Category: matthew66

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Rosalie Grace

23 August 2021

Dear Mom,

Thank you for teaching me how important it is to say, “I love you,” and “I miss you” to the people who mean the most to me, because we CAN’T know when it’s also going to have to serve as “Good-bye.”

Thank you for laughing at your foibles and frailties and helping me to learn to laugh at mine.  Life is already hard enough without the balm of laughter.  Thank you for making my life easier with your shining examples of kindness and creativity and generosity and wit.

Thank you for always telling me the truth.  Even more so, thank you for making a point of sometimes NOT telling me, but instead pointing out that some things are none of my business.

You raised four excellent cooks and one beautiful daughter (who herself is not a complete loss in the kitchen).  You would not abide whining helplessness and you made sure we knew that our lives were going to be in our own hands, but that meanwhile, help was just an ask away. 

Thank you for lavishing us all with hugs and kisses and tears; and thank you for denying us undeserved “rewards.”  Thank you for teaching us to respect our own accomplishments and for letting us find the satisfaction of making our own ways.  We were hard on each other now and then, but it toughened us all.  “I had no time to raise children,” you once told me, “My job was to transform infants into adults.”  With the fallible clay at hand, you shaped us as best you could, and I believe that the best of us is a reflection of your hand on our lives and your heart in our hearts.

You kept us fed and housed and comforted.  And you kept us clothed.  Boy howdy you kept is in stitches!  Your sartorial skill was an annual delight for me, at least, as we began new school years in original threads that were often the envy of classmates.  When I imagine you now, I see you surrounded by colorful scraps of fabric, and a half-finished piece flowing from your chattering treadle Singer®, taking magnificent form, almost as if by wicked stitch-craft it sprang fully formed from your own vibrant vision.

You also made sure we could all read so that we could feed our minds for ourselves.  I don’t know how much your love of literature and poetry and the theatre sparked my own passions, but you certainly made no secret of your delight in my pursuits.  As a self-absorbed actor many of my favorite moments backstage or on stage would be your distinctive laugh confirming your presence in the house.  If I were on stage, I would not break character and betray my joy, of course, but when backstage I would beam and boast.

Because of your great lessons, I know I need never say good-bye at all.  You’ll always be in my heart.  And you’ll also always be standing within arms’ reach, ready to slap my silly head around in circles if I were to even consider betraying the principles you’ve blessed me with.

So, thank you, Mom.  Thank you, I love you, and I miss you.
Yours always, Lawrence Gene

review 210827, correspondent BA responds: “The minister read [this] beautiful letter… if not so well as [the author] or I could have read it. [The] letter… said much of what [our baby sister] and I felt too.” I am pleased to have it confirmed that I was able to speak on behalf of my surviving siblings, and I thank BA for his kind words. And I also can’t help but agree with his overall review. BA and I both have strong speaking voices and a good cadence. The attending shaman, not as much, I think, though he did manage to get out MOST of the text, only fumbling a few phrases. Since I was attending remotely I was obliged to suffer his heroic attempt.

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On Plenary Theory

11 April 2021

“Universe” is an awkward and unfortunate word in cosmological discourse. The universe is everything.

What we generally think of as “our universe” is a discreet plenum with physical constraints, and the mathematical models that best describe what we know about our plenum suggest that the “greater universe” is filled with many such plena with similar or differing constraints.

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Conan the Librarian

11 May 2021 — with affection and gratitude to REH

Know O Scholar, that after the Works of Gutenberg,
and before the Rise of the Sons of Kindle,
that there was A Page Undreamed Of, printed and illuminated,
when leather bound and cheap paperbacks
vied for the attentions of avid readers.
Hither came Conan, an Autodidact,
with Gigantic References and Gigantic Card Catalogs,
to shush the Rubes who Chatter without respite and to
Softly Tread Between the Stacks in his Wing-tipped Feet.

