E.C. Walsh Blogsphere

On Mass and a new book prospectus

I have almost always been monotone, though it seems to have got better recently. So I don’t usually sing for Mass (or learn foreign tongues easily).

“One will be taken. One will be left,” the Pastor quoted the New Testament. It reminded me of one of Samuel Beckett’s lines to the effect of there being “twin demons of success and failure.”

The pastor said something like “enjoy waiting,” which seemed odd but also profound.

On my new novella project, my publisher has accepted the prospectus, and I hope to have it finished by year-end. It will be about a U.S. senator and his wife.

 

Just a very brief poem and two comments

My recently passed-away sister-in-law said she could not tell if I was sad or funny.

Anyway, here is a poem/joke:

“Never” by yours truly

You’re not the man you you were before

And never really were.

On the work in progress, I plan to send a prospectus letter to my publisher soon but may need about another month to finish the fictional manuscript. If you don’t like my political views, you may not like it.

On loss

I have been thinking of loss a lot lately. I lost my Dad basically to old age, a sister-in-law. to a car accident, and an online girlfriend and possible wife for various reasons. And a lot of money. All in basically the same year.

What do you do after such loss? Samuel Beckett said, “I can’t go on. I’ll go on.”

But there have been upsides. I have been publishing much recently; even if it won’t make me rich..

 

On Liz Cheney

I said this to an old buddy a few years back that I have no problem with alternative-lifestyle people in general; it is the militants who bother me. Some Lesbians want to hurt men for no good reason. I have experienced it in my own life recently.

Gay men can be violent too. Gays are supposedly more sensitive, but it is not always true.

If you think Trump, was responsible for the Jan. 6, 2021, deaths, you are prejudiced.

On Bono

Bono from U2 seems to be doing a one-man live show now. From The Irish Times coverage:

“It is billed as the U2 front man’s ‘Stories of Surrender’, “an evening of words, music and some mischief’ .to showcase the tales from his new memoir. But it is much more than this.

Stories of Surrender is ‘a safe space for people who love Bono’, one wit is overheard saying. It is also a safe space for Bono.

The show is a musical photo album, the singer flicking through memories of his life with songs. It gives him the chance to flex his talents as a singer, a storyteller, a mimic, a comic and, ultimately, the tenor his father said he never was. This is ‘my quarter-of-a-band show,’ he says. But what a quarter.”

I think it is fine to be retrospective later in life, especially if you were as creative and successful as U2 was early in age. As for his use of the word “surrender” in the show’s title (the name of one of his band’s early songs), it brings to mind a vacation in Malaysia when I was much younger. The taxi driver in Penang was taking me to a Muslim place of worship and said Islam is in part about surrender.

A bad joke and an update

Joke

I watched Pres. Biden pardoning a turkey yesterday on TV news but couldn’t tell which was really the turkey.

Update

Trying to get back to the new novella plot. It would be about a young’ senator with an ambitious and controversial agenda and a wife also in politics.

On a sermon and a poem

The pastor mainly read from the New Testament yesterday in his sermon. He quoted St. Paul about there being “an invisible God.” I remember an 80s pop song called “Invisible Touch.”

He then quoted extensively a female Bible character, maybe Mary Magdalene, saying, “This is not me” she cried. “. “This is not real…This is not who I am. Please let me be real.”

In our modern, computerized world these quotes resonate to me. How do we know now what is real for sure?

“Delayed” by yours truly

Delayed response.

At first numb,

But soon pain does come.

For some time lasts

The way life casts.

But we are more than our pasts

Please, it will ease.

A memory

At the end of my third year of high school, I went to a coastal eastern Maryland resort town as many do (it is called Bea.ch Week and. a bit notorious). I was slightly on the margins of my social group. I also had a falling out with a high school crush that week.

So, I drank too much beer and was basically alone and barefoot walking up a concrete staircase to a third-floor rental apartment where I was staying with classmates. I woke up with severe damage to my feet.  I was young, so the foot wounds healed rather quickly.

The memory came to mind because I have recently had edema in my feet. It takes longer to heal when older.

 

A comment and four brief poems

Comment:

If you don’t care, no one else will care for you.

Poems

“Doll” by yours truly

“Stop calling me your blow-up sex doll. It is objectification.”

“Yes, the situation could blow up, but it was only a joke.  You are really ‘the object’ of my affection.”

“Be careful with your affections, blow-up sex boy.  Blow-up sex boys can annoy. You are seedy and rather needy.”

“Burnt” by yours truly

Burnt tongue

Hero unsung.

Recall being young.

And the future sprung.

“Round” by yours truly

Time heals all rounds, time’s arrow.

What goes around comes around.

Consider it profound:

What’s lost can be found.

“Contusion” by yours truly

Contusion on the head

But better than dead.

“Well said.

Will you be ever waffle-y headed

Or lawfully wedded?”

 

 

 

 

 

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A comment on teaching and three brief poems

While a college teacher, I and some other grad student/part-time writing teachers talked about giving bad grades.

One said a student started crying when getting sharp criticism about an essay. I reflexively joked (as often)’ “just say, ‘Pull yourself together!'” One of the other teachers laughed, but in a way it wasn’t funny.

It is one reason I quit teaching. That and painfully punishing students for plagiarism and not having good classroom presence.

Poems

“Heal” by yours truly

When the wound heals,

It reveals the body can recover

One way or another.

Take it easy, brother,

And heal.

“Night” by yours truly

Night, no fright.

Alright, okay

In a way.

Like walking through a maze

Of memory and imagination.

“Face” by yours truly

My lighted Himalayan salt lamp

Has begun to look like an angry man’s face.

Am I delusional?

Some say.

Anyway.