read
write
members
about
account

 

datedatememberrandomsearch

BY Davey H

02/01 Direct Link
Greetings from the chilly hills of western Massachusetts!
An colleague at my place of part time employment kindly informed me about this site, so here I am, jumping in with both feet flailing!
I like the premise: a) apply actual discipline in formation of compositions; b) keep applying it in a consistent manner; c) feel part of a larger effort that is both thrilling and social in nature! Given the dreadful state of affairs that characterizes our present political situation, this 100 words paradigm is a place that I, for one, will seek to go and get away from it!
02/02 Direct Link
Here it is 1:20 a.m., thus clicks a battery-powered bird clock (with chirp feature disabled) - the only TRULY reliable timepiece in this meager dwelling when frequent undiagnosed 'brownouts' smack digital devices long enough to make them blink uselessly once lifeblood-electricity sheepishly returns. Surrounded by electricity-dependent machines, mull this: does one equate a desktop (read: UNDER-desk) computer with a rusting 1969 International 424 diesel tractor? Both proudly wear a 'machine' moniker. Given respective decibel quotients, however, comparisons fall miserably short! Sweatshop-made, strenuously cogitating, complex, USELESS without juice, a sleek HP box purrs quietly, relocating dust.
02/03 Direct Link
Thanks, fellow scribblers, for Groundhog reminders! This being farm country, groundhogs are UNWELCOME objects of disdain. But no matter; worse rodents exist, opportunistically popping up for easy meals, tenaciously hanging on us like excess baggage. And indeed they did two winters ago, when porous bird feeders dumped black oil sunflower seed on the ground in such quantity as to form mounds 3" tall. We got back from a 6+ week hiatus to find rats bigger than guinea pigs feasting, running roughshod in the back yard. Ever get the feeling we're not so swift despite that plump mass inside our craniums?
02/04 Direct Link
At first, we puzzled at those curious little footprints that looked like tiny hands with long fingernails, carving serpentine trails up the snow-covered chicken ramp. For ten years, we never saw a rat until the chicken shed was built. We don’t eat eggs; better yet, don’t eat chicken, either, and were accustomed to being overrun by rodents: gray and red squirrels, moles, voles, several models of mice, and more chipmunks than you could shake your cold dead stick-clenchin’ fist at. But none so brash as this, the Norway rat, clever, determined, undefeated throughout history.
02/05 Direct Link

Eric, our illustrious house sitter, arduously tended the bootstrap business, apparently oblivious to the problem. ’Twixt daily grind, 3000+ road miles, phone and wood stove, he was flat out: 6 weeks, no days off! Hyper-hefty snow came on that mild 2010 winter's coattails - unbelievably heavy, wet, seeking to smash things, collapse things and shatter all vestiges of human complacency. Understandably worried, Eric clambered up and roof-raked as resident rats gleefully tunneled unfettered, hidden, en-route to munching black-oil rodent magnets.

We interrupt this post

'oer rays of the sun

so detach from that host:

go out and have fun!

02/06 Direct Link
Cross-hairs on Iran again
Shut up, man - it's 1st and 10!
1billion people starve each day
who gives a flip? Now watch this play!
Our 'heroes' launch a drone attack
as I focus on 'my' quarterback.
If my team wins I jump with glee
here in our Sports-atocracy!
Apologies to readers offended by those hard-to-resist barbs Conspicuously omitted was the sobering statistic that nearly 10% of Americans take anti-depressants. Interesting. Should that figure climb to, say, 40%, start worrying. At that point, we could consider our 'great American experiment' akin to GMO's: artificial, pumped-up shadows of the formerly real.
02/07 Direct Link
Once up and running, update your ostensible extensible shield from the bad guys, you know, those persistent rodentous trolls offering proprietary performance enhancing pharma goodies, anatomical enlargement schemes, fake-assed Ro*lex watches or (guffaws!) 'work from home!' scams.
A treacherous minefield thus emerged over which one treads lightly enroute to posting their requisite 100 words as cars burn, people dodge junta bullets, jump out windows and by necessity bury their dead after dark in a distant dusty land that shows up as images on squawking flat-panel Western televisions whilst couch-mounted spectators indulge their senses, gulping cappucchino fearlessly.

02/08 Direct Link
100 words and not one more;
such words you've never seen before?
Oh, bleached brain cells I implore:
Open thither, let me explore!

