just rambling on, where she stops nobody know. There is a double bar coming up. I’m going to grab it and hold on.



I’m not doing this right, beginning without purpose, a plan to suck you in, or some might say sucker you in to reading this blog. I’m guilty.

But that is what I’m doing. Somewhere in this missive you might find that kernel of eternal truth, that tiny orgasm of thought that transcends the ordinary. I almost typed organism there, and I suppose there is some truth in that, whereas an eternal truth would spark a series of thoughts, of thinking, leading to an idea, and hopefully to the realization of that idea, growing like an organism, organically to its logical outcome.

Ah, but is logic a necessary path to all truth, or to a satisfactory outcome? If I am writing a story, whether it is fiction or non-fiction, and I take every logical turn and follow it to every logical outcome, is that satisfactory? It might be, but it won’t be transcendent. Perhaps a puzzle has multiple logical solutions, each leading to another with more multiple solutions, and so on. That is more like a fractal, which is natural as well as organic.

Now in that same model, take random puzzles to a different conclusion, not logical, but equally valid, or perhaps you take a series of puzzles with their valid (but not necessarily logical) results, obscure some of them, but still reach a valid conclusion.

That is art.

Art doesn’t need to equal the sum of its parts. It should transcend them. Come with me on a journey, take 25 steps, reappear on a different path, take another 10, appear in a desert with no path, turn to your left, awake into a dream, roll over, slip into an alternate reality, touch me, I caress you, it rains lightly, close your eyes, wake up in another universe.


A fumble in the jungle

9 of SWORDS Cruelty. (inverted)

Well, the inversion is a mixed blessing. It can mean anxiety or stress, or nightmares, although not as bad as if the card were upright.

I picked a card today, hoping that it would help me veer away from my reminiscences of the past few days. I went full-bodied on my haiku for today: Heels over head.

I’m still struggling. I didn’t have any nightmares, so probably anxiety is the word of the day. I start teaching next week and one of my classes is still in its infancy. This week is full of meetings, and that is cramping my style. My main summer project is barely started, and I’ve had some freelance work come in, which I haven’t begun at all.

I’m the procrastination queen.

And I’ve just heard a rumble of thunder. I need to go somewhere in about 15 minutes to pick someone up, and that could be a wet affair. Well, it isn’t an affair, but it could be wet.

I do like it wet, but that will be 90 and wet, so it might be sultry. I’m not sure I want to be soaked where I’m going, though. I  just had a look at the radar, and it’s a small storm. Something much larger will pass through later on. I should be home by then.

Blah, blah, blah. I just saw a pair of scantily-clad runners pass by. Maybe I should indulge in a fantasy in a storm of a pair of runners thrown together in a hot and heavy coupling under shelter. Or maybe there is a blast of thunder that throws them off the road into each other’s arms, and since the rain is pelting down, and nobody can see them, they have a quick fumble in the grass.

Yeah, well, I might have written something like that a few years ago, but it seems so cliche now.

Show me that you love me

It’s hot, hot, hot outside, in the mid-nineties, and people are still out on runs and walks past my window, where I can watch them unseen, as they float by, scantily clad. I would say that I wished I was out there with them, but when it is that hot, I melt, and my ankle is still fragile. (My half hour on the treadmill hurt today.) When I’m lucky, the cross-country team runs by. You can tell them by their attire. Men in black shorts (short shorts, not tights) with no shirt, blasting by at a pace that I could only dream about. Occasionally, there is one woman with them, and sometimes another further back. The ladies team also runs by sometimes, but their attire is less rigid – black running briefs with either a red or white running sports bra.

I didn’t run on the college team, but in high school the dress code was much more prim. Red shorts – tighter and shorter than men’s, but not tights. The tops were knit fitted t-shirts. No bare shoulders. They didn’t show much, but at least we looked like women, even the tall flat-chested ones, like me. I was going to try to find you a pic, but that would require too much effort. I’m safe in saying that my senior yearbook didn’t show any members of the ladies team. Let’s just say that we looked more like a volleyball team.

So what does that have to do with the title of this piece? Very little actually. I suppose the showing aspect, I guess. That’s stretching it. I certainly show more when I run now than I did back then, but not nearly as much as the lithe lasses that sprint by here these days. I confess that I watch them as much as the men. They are frickin’ amazing! I was fast in HS. I was even fast in college. (But not that fast!) Our college VP saw me run an obstacle course during our May Day games – I hurdled the high jump bar when most just knocked it over. He told me I should have been on the track team. That showed me a little love at a time when I wasn’t getting much.

I seem to be reminiscing a lot lately, when I should be talking about sex. That’s why I’m here. Right?

Another thing that this reminded me of was my boyfriends in HS and college … and grad school … and …

They were very good at telling me that they loved me, but weren’t good at showing it. There was one that refused to use the L-word, unless I was the one. I wasn’t, but he finally did, just to humor me. At least, he was being honest. He didn’t want to be encumbered by me when he went to college. (He was older than me.)

Have I at least made it to a point? Should I stop while I’m ahead?

Oh yeah, the haiku: Desensitized

Exercised, exorcised?


Photo by Tim Savage from Pexels

I’m clueless. I don’t understand this place. As I’ve said before, I write for me. I like the likes and follows, comment on others that interest me, but I have until now given real feedback. People only want to hear praise. I understand, but I would rather engage. I’m different.

I look at everyone who like or follow me, and if their content interests me, I follow them and even comment if appropriate. Unfortunately, many of those who follow me are in it for themselves. They are selling something, blogging about blogging, travel, food, get-rich-quick, and the like. They are all promoting something. That’s not what I’m here for. I want to read interesting things: poetry, fiction, interesting non-fiction, world events, funny things – things like that. Even after I publish my anthology, this site will still be all about creation.

Media in the US irks me. Yes, I know that’s an old-fashioned term, but it just seems to be the right one for this. Spending 6 weeks in the UK this summer put it all into perspective. We got real news from all over the world, and it wasn’t just wall-to-wall Trumpity Trump, the senile dictator. I’m not accusing the American media of being fake. I’m accusing them of being self-absorbed. I rarely hear anything about Europe or Africa. The Kashmir issue is exercising them now, as is Hong Kong, but that seems to be all that is happening in the world according to American media. We have forgotten about Syria, Russia, and South America.

Here’s a thought. Let’s not report on Trump for a day. OK, if there is something to report, report it, and then move on to more important news – surely most news in more important than him. Stop all this speculating and navel-gazing. It’s all unpaid campaign advertising for the amateur. Oh, for a Trump-free zone!

I was watching something on Netflicks last night, and I saw (shhh) nipples and heard swearing. Whipty-do! You can see them any night on UK television after 9 pm, and I don’t mean premium or cable – it’s on mainstream free terrestrial TV.

What happened to the First Amendment right to free speech? Our terrestrial broadcasters are censored. We all have skin. Why demonize it? Most of us swear from time to time, why shouldn’t television reflect America? If you don’t like it, don’t watch that program. Of course, there can be limits. Somebody must determine what porn and bad taste is, but leave that to the middle ground, not the puritanical religious right. Like the UK, limit what is allowed to times when fewer children watch – 9 pm-5:30 am. (8 pm on premium or pay per view.) Here are the UK rules on offensive content:

Unsuitable material can include everything from sexual content to violence, graphic or distressing imagery and swearing. For example, the most offensive language must not be broadcast before the watershed (9 pm) on TV or, on radio, when children are particularly likely to be listening. Frequent use of offensive language must be avoided before the watershed, and must always be justified by its context.

That is qualified by a statement that the transition shouldn’t be sudden. And notice “frequent use”. That means you can swear at any time, just don’t do it a lot. It all seems reasonable to me.

Ignoring First Amendment rights, we all get exercised about the Second Amendment which ensures the right to a well-regulated militia, and the right for people to bear arms. No, it doesn’t ensure the right for ALL people to bear arms. Until recently, it was read as allowing a well-regulated militia to bear arms, i.e a police force administered by the people. Neither does it say ANY or any number of arms. I advocate going back to how it was read in the middle of the 20th century. Regulate and license who can bear arms, and limit firepower to pistols and hunting weapons, and users must take firearms training to be allowed to purchase in limited numbers. Existing licensed weapons over a certain size must be handed over (or bought back) and for all smaller weapons, licensees must undergo significant firearms training. That is sensible gun regulation.

Let’s exorcise the wackos from our legislation, and find common sense.