Monthly Archives: August 2021

Murky Deepends

My mother is dying.

My sister called last night to tell me that this time, when she went into the hospital for her chronic heart problem, she would not be coming out again.

She is 87 years old, just half a year younger than when we lost her mother at 88. And at almost 65 it is not unreasonable to believe that I have to expect to lose my mother sooner rather than later. But I am still not ready to lose my mother.

See this ugly little hairy mushroom-guy? This is Murky Deepends. I started drawing him as a teenager. I needed to see him face to face… because I was a survivor of a sexual assault. I started drawing him after the phone call that kept me from killing myself.

And this picture of him that I drew today is the only picture of him that I still have. I may have drawn hundreds over the years. I drew him to tear up the picture, or burn the picture, or soak it in water and flush it down the toilet.

Murky is my depression.

And before I could use him as an illustration for this piece, I had to make sure I put a black box around him. No way can I ever let him escape again to grow and take over my life one more time. I cannot let him win.

I know he looks kind of sad and pitiful. But don’t feel sorry for him. He’s a stone cold killer. And if you look at him carefully enough, you may detect a smile on his face.

I am sad now about my mother. But it is okay to be sad. I lost my father less than a year ago. During the pandemic lockdown. I did not get to see him before he died. I did not get to attend his funeral.

My fear is that the same thing will happen now with Mom. I have no way to safely get to Iowa again. The pandemic is raging again in both Texas and Iowa with the Delta variant. My sister is the only one who can get into see her and be with her according to hospital Covid rules. (Mom does not have Covid. Only a weak and failing heart.)

And it is okay to feel sad. I have earned the right to be sad through 63 and three quarters years of love and devotion.

And Murky has no place in my sadness. Murky is depression. Not a feeling like sadness, but an absence of feeling, a numbness and incapacitation. So, I will keep him in a box or destroy him completely. I will get through this with the rest of my family, and Murky will not have any power over me.

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Filed under battling depression, Depression, Uncategorized

How To Write A Mickian Essay

mickeynose

I know the last thing you would ever consider doing is to take up writing essays like these.  What kind of a moronic bingo-boingo clown wants to take everything he or she knows, put it in a high-speed blender and turn it all into idea milkshakes?

But I was a writing teacher for many years.  And now, being retired and having no students to yell at when my blood pressure gets high, the urge to teach it again is overwhelming.

So, here goes…

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Once you have picked the silly, pointless, or semi-obnoxious idea you want to shape the essay around, you have to write a lead.  A lead is the attention-grabbing device or booby-trap for readers that will draw them into your essay.  In a Mickian essay, whose purpose is to entertain, or possibly bore you in a mildly amusing manner, or cause you enough brain damage to make you want to send me money (this last possibility never seems to work, but I thought I’d throw it in there just in case), the lead is usually a  “surpriser”, something so amazingly dumb or off-the-wall crazy that you just have to read, at least a little bit, to find out if this writer is really that insane or what.  The rest of the intro paragraph that is not part of the lead may be used to draw things together to suggest the essay is not simply a chaotic mass of silly words in random order.  It can point the reader down the jungle path that he or she can take to come out of the other end of the essay alive.

Once started on this insane quest to build an essay that will strangle the senses and mix up the mind of the reader, you have to carry out the plan in three or four body paragraphs.  This is where you have to use those bricks of brainiac bull-puckie that you have saved up to be the concrete details in the framework of the main rooms of the little idea-house you are constructing.  If you were to number or label these main rooms, this one you are reading now would, for example, be Room #2, or B, or “the second body paragraph”.  And as you read this paragraph, you should be thinking in the voice of your favorite English teacher of all time.  The three main rooms in this example idea house are beginning, middle, and end.  You could also call them introduction, body, and conclusion.  These are the rooms of your idea house that the reader will live in during his or her brief stay (assuming they don’t run out of the house screaming after seeing the clutter in the entryway).

Teacher

The last thing you have to do is the concluding paragraph.  (Of course, you have to realize that we are not actually there yet in this essay.  This is Room C in the smelly chickenhouse of this essay, the third body paragraph.)  The escape hatch on the essay that may potentially explode into fireworks of thoughts, daydreams, or plans for something better to do with your life than a read an essay written by an insane former middle school English teacher at any moment, is a necessary part of the whole process.  This is where you have to remind them of what the essay is basically about, and leave them with the thought that you want to haunt them in their nightmares later.  The last thing that you say in the essay is the thing they are the most likely to remember.  So you need to save the best for last.