Piffle! Every now and then
hark back to that winter of 2010
when Eric the 'boxer' was our friend:

He put our stuff in boxes, simple lad he was.
One man's 'stuff' is another's clutter.
"Enough!" he spat as he piled keepsakes thus,
stacking the boxes without a fuss.
Physical clutter meant mental sputter,
ergo spartan living, smooth as warm butter!
Stuff-less quarters suited him best
he put our patience to the test.
Rats scurried beneath, well-fed & dressed.

02/09 Direct Link
Utilizing Bic® shavers, Eric, the brilliant former attorney and book store owner, shaved his dome to a smooth sheen. In keeping with ascetic principles, he kept few records, preferring tiny misshapen slips of paper  - easily crumpled and discarded - to anything substantial or worse, traceable. Of course it goes without saying that he assiduously shunned electronic storage mediums. "I have an 18 year-old," he moaned. "I need money." 'Nuff said. They had survived Boston, a place to get lost in; sorrow of Storrow and all that tommyrot. Now, in the sticks, he could give as good as he got!


02/10 Direct Link
Hark! Brazen silliness begins today's post,
Damnit! Just burned my friggin' toast!
Again here I sit, not fazed, somewhat vexed
it's already the 10th, and I wax perplexed!
It hasn't been busy, no need to push snow
not in a tizzy, yet where does time go?
Does it flush away like some unwanted turds
as I struggle to splay these 100 words?
Can't write ahead, nor fall behind
blankness I dread, which words to find?
Sitting alone, thus ticklin' the keys
No, I'm not home: no phone calls, please!
At times it's hard work, a little less fun
to reach that 100; get the job done!





02/11 Direct Link
A plenitude of prurient painted piffle, painstakingly plucked, procured, primped, puffed, pasted, (parenthetically) pleaded, pathologically presented prior to proffering to pupils' peepers has heretofore become the absurd substrate for today's post, with a nubile nod to the letter 'P'. Having awakened today, as most days, by the rooster's shrill trumpet, in itself a celebration of PURE COUNTRY, gratitude follows quickly. For having left urban existence, one can never go back. Better to scoop poop from a chicken shack! Indeed, the quintessential 'City That Never Sleeps' is stark, yet quite honest commentary on just how artificially altered human life can be.
02/12 Direct Link
Another day, and slightly pissed
but at least I'm not on your sh-- list.
Outside so blust'ry, 18 degrees;
gotta go out, trim apple trees.
Yikes! I say and if you please
looks like today I'll freekin' freeze!
As frumpy, crumpled, pre-dirt-slathered formerly blue jeans are prepared for the purpose of clambering around gnarly apple trees, let's momentarily indulge time-sucking pleasure of morning computer use, forcing 100 words to materialize prior to departing the wood stove's warm envelope. Words are the least of worries. Words arise like breezes or drizzle: light, fluttering, ephemeral, of little consequence. Outside, dogs bark.
02/13 Direct Link
Apple's shares topped $500.00 today, surprising no one. This according to the BBC. I neither need nor want an i-Phone. This according to the BB:Me. Meanwhile, south of the border, drug cartels hold sway, even over free speech. This also according to the BBC. Norton anti-virus flagged 100 Words.com tonight, not allowing access! Y'all are 'up for review'. Rage arose. This according to the BB:Me. Luckily, a Norton-less machine was available to pound out text, but the nagging question left me vexed: Does phishing take place here? Should we have reason to fear?





02/14 Direct Link
Back in the late '60's, 'Blind Faith' singer Stevie Winwood crooned, "Had to Cry Today" on the album of the same name. I plucked my copy of this 33 RPM vinyl gem from the local drug store's 99¢ bin, ran it home and was blown away. Those words didn't carry deep meaning for a 13-year old. Sad commentary on our culture: this Supergroup's incredible musical undertaking relegated near-dumpster® status!

I wonder what Mr. Winwood thinks of our present political situation. SURELY HE'D CRY TODAY. just think, we have another 7 months of this imbecilic miasma to slog through.


02/15 Direct Link
Imagine a scene
from the Pleistocene
then grasp this fact: 1996, 2 B exact.
Yes, dear readers, I do implore
'twas indeed the age
of the e-dinosaur!
At the time, though, we thought
"yeah, man, this is great!"
A free desk-box with C:/Win 98!
From the young kids upstairs
who had some bad habits
footloose, no cares
they at times f---ed like rabbits.
They'd stopped paying rent
in dissent, so deluded;
bequeathed us the box
that barely computed!
A killer deal, and totally free,
yet totally lacked functionality.
So the kids got the boot
so did the computer
thanks to kind help from a geekster tutor!











02/16 Direct Link

Now that era's data is quickly fading

and gone is the old box with its low rating.