Reflections on the Roster of Roberts
Everything I’ve read, or seen or heard or felt, has influenced me as a writer, as an actor, and as a human being.  That’s probably more or less how it works with most of us.  We’re complex, and our mentors are manifold.  It hadn’t occurred to me until recently that probably the strongest influences on me as a novelist all happened to be named Robert.  Other writers influence me, of course, Lethargy Lad has a great deal of Stan Lee in him, and when I’m waxing political I see myself as Mencken or Griggs, but when it comes to narrative fiction, I find the Roberts to be my steadiest guides.  (I flatter myself, of course.)  For tone, or voice, I try to channel Heinlein – suspicious, curmudgeonly, and relentlessly optimistic.  As well as goopily sentimental at times.  For narrative grace, I aim for Howard.  Though his vast catalogue of stories leans heavily on mundane or preposterous tropes, I find him to be among the most vividly lyrical of writers overall, holding his own against such luminaries as Shakespeare, Fielding, Poe, or Lewis.  Finally, for actual story structure, I think Altman is my man.  I try to tell a story mostly from the ground up, using a multitude of perspectives from disparate and distinctive characters, whose arcs ravel together into a broader story that none of them fully knows, and many will never suspect.

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Conflicted Allegiance

26 April 2021

I probably cannot begin to fathom just how lame my cat thinks I am.  Tichelle brought a garter snake into the house today.   A beautiful specimen it was, maybe about eighteen inches or so.  I noticed her hunkered in an odd place, so I walked in on the tableau.  She and the snake were faced off; I presume she had captured it outside and brought it in to show it off.  They scattered when I blundered in and it hid out under the refrigerator while Tiche kept watch.

I wasn’t about to drag a snake out from under a refrigerator, so I was partially resigned to having to haul it out later to recover a stinking corpse, but nevertheless went about my business and left the cat and reptile to go about theirs.  I am fond of both species, generally, so I wouldn’t wish ill on either.

210426 – Feline Antics
Dear Missus Axis:  My first impulse, again, was to call you about it. Tichelle brought a garter snake into the house. It is presently hiding out under the refrigerator. I wanted to call you and share the laughs and trauma, and maybe the day’s events, but again, I am stalled by the thought that I’ll say something stupid or honest again and then we’d have to spend some quality time nursing injuries.
And now, about an hour or so later: I want to call you back and tell you I rescued the snake. It and Tiche were facing off in the kitchen when I walked back in. The cat went one way and the snake the other, but I threw my vest over one and chased the other outside. Went back and managed to coax it (was a garter snake, but sizable enough for a painful bite, and I didn’t want to risk overreacting and injuring it further) onto a sheet of cardboard and got it about halfway to the door when it crawled off, but I still managed to herd it to the front (the cat had gone out back.) I praised and apologized to Tichelle already, but I still feel very good about rescuing a fellow vertebrate from possible severe trauma, and tried to inflict as little as possible myself in the doing thereof.  Meanwhile, Tichelle continues to glare at me and insists that I feed her outside.

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Secular Hymns

17 April 2021

Proper “secular hymns” are few and far between, so sometimes I have to accept small compromises in some of the lyric or music quality.  But if it otherwise meets my criteria, I am eager to embrace it. 

When it comes to “spirituality” I guess you could say that I’m a Dawkinsian.  As an atheist materialist, I am neither depressed by, nor resentful of, my mortality.  I don’t approve of it, either, but I get it; it’s the way entropy works on Earth.  If it weren’t so, I wouldn’t exist in the first place.  Still, like Richard Dawkins, I’m not depressed because I have to die, I’m delighted that I get to die, because that means that I have LIVED.  I was one of the lucky few who manifested a consciousness from this organic soup, and I get to experience a tiny fraction of the wonders of the universe.  Even if our parents are intent on procreating, assuming they ever meet, the odds against us are still billions to one.

For me, a proper secular hymn captures that aspect of our existence.  As we are poised between existence and oblivion, between civilization and savagery, between mud and mind, between matter and spirit – may we experience joyous gratitude for it all.  And while Johnny Cash, as a professed Christian himself, may not fully endorse my interpretation of his work, I have no hesitation in recommending it.