So, here, finally, is the exit door to this masterfully mixed-up Mickian Essay.  It is a simple, and straightforward structure.  The introduction containing the lead is followed by three or four body paragraphs that develop the idea and end in a conclusion that summarizes or simply restates the overall main idea.  And now you know why all of my former students either know how to construct an essay, or have several years left in therapy sessions with a psychiatrist.

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Horatio T. Dogg… Canto 8

But the Game Wasn’t Over

Mike and Blueberry sat next to the hero of the bottom of the first, happier than Bobby had seen them in a long time.  And what was even better, he knew he was himself the reason.  The Pirates led three to nothing.  But Tim got out on the next fly ball, popping it to Delwyn of all people.  And, wouldn’t you know it, this time Delwyn didn’t drop it.

It was, like all 4-H softball games, a five-inning game.  And being the home team, the Pirates only had to hold on to the lead until the top of the fifth inning was over.  And Mike was on his usual game.  That fastball, even though it was underhanded and using a ball that floated through the air like a watermelon, burned holes through the Lincoln township bats and Tim Kellogg’s catcher’s mitt for good measure.  Three more strike-outs in each of the second, and third innings.

But Clarion’s blond Apollo wasn’t going to stay shook up for a whole game either.  And he could also windmill in a scorching-hot fastball.  He matched Mike strikeout after strikeout.

In the fourth inning, both teams got a couple of runners on base.  But the Leaders scored two runs when Watson hit a double with runners on base.  And the Pirate’s fourth had two men on base, one of whom was a girl, but Bobby struck out instead of driving them in, and Tim made the last out again after him.

So, it all came down to the final inning, and the Pirates with only a one-run lead.

Bobby, of course, spoke directly to the Big Guy in the Sky.  “Don’t let them hit it to me.  Whatever you do, don’t make that ball come to me.”

The first batter up was Leroy Watson.  And wouldn’t you know it, the gol darn Apollo hit a ball to deep left field that Billy Martin could only get to on the bounce.  Billy’s arm was good enough to wing it into the home plate to hold Watson to a triple.  Still, the tying run was on third base.

Mike on the mound had to really bear down and throw hard strikes for the rest of the inning.  The next two Leaders struck out.  But you could see the strain on Mike’s face.  In fact, you could see it all the way from deep right field.
“Please, don’t let that ball come to me.  Hit it to Billy.  He’s good at catching fly balls.  He’ll win the game for us.”

But it didn’t get hit out to any field.  In fact, the bats didn’t get near the ball for two more batters.  Mike pitched eight consecutive balls outside the strike zone.

“It’s okay, Mike.  Let your fielders help you.  Your arm is getting tired of throwing it so hard,” Coach Kellogg said in a wise old voice that made Bobby’s heart drop down from the middle of his chest, down into his behind, and eventually down his right leg and all the way out through the bottom of his right shoe.

And Bobby knew where it was coming.  Delwyn Marmoody was up to bat.  And Bobby’s heart was tunnelling down into the grass somewhere beneath him.

“Be on your toes, fielders!” cried Tim from his position at catcher.

“You can do this, Bobby!” cried Blueberry from the bench.

Why did she have to yell that?  She put the curse on him!  He wished he could turn into a swan once again and fly away.

Two strikes and two balls later, Delwyn swung.  The bat went, “TUNK!”  And the ball was flying through the air… Directly at Bobby in right field.

“Gotta get under it”

“You can do it, Bobby!”

“Shut up, Blue!”

And then it settled into Bobby’s open glove.

And he was about to lift it high in the air in triumph…

When it rolled out again and hit the ground, somewhere on top of Bobby’s buried heart.

“AW, NO!!!” cried the Norwall crowd in unison.

The runners were going with the crack of the bat, so two of them had already crossed the plate when Billy came scrambling into right field, got the ball and cannoned it to home plate to keep them only one run behind.  The runner trying for a third score was out at the plate.

                                    *****

There was a shallow hope in the bottom of the fifth inning.  Two runs would win the game.  One run would tie it and give them an extra inning.

But Johnny Miller struck out. 

And when Dilsey Murphy got up, she hit a double to right field.  And there was a glimmer of hope with one out.

Then Mike got up.  Mike was the most dangerous hitter the Pirates had.  Watson intentionally walked him.

“It’s gonna be hero time again for you, Bobby,” Blueberry whispered in his ear.

Frosty Anderson got up to the plate with his meanest game-face sneering away at the Clarion Apollo.  He banged the heavy bat Mike had used on the plate to show how much business he actually meant.

“Hit it out, Frosty!” hollered Tim Kellogg.  “Or you-know-who is up next!”

