“The world is changing. Grinding on its gears. Seemingly to new sets of rules. People are afraid and confused.”

Opening line of soon to be published novel be Dennis Mantin…

I was caught up in a storybook.

Or it might have been a song.

Or it might have been her beauty.

Made me think I don’t belong.

I was looking for something somewhere.

And I didn’t know how or when.

I lied and said I didn’t care.

And still, the chances came again.

Then I finally got it figured.

Got caught up in time and speed.

Just take it in, enjoy it all.

And discard what I don’t need.

I finished off the census.

Questions like what’s your name.

With a claim of anonymity.

I had to hang my head in shame.

I guess I’m at that age now.

Where I believe no claim at all.

And I’ve resigned myself to destiny.

To watch society at the fall.

It would be like such an honor.

If it weren’t so dumb and lame.

It’s like Nero and the Christians.

Without the hero or the fame.

The Villians all wore dresses.

Don’t say they were disguised.

It is more about fashion feelings.

Then, any plans that they devised.

There was a rumble at the diner.

No much more than throwing grub.

Someone didn’t like the service much.

So they left to find a pub.

It’s not about good or evil.

It is more like circumstance.

You might not be asked to join in.

Might be best to run than dance.

On some level

I must have liked my pains

Considering how long I lived with them.

Considering how long I invited them.

I don’t know if I knew I had choices.

I’ve lived several lives now.

I like the one I’m in now.

Parenting exposes character.

I’ve been pressing hard for something.

What it is, I can’t be sure.

Some suggestions say that it’s for love.

But the world is not that pure.

I’ve been pressing here for something.

In my mind, to find a word.

And make it all for you and me.

Like that vaccine, where all were cured.

There are choices here. Keep looking.

Laugh it off or risk offend.

I’m not good at practiced grinning.

Gave a shot at lie and pretend.

I’ve been pressing back at something.

Be more like them, against my will.

I’ve been trying, and it’s not fitting.

It has been a hard distill.

“There are 32 ways to tell a story, and I’ve used everyone, but there’s only one plot, things are not as they seem.

Jim Thompson

I was running out of something.

Like patience, love, or steam.

Maybe never had them anyway.

Just a wish inside a dream.

Getting jacked up on adrenaline.

From a haunting distant fear.

Something real not imagined.

From a time called yesteryear.

So I sat down and did nothing.

No assumptions, to let it go.

I prayed and said some words to God.

Might be best that you don’t know.

The savages we descended from; we pretend they weren’t us…

We think we are different.

This thing we call civility is questionable, at least.

Why are we so offended at our heritage?

Look how far we’ve grown.

“How tall we are, we’ve learned so much!”

Why the shame? Why pretend?

Given what they were dealing with, I can’t say that I’d have done anything better or different…

My father was very careful and thorough: Only now, I can see and appreciate the brilliance in the absence of his efforts. To not have to unlearn anything is proving to be invaluable.

To have a lifetime of trial and errors without the bothersome interference of elders teaching and paving the way can now be reflected upon in a rich tapestry of original experience.

Thanks, Dad!