But on its smudged hard drive

once shiny and new

rest snippets of life when troubles seemed few!

'Twas plucked from its berth aboard that gray rig

and still spins - such mirth! And it's only 2-gig!

When spinning thus, it harks to a time

as it bleats an ethereal, sickly whine

that pierces the ears, so tinny and shrill

yet beckons a pace much simpler still.

So what have we learned as the old stuff is spurned?

The faster we move, the quicker we're burned!

MAKE HASTE, e-WASTE!

02/17 Direct Link
So I schlepped that box home
once it was complete;
thoroughly honed by a neighborly geek!
He lived next door, a skip, jump & hop;
and did implore "hey, go set up shop!"
Spaghetti-like mass of wire and cable
a pain in the ass mired under the table!
So I set the box down & powered it up
quaffed java brown from fave porcelain cup.
Very soon I realized this:
it wasn't as easy as takin' a piss
'cause the box gurgled, farted and sputtered
writhing upon my desk so cluttered
then choking upon the files I chose
it had broken our bond, and has'tly froze!



02/18 Direct Link
The freezes and crashes
became commonplace;
they etched deep frustration,
carved lines on my face.

Our friendly geek neighbor
I admired him!
He'd showed me a dumpster
chock-filled to the brim
with THIS year's computers
discarded like tin.
"If you ever need parts,
you know where they'll be,"
geek-neighbor declared
whilst smiling at me.
We thus were ensnared in a society
where nobody cared
but some stuff's still free!

Then the time came to move
to our new spot up north
so we got in the groove
as U-haul® ushered forth!
Unplugged the juice
put the box in the van
could it be of use?
A part of our plan?










02/19 Direct Link
We parked that fat van
and commenced to unload
as per the plan in our modest abode.
Needless to say this foray made us tired
'twould be many a day - could you say we were wired?
Thus many a night windows pounded with sleet
I attempted to write, dog curled up at my feet.
The box (now interred) softly purred in its glory
as I crafted absurd fam'ly letters and story!
It took time to come 'round to countrified joys
so sublime, well away from brash urban noise.
Far removed, yes, 'twas best, if you please
enmeshed in the sound of the tickling keys





02/20 Direct Link
These new country bumpkins
knew it wouldn't be easy
but at least the environs
weren't at all sleazy!

Money was tight (surprise!)
job prospects were bleak
the box was sidelined
as something to tweak.

By day hay to cut
by night files to forage
no need for the glut
of unlimited storage!

As days filled up thus
it just came about
that the box took on dust
though it wasn't worn out.

And that geek who had helped us
with so much bravado
felt compelled thus
toward cool Colorado.

To him we were grateful
as he gave no quarter
but things had turned fateful:
"Put affairs in order!"
The doctors had told him
thus spake this reporter.
02/21 Direct Link

That good geek friend was at his best

‘til Big ‘C’ forced his biggest test.

Over the phone his speech was slurred

Chilled to the bone, I drank each word.

His chemo ardors had begun

for raging cancer of the tongue

he languished, ashen, at his ranch

wishing the toxic flow could stanch.

I begged him "keep your chin up, please!"

"Pray tell, sling e-memories:

regaling of early days

in 5" floppies' swappable bays,

or hair-pulling geeks so vexed

groaning over ASCII text

drives in cryogenic baths

clunky dirs & vers & paths

squinting at some darkened screen

scrolling code in pukey green!"
02/22 Direct Link
"Green, ah, yes, indeed like vomit!"
Geek friend replied,
with emphasis on it.
"Inside an hour I wanted to shout;
it burned my friggin' retinas out!

Ghastly memories from his old lab
that seemed like alcohol rehab!
Fast forward 40 years and aye:
his early wisdom wouldn't fly.

His present-sense, though
was far-reaching;
philosophy he was always teaching!

"Leave aside what each one gleans
from plinking 'round on their machines;
call me stodgy, staunch or staid,
but I've no reason to upgrade!"

He spat a "harrumph!"
And railed some more
I bade "Chin Up!" just like before
admiring his gumption at death's door.




02/23 Direct Link
This remarkable man is back in the fray
beginning more toxic chemo today.
A grueling process, that's for sure;
he knows damn well it ISN'T a cure.

Surprised he didn't Google® solutions
break asunder Pharma's false ablutions.
He's a high-IQ guy, I'll have you hear
hesitant, reticent, well steeped in fear.

So I close out this thread
a long running paean
beating back dread
of losing this man
who helped me along like a surrogate Dad
better yet, the big brother I NEVER HAD!