Bobby did know who.  And there went his heart again, headed for the depths of the dirt in the dugout.

The pitch swished in at just about the perfect spot for Frosty to hit it, and he swung with all the might of Hercules.  He topped the ball to the third baseman who stepped on the bag and zipped to first for the double play.

Frosty Anderson came barrelling over to the Pirate bench with so much anger that fire was blazing up out of his ears and lighting his blond hair on fire.

“You know who really lost us the game, don’t you?” he screamed directly at Bobby.  Suddenly he was directly in front of Bobby, pushing him with two hands.  Bobby went backwards over the bench and landed on his back in the sand.

Mike grabbed Frosty from behind, whirled him around, and presented him with a cocked right fist, ready to knock the angry boy’s block off just like in the Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots commercials.

“You need to blame somebody, hero?  Who hit into the double play at the end?  Bobby’s on our team.  And he’s the one who drove in three runs to put us ahead.”

“Okay, okay… Sorry, Bobby.  But he did drop the game-ending out.”

“Whatta you think, Bobby?  Should I hit him?”

“No, please don’t.  He’s a Pirate too.”

“Good boy, Bob.  That’s the way we hold a team together,” said Coach Kellogg as he picked Bobby up off the ground and set him back on his own feet again.

The whole group said that it wasn’t Bobby’s fault that they lost, mostly because Coach Kellogg asked them to, but not all of them meant it.

“We almost won,” said Blueberry.

“No, we didn’t,” Bobby said quietly so only Blue could hear, “But thanks for thinking so.  You have a good heart.”

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Filed under heroes, humor, kids, novel, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney

The Fairy’s Final Evolution

Here’s the colored pencil version of Derfentwinkle, girl fairy. I like this one a lot better.

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Filed under art editing, artwork, fairies, nudes, Paffooney

Evolution of a Fairy

I decided to be lazy today. The work I am sharing with you only took a week to accomplish.

She was inspired by a cartoon character in an old animated TV show. But the model for this idea was fully clothed and not a fairy. I don’t know why I felt it necessary to portray her nude.

But drawing clothes made from leaves and acorn caps is hard. So, this little 3-inch-tall fairy girl decided to pose nude.

This is a second drawing. The first one was a little too revealing and I felt the need to give her a longer braid.

This, then, is Derfentwinkle, a fairy resident of the Hidden Kingdom of Tellosia. Specifically she is the apprentice of an incompetent necromancer known as Old Bumble Bones.

Once I had the drawing scanned into a jpeg, I decided to enhance it with the basic paint program that came with the computer back when I bought it.

I am not overly fond of this kind of coloring. My old laptop is quirky and unreliable, and my arthritic fingers still prefer a pencil to a mouse or a keypad. So, I may recolor it with colored pencil, But for now, here she is in all her glory.

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Chasing What is Real

In 2012 I completed and published Catch a Falling Star. That novel is about aliens who speak English because they have been watching old television broadcasts from Earth and absolutely adore I Love Lucy reruns. They invade Earth via one small town in Iowa where they make the fatal mistake of being charmed by humans. The juvenile specimen they kidnap, Dorin Dobbs, leads a tadpole mutiny aboard the Tellerons’ space ship. The tadpole they accidentally leave behind on Earth is adopted and becomes beloved by a childless farm couple. And Commander Biznap falls deeply in love with a septuagenarian Sunday School teacher who aids him, and he rewards with a return to her youthful twenties via de-aging technology. The invasion gets defeated. Someone disintegrates himself, and the Tellerons leave having learned to be better people as they flee to Mars in defeat.

Of course, this novel, written while I was still teaching for the Garland School District, is ultimately the origin of my manic love of researching conspiracy theories. After publishing the novel, I had a dream about the book. I dreamed that aliens had read the book and began chasing me, wanting to know how I knew what I knew about them. I tried to tell them that I made it all up, but they didn’t believe me.

So, after I had written and published the book, I took up researching alien contact and flying saucer encounters Wow! I began to see what some really, obviously insane people believe is true, as well as what some very intelligent and credible people hesitantly report, revealing some insanely disturbing things.

I do not believe any of the stories told by David Icke, the lecturer who sells books and lectures on the existence of shape-shifting lizard-people who masquerade as important government figures and celebrities. (Although the orange president we so recently had was definitely a lizard pf some kind ) Icke is very easily recognizable as a grifter and con man. Of course, his grifts are all legal. If lying were completely illegal, fiction writers would be out of business, and nobody would fall in love or be able to sell real estate.