Herewith, selections from the “official”
Secular Hymnal of Matthew 6:6 Ministries,
as selected and fully endorsed by Rector Lawrence,

Flesh and Blood, by Johnny Cash (1970)

Beside a singing mountain stream, where the willow grew,
Where the silver leaf of maple sparkled in the morning dew.
I braided twigs of willow, made a string of buckeye beads.
But flesh and blood needs flesh and blood, and you’re the one I need.

I leaned against a bark of birch and I breathed the honey dew.
I saw north bound flock of geese against a sky of baby blue.
Beside the lily pads I carved a whistle from a reed,
Mother Nature’s quite a lady, but you’re the one I need.

A cardinal sang just for me, and I thanked him for the song,
And the sun went slowly down the west and I had to move along.
These were some of the things on which my mind and spirit feed,
But flesh and blood needs flesh and blood, and you’re the one I need.

So, when the day was ended, I was still not satisfied,
For I knew everything I touched, would wither and would die.
And love is all that will remain and grow from all these seeds,
Mother Nature’s quite a lady, but you’re the one I need.
Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood, and you’re the one I need.

Material Girl, by Peter Brown & Robert Rans (1984)

Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me, I think they’re okay.
If they don’t give me proper credit I just walk away.
They can beg and they can plead but they can’t see the light, that’s right!
Because the boy with the cold hard cash is always Mr Right.
‘Cause we are living in a material world and I am a material girl.

Some boys romance, some boys slow dance, that’s all right with me,
If they can’t raise my interest, then I have to let them be.
Some boys try and some boys lie, but I don’t let them play, no way!
Only boys that save their pennies make my rainy day.
‘Cause we are living in a material world, and I am a material girl.

Boys may come and boys may go and that’s all right you see.
Experience has made me rich and now they’re after me.
‘Cause everybody’s living in a material world and I am a material girl.

Something Tame and Something Wild,
by Mary Chapin Carpenter (2016)

There’s a shoebox full of letters, bound up neatly with some twine.
Each one was like a diamond, now the jewel is lost to time.
My reward is in the knowing that I held it in my hands for a little while.
What else is there but the treasures in your heart,
Something tame and something wild.

For every time that I’d been foolish when I wished that I’d been wise.
The power of regret still gets me right between the eyes.
Sometimes I want to weep with nothing but the tears of a little child.
What else is there but the lessons of your heart,
Something tame and something wild.

There’s a map I’ve memorized of everywhere I’ve ever been,
And the faces of everyone I’ve loved and left to try again,
I couldn’t make out what they were saying,
So instead, I listened hard to what’s inside.
What else is there but the voice inside your heart,
Something tame and something wild?

Some nights I’m woken up by something stirring in my chest,
It’s a feeling I’ve no name for, it’s hard to catch my breath.
I’m staring down the great big lonesome,
As I’m listening for the dwindling of time.
What else is there but the echoes in your heart,
Something tame and something wild.

So the things that matter to me now are different from the past,
I care less about arriving than just being in the path
Of some life carved out of nothing,
The way it feels when the universe has smiled.
What else is there but the beating of your heart,
Something tame and something wild.

There’s a shoebox full of letters, there’s the map I won’t forget,
The voices and the lessons and the signals that connect us
Manifestly to the spirit way deep down where it goes unseen by the eye.
What else is there but the love inside your heart,
To a life, like a fireworks to a spark, over and above you in its arc,
Something tame and something wild.

disclaimers:  These authors quoted above are not being compensated (beyond publicity) for my inclusion of their works here.   (If you like it, buy their stuff!)

more?
The Long Way Home, by Mary Chapin Carpenter
The Greatest Love, by Jane Olivor
Sing!, by Joe Raposo
Oh Very Young, by Cat Stevens (aka Yusef Israel)

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* * Moms DEMAND Action * *

1 April 2021 — DEMAND!
Because to ask politely means that the patriarchy wins,
Or is this just the natural consequence of having married
Uber-woak Soyboys?

130717 — The Babble of the Sexes
Men are almost impossible to understand.
When a man says that he’s looking for a wealthy hot babe with a hefty rack and an unquenchable thirst for fresh semen what he ACTUALLY means is that he’s looking for a wealthy hot babe with a hefty rack and an unquenchable thirst for fresh semen. I understand your confusion. 
Women make more sense.
When a woman says she’s looking for a soulmate who will respect her womanhood, honor her individuality, and help her to actualize her best self, what she clearly means is that she’s looking for a jerk in a leather jacket to treat her like garbage.
See?  MUCH simpler!

190929 — People are funnier than they realize.
It’s a pity they’re not as funny as they think.
191116 — “You know what I mean?” Okeh, so maybe you did speak in a Valley Girl accent. Still…   If I’m supposed to infer that your declarative statement is a question, why don’t you infer that my not contradicting it is an answer?
200103 — Most people are horrible.  Some people are worse.
But that’s just the majority.
200104 — Iran shoots intruder in neighbor’s house.
Intruder’s family vows revenge.
200105 —   Wondering about That Old Guy at the QuikkStopp™
“Why are you always in such a fucking good mood?”
Because I live in a beautiful world filled with music, cats, literature,
poetry, pretty girls, and hard drugs.
“Are you for real?”
I may not be what you expected, but I exist.
200106 — “If it doesn’t come naturally, leave it.” – Al Stewart
He’s not entirely correct, but still…
Nothing fixes a frown so firmly on my face as the insistence that I smile.
Nothing slows me down as effectively as the insistence that I hurry.

200814 – Any time you ask me if it’s a quiet night, it automatically isn’t.
When you ask me how my “night’s going” you are making it worse. If the first word of your directive is “just” then I have already and automatically failed to comply.

210402 — If Lance has his genitals removed and declares his name is now Louise, I’m going to try to be polite and call him Louise.
By the same token, I generally call fake capitalists “Republicans,”
and fake humanitarians “Democrats.”

13 August 2021 – “Don’t Label Me, Bro”  — or –  “Gimme da Kine”

Most of the damage done by tools has been through their misuse.  Most people wouldn’t care to be stabbed with a screwdriver or clobbered by a brick, but survivors would not likely blame the tools themselves.

The damage done with words (tools which denote or describe people, places, things, concepts, actions, or attributes) are accomplished through deceit or conflation.  Deceit is usually clear, and often defensive, but conflation is sneakier.  It is used to distort meanings and positions to link common characteristics with individual misbehaviors – it is an attempt to cover a broad concept with a narrow blanket, as if to say, “Oh, you’re not a ‘Republican?’  Then you must love Hillary.”

In a reflex that closely resembles “I am NOT my Daddy,” people frequently object to labels, as if they were to exclusively define them irrespective of however else they might differ from the pack.  But labels are useful insofar as they help us grasp important differences.  Most of us have a pretty good idea of what “give me a hand” means, but no one understands “that” or “da kine” outside of a context.  If my mate can’t see me pointing at the spanner, I should probably use the suitable label.

“Oh!  You’re with BLM?  You must hate white people.”
“You’re a border hawk?  Why do you hate Mexicans?”
“You’re a lib-uh-terian?  Don’t you like roads?”


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Appeals to Higher Powers

16 August 2021

correspondent KW avers that “almost every atheist” she knows has adopted “statism as their religion” whose adherents’ zeal exceeds others’.

Other correspondents confirm her observations, and JH concludes that “when people stopped believing in God they replaced it with the state.”

I thank KW for that “almost.” Broadly defined (including the occasional weaselly “agnostic” or trying-to-impress-chicks “Christian Existentialist” phases I may or may not have gone through) I have been a consistent atheist and anarchist for most of my life. Just never was in me to subordinate my ego to states or gods or teammates. As far as I can tell, theism and statism are both symptoms of the same emotional disorder — wishful thinking. I don’t believe that the magicks of either prayer or voting have any powers beyond the palliative.

30 July 2021
Gotta get me a paddle, and a canoe.
Gonna paddle myself right back to you!
Gonna paddle my ass ’til it’s black and blue,
And then maybe I’ll be worthy of you.

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Dear Singin’ Truckdriver

27 February 2018

I miss you just about every day.

I can see you’re doing well in those other universes where they had things figured out sooner than here in ours.  And I can easily see what a joyous and brilliant life you could have led in our world.

I mourn for a humanity who are denied your wit and your charm and your enthusiasm and your talents.  It hurts a lot less these days, and it’s been manageable for decades, but there are times when you reemerge and elicit a chuckle or a tear.  To this day I still steal your jokes, and there still isn’t a damned thing you can do about it!

In many of the best ways, you remind me of our grandmother Bernice, with your shared abilities to see through blizzards of crap and get at the priceless kernel of truth concealed within.  Neither one of you could tolerate the notion of shit on the mind and sugar on the tongue; you said what you thought and you didn’t apologize for it.

You’re a great guy, Bro!  I love you, and I never told you enough.  I guess we never really can say it enough to anyone.

Fondly and gratefully yours,
Older, taller, and better looking

update 210228:  Singin’ Truck Driver would be 62 today had he not been done in by primitive twentieth century medicine.  It is reported that the paean above elicited tears from both my sister and my Mom, as well as explicit thanks from our oldest brother, who may not volunteer the datum, but likely would not deny an emotional response himself.

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On Scientism

27 April 2018 — “NASA is back!
You know what it is?  It’s great.  It’s science.  Important.”
Donal Ivan Fredovitch Trumpchev

5 February 2021

It is stipulated (generally by theists, miscalling atheists and agnostics) that “Scientism” is “the religious belief that is underpinned by faith in the scientific establishment,” and that it “has its own customs and nomenclature,” and clergy who “are known as ‘scientists.'” A particular proponent of this thesis also avers that “most believers don’t even know their own scripture.” On that latter point I cannot help but agree, probably in the matter of all faiths, let alone alleged “scientism.”

And no, they don’t mean “Scientologists.” The proponents make that clear as well. (I suspect they get credit for being seekers or something.) Their “scientismics” are those of us who buy into the moon landing or thermodynamics or vaccines or electricity or the heliocentric model. Especially the heliocentric model.

Contra their thesis, I would assert that very few (if any) actual scientists could be scientismics. Other than that one point, I’m happy to accept their definition. But it seems to me the real scientismics would be the troofers and the flerfers and the chemtrailers and others who would misuse the trappings of science to “support” fantasies like the flat earth or modern monetary theory.

update 210223: haunting suspicions enquire:
Is “flerfer” as offensive to flat earthers as “troofer” is to “9-11 Truthers?”
Or as funny as “magic bullet” is to the Deep State?

210317 — Vaccine! (meter stolen from Dolly Parton)

Vaccine!  Rapine!  It’s all obscene!
Please don’t shoot me up with RNA.
No unknown sera in my arm, I know you say it does no harm,
But you won’t say what side effects are seen.
Hank Aaron put it to the test, and now he takes his final rest,
But you can’t blame it on our great vaccine.
Ol’ Marvin Hagler took his shot, and with us further he is not,
But it’s because you skeptics are so mean!

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Just because it hurts doesn’t make it not funny

29 February 1984 — Of course I am Lord and Master in my house, and my wife agrees.  She didn’t at first (sometimes she thinks I’m not very funny), but when I fully explained myself and defined it for her, she couldn’t help but be pleased.
I am a female chauvinist, and have been for as long as I can remember.  When I say “Lord and Master” I mean second in command to “Lady and Mistress.”
My duty is to enforce her will.
My desire is to influence her will.
update 200110:  Since composing the thoughts above, I have since added yet another favorite T-shirt/Bumpersticker slogan to the catalog in my head (thanks to the stranger who wore it):  “I LOVE it when MY WIFE lets me go fishing.”

14 March 2009
“Oh Bearer of Light, Illuminate Our Path from this Garden of Ignorance“

21 December 2010 — “I’m Ready”
After dealing with my Mom, my sister, two wives, a daughter, and various girlfriends, I’ve learned to understand Girl a little bit. 
“I’m ready” means “I’m ready for you to wait for me.”

“My Father Doesn’t Think Much of Me” (17 April 2014)
Now, that’s not to say that he dislikes or disrespects me. I just don’t think I cross his mind all that often. I love him and respect him and all, but we’re not pals. We are very different people.
He’s an affable joiner, I’m a troubled loner.
He’s a successful entrepreneur, I’m a low wage drone.
He’s a Born Again Christian, I’m an Atheist Materialist.
He’s a “conservative” and occasionally libertarian Republican, I’m a xenophilic anarchist (and a gay liberal republican).
Of course, we’re both successful breeders (thrice each) and divorced and remarried, though I’m more divorced than he is, but not by much.
update 210224:
Late reports from my stepmother suggest that in his advanced stage of dementia, Daddio doesn’t think of much of anything these days, though he still recognizes and loves his wife (and Jesus.) In other developments, he is comfortably retired and I am now a no-wage drone.

The Essentials    (4 April 2017) I expect that I could live without garlic or cannabis, but neither as well nor as long.

18 November 2017 — As a proper Anarcho Materialist Death Cultist I understand that ultimately we’re all doomed. I’m not at all depressed or bitter about it. Life is rich with tragedy and tragedy is rich with humor. If we couldn’t laugh we’d be crushed by the overwhelming sadness of life. As a proper Rastafarian Agnostic Sybarite, I often ask,
“Does not getting stoned REALLY help?”

1 September 2018 — What seems to inform Dangerous Cults?
Neither the New World Testament ( or The Book of Mormon ) nor Lamb ( or The Gospel According to Biff) contradict Ye Olde Testament or The New Improved Testament any more than they already contradict themselves. I haven’t yet read the Koran so I’m unqualified to weigh in on that one, but judging from the behavior of many of its adherents I gather that it is a grimmer and grittier version of the original. Sort of like Frank Miller’s Dark Knight up against Adam West’s Gotham Guardian.
Marxism is a competing faith, as is statism more generally. They all seem to be of a kind — theism, statism, nationalism, socialism — and I lump them together as types of collectivism and self abnegation. Lefties all!

8 July 2019 — Most Americans have a Phlogiston Theory of Human Rights, that they are a grant of our secular masters (Gub’mint) or our eternal master (Gawd). As usual, they get it exactly backward. We are not filled with rights by an outside entity. Like other human attributes, rights devolve organically from our nature.

12 July 2019 — It is well established that God is an Asshole.
The question remains, however, what kind exactly?
I paraphrase from memory. God tells Moses,
“I shall bring forth water from that stone. Hold out your staff.”
Moses strikes the rock with his staff.
God says, “I didn’t say shit about hitting any rocks. You’re screwed!”
God is a drill sergeant, who must be obeyed. TO. THE. LETTER!

22 July 2019 — One might consider Lutherans and Catholics (at least) to be natural Transcendental Mathematicians. I’ve read most of the major scriptural bases of Western Civilization, but haven’t witnessed all the liturgies of Christendom. Still, Lutherites and Papists both acknowledge the difference between for all time (“…for Thine is the power and glory Forever…”) and for all time and then some (“…and Ever.”) So far only Aleph-null and Aleph-one, but it’s a start.

27 August 2019 —
I know that God is cruel when David Koch dies of cancer but
The Deleterious RBG does not. update 201119: Maybe God got my complaint and balanced things up, having harvested Ginsburg recently. Still, when I further reflect that Chris Wallace and Chris Hayes and Chris Cuomo all continue to live, and Chris Farley does not…

8 September 2019 — Most theists “Know” Gods’ Love the same way Susan Smith’s sons “knew” that Mamma loved them. They wished to believe it so much that the thought of its not being true was too painful to accept.

25 May 2020 — “Love is not enough,” said Elizabeth Holloway Marston
(and others, too, but at least her character said so in the film
“Professor Marston and the Wonder Women“.)
But without love, everything else is also not enough.

22 June 2020 — The only people to ever tell me that “Money isn’t Everything” had more of it than I have. And it seems like, the more they had, the more adamant they were about it. Which of course makes perfect