I'll compose some emails,
thank him some more
wistfully summoning e-days of yore
when things were slow
but sure were great
Dontcha know:C:/Win98!



02/24 Direct Link
Now where is the modesty-imbued mentor
didactic, yet diligently downplaying his PH.D
presiding over characteristically clever repartee
interjecting acerbic commentary
while we the people posed,
perked
pleased
perched
atop black and white ceramic tile
steeped in an upwind landfill's steady stench
barely noticing a 200-disk CD player
clacking its requisite disk-changing wrench
while the cute petite dog with singing bark
up the street from 18th St. park
where each workaday evening
joyful dogs go to lark
crooned strident warnings
chiding any and all passerby
perceived as encroaching on her territory
whilst time, as it tends to, slid on by
and we, like glossy-faced kids
listening to a story
stared transfixed
couldn't interrupt and dared not try?





02/25 Direct Link
Blend, in the daily glop of events,
a carefully cultivated run-on sentence
a pert, plucked pastiche
neither prim nor proper
pulled hence from the grease
of one's mental hopper!
Pry a plank of piffle poetic
compared to the greats
decidedly pathetic!
This, thus tell thyself
such a stout exercise
pull thoughts off the shelf
that lurks 'twixt the eyes.

Hence, from mundane tasks' plenitude
all else that awaits
the soon-to-be-scattered mind
will in significant measure
kick buns off one's creative behind
shattering
stream-of-consciousness efforts
beating down
one's innocent inner boy or girl
as they grind and grope
twist & twirl
through angry traffic
borne on a sizzling sea of impatience
slapped by out-of-state tags.



02/26 Direct Link
DUMP THE TIMES!!
Or should we bray:
"Times to the Dump!?"
Regardless, foray
with that paper so plump
here's a sodden word-play
of News in a clump!

So shall we say:
"All The News That's
Fit To Print?"
By the time I was through
I was fit to squint!

'Twas a tiny flat
wall with a hole in
one full-bath OCCUPIED
& my one full colon!
 
I recalled my host
had dumped the Times
post-haste in recycle bin;
would it be 'news'
or such a big crime
if I used it
TIMES two
to DUMP in?

Went back by the shed
Dumped On The Times
NO Stinkin' DREAD!
Voila! It Rhymes!






 
02/27 Direct Link
OK, so the Times
was indeed a bloated, dense
soon-to-be relic
of a bygone era.
A PAPER paper
culled and produced
in the most densely populated
noisy
polluted
overbuilt
but utterly exciting
city-that-never-sleeps
on earth.

But that was
and is
OK, too
because this hub of
iniquity
antiquity
ubiquity
and almost everything else
is a shining representation
of what 5% of the world's population
which consumes 25% of its resources
can do
when it puts its collective mind to it.

Aye, papers that thick
will soon be gone,
sunk; no remorse
expressed or implied
from screen-glued readers
with handheld devices
and nanosecond attention spans.

A sign of the Times.

So my aforementioned usage
of this formerly marketable commodity
shall go down in history.







02/28 Direct Link
History, indeed:
Our insouciant trip
To the perhaps aptly-named
First State
Came to an abrupt
Screeching halt
About the time
The leap-year February
Was doing likewise.
Thus, the extra day
4 weeks+1
2 less than most months
To ostensibly get things done
Which didn't amount to much;
After all, it WAS a vacation.

My 'care package'
Of organic material
Or shall we say
'predigested food'
Wrapped appropriately
In the useless sports section
Of the Times
Was deposited
Under a rural bridge
Where enterprising dogs or coyotes
Could find,
Savor
And make use of it
However grotesque the thought
For in the big picture
That's the way
It SHOULD BE:
Ideally, nothing gets wasted
Every last morsel is utilized
In the grand tradition
Of dung beetles
Owls
Ospreys
Hawks
Catfish
Ants
and
sometimes US.







02/29 Direct Link
In closing a middling slightly extended February, it’s once again perhaps prim, proper, purposeful and preferable to pander pixilated, prankish, puerile, pan-optic proprietary prose puckishly, pouncing pen-on-pad persistently, paraphrasing plenteous piffle parasitically.

"Plug it, preoccupied Putz!" You might say.

Oh, but wait; pens, pencils and paper pads are decidedly out of vogue, so that's a non-starter, eh?
Nope, it invites a nagging point: in many venues, those old stodgy, ostensibly outmoded writing tools are actually MORE reliable than the electricity-dependent magnanimous machines we utilize to pound out text and with which we're frequently vexed!