But one cannot quickly dismiss the work of journalist and physicist Stanton Friedman so easily. He had an interview experience with Major Jesse Marcel who was the intelligence officer on the New Mexico base in 1947, and who told Friedman what may be the real story behind the Roswell Incident . This was a credible source telling a story as a whistle-blower years after the actual experience which was very different than the government’s version of events in spite of the fact that Marcel and other witnesses had been threatened to keep the secret.

The real trick to this fascinating search for reality in the bizarre world of alien contact, MUFON researchers, and underground alien facilities is to accept that complete knowledge of reality is unattainable.

You know that something real is being covered up based on the elaborate cover-up efforts that the authorities have gone through. Weather balloons? Really? Even Project Mogul balloons for spying on Russian atomic-bomb efforts? Well, maybe. But there are so many things that were subjected to cover-up, misinformation campaigns, threatening witnesses, Men in Black, and deathbed confessions that you have to believe something very disturbing is actually real. It is real that lying is going on on both sides. And there are a lot of concerning facts brought out by people who have nothing to gain by their revelations and an awful lot to lose. Some have even died.

So, you have to detect lies and juggle the lies of liars to get anywhere near to reality. And I have applied the process to more than one conspiracy theory.

Here are some things that I have concluded (at least until more information surfaces.)

In the 1940’s and 50’s the U.S. government knocked down a handful of flying saucers and UFOs using high-intensity radar waves developed for World War II. Bob Lazar is probably telling the truth. Linda Moulton Howe is probably telling the truth. Travis Walton is probably also telling the truth, but is less believable than the other two. David Icke and Alex Jones are liars. The Ancient Aliens program from History Channel and now on Netflix is not solid science, but have some very interesting details to add to the mysteries. The government definitely knows about aliens, either because they made contact with other worlds in the Eisenhower Administration, or because they are producing the information themselves to cover up something far more concerning.

The important thing in this topic is not the reality of aliens visiting Earth. The important thing is how the reality of the topic is pursued. Are you going to be crazy or pursue a sensible information-gathering process where the results are tested and retested? ls it about my thinking processes. or am I deceiving myself? These questions are the reasons I do what I do. And also why I had to re-post this old post today with numerous typos corrected. Did the government put those in to make me look like an insane idiot? Or is my idiocy self-inflicted? You be the judge.

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Filed under autobiography, conspiracy theory, Paffooney

Portraying Key Characters

Since I have written my Hometown Novels as a series with certain recurring characters, it becomes important that I know what they look like in my own stupid head. So, I draw them. Mike Murphy and his girlfriend Blueberry Bates are good examples. They appear in The Bicycle-Wheel Genius, Magical Miss Morgan, and Catch a Falling Star.

Valerie Clarke is a main character in When the Captain Came Calling, Snow Babies, Sing Sad Songs, and He Rose on a Golden Wing.

Farbick the pilot and Davalon the tadpole are main characters in Catch a Falling Star, Stardusters and Space Lizards, and both appear in The Bicycle-Wheel Genius.

Sherry Cobble and her twin sister Shelly, both dedicated nudists, appear in Superchicken, Recipes for Gingerbread Children, The Baby Werewolf, The Boy… Forever, and Sherry by herself appears in A Field Guide to Fauns with her own twin daughters, Mandy and Tandy Clarke.

Brent Clarke is the leader of the Norwall Pirates in Superchicken, The Baby Werewolf, The Boy… Forever, and he appears as an adult in A Field Guide to Fauns, and The Wizard in his Keep.

Milt Morgan, from boyhood onward, is a wizard. He appears in Superchicken, The Baby Werewolf, The Boy… Forever, and he is an adult character in The Wizard in his Keep.

Tim Kellogg is the leader of the Pirates in the 1990’s. He appears in Catch a Falling Star, The Bicycle-Wheel Genius, and Magical Miss Morgan, as well as brief appearances in When the Captain Came Calling, Sing Sad Songs, and He Rose on a Golden Wing.

Torrie Brownfield is not actually a werewolf. He suffers from a genetic hair disorder called hypertrichosis. He appears in Recipes for Gingerbread Children and The Baby Werewolf.

Some characters have a single starring role, as Francois Martin does in Sing Sad Songs.

And Devon Martinez does in A Field Guide to Fauns.

I can always tell a better story when I know exactly what a character looks like. And I do that by drawing a picture.

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How to be Happy as you Grow Old and Loony

Every day I get a little bit older. Something new hurts that never hurt me before. An earlobe, a small toe on my right foot, a red spot on the back of my hand… a spider bite on my belly.

Something flits like a butterfly across my field of vision, caught only by my severely imperfect peripheral vision. Of course my keen old mind, sharpened by 31 years of teaching in Texas public schools, knows instantly that it is not a butterfly… No, it must be a little naked girl with butterfly wings. A fairy. What else could it be?

“It’s a bug,” the dog says affirmatively. “And if I can catch it, I’m gonna eat it! I hope it tastes like bacon.”

And then I try to argue that you shouldn’t snack on fairies. They are too much like little people, and you should not eat people.

But she insists you cannot argue about a dog’s right to eat what she catches because there is no such thing as a talking dog.

And she has a point. But she is old too. She’s going blind in one eye with a milk-white cataract. So, if it is a little naked girl with butterfly wings, she will never actually be able to catch it.

I guess I should seriously stop arguing with dogs who can’t really talk because I suppose it is evidence of an old man going a bit loony and losing his mind.

So, I dropped in on my old friend and noted chemist trying to create a happiness potion, Milton G. Dogwhiffle. He lives in that yellow house in our neighborhood that I only seem to be able to find when my blood sugar is a little bit low and I find it really easy to get lost… and see fairies in the bushes.

“Simon, my old friend, how’s the happiness potion coming?” I say in my silliest old-man voice.

“My name is not Simon,” Gilliam says with a surprised look on his face, “But the happiness formula is nearly perfected. It is, however, a potion for turning dogs into people which means they will then be able to work can openers and refrigerator doors which is the part that makes them the happiest.”

“I volunteer as a test subject,” my dog says.

“You can’t really talk, remember,” I tell her.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” said Ralph. “I am testing it on myself first. I used to be a cocker spaniel, you know.”

And this confused me further since I was almost sure Milton’s name used to be Chester P. Dogwhipple… not Ralph.

So, the dog and I wandered around the neighborhood for a while aimlessly, until I happened to remember where our house was. And that made me happy.

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Filed under fairies, happiness, humor, Paffooney, strange and wonderful ideas about life

As Mickey Writes

What the heck is that on her head? A furry giant spider? A super-poofy hairdo? Or is she practicing being a cheerleader with mop heads for pom-poms?

Since I was a child, my world has revolved around telling a story. Whether it is a matter of telling a joke, or telling what happened when the rooster attacked my girl cousin when she was a small child and then the hired man on my uncle’s farm killed that rooster with a shotgun blast that made us all jump and turned the rooster in a cloud of feathers and chicken vapor, or making up stories about the secret underground river we could access through Grandpa and Grandma’s cellar, I was always practicing making other people see in their imagination what was playing in the theater of my little mind.

And long about the time I started going to school, I added to my storytelling an ability to draw pictures of the things I was telling about.

So, now that I am older than the oldest donkey that ever lived, I have to take a moment or two to reflect on where those abilities have taken me.

Well, I am not a millionaire like Stephen King.

In fact, it would take me more than a million dollars to be a millionaire because that’s how debt and credit cards and Bank-o Merricka work.

But I have wealth in other ways.

This is a review on the… well, not the first novel I ever finished, There was that awful pirates-meet-demons-and-fairies thing that is too embarrassing to even talk about. And not the first novel I published. I published Aeroquest, Catch a Falling Star, Star Dancers and Space Lizards, and Snow Babies before it. It’s not the worst novel I ever wrote. And it certainly isn’t my best novel. But it is the first novel about the Norwall Pirates, liats’ club and softball team.

And apparently at least one reader liked it five stars worth.

But it also proves that even what is clearly not my best storytelling work is capable of being read and liked by intelligent readers. That is a kind of treasure.

And this blog is doing well too. This is my 168th straight days with at least one blog post. And before I published this, my blog had 188 views just today, while averaging well over 100 views per day this week.

So, as Mickey writes, he continues to operate under the delusion that he is a good writer. And maybe, just maybe… he’s not the only one who thinks so.

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Where Has the Sunshine Gone?

I just got back from a walk and while I was out, the sun peaked through the clouds for the first time since Saturday. Which is strange because this is sunbaked Texas. For the last five or six years we have been getting way more summer rains than we did for two decades previous. The forecast for this week originally was 70% chance rain on Monday, and sunshine for the rest of the week.

Unfortunately, the sun has stopped shining in more than one way. I got word today that my mother in Iowa is in the hospital again with more heart trouble. Dark clouds hang over our house at the moment for that reason… metaphorically speaking. I am not in good health myself. That 750-mile trip is hard on me. We just got back from the trip to Iowa less than three weeks ago.

But we shall persevere for as long as we can. And hopefully the sun will come out yet again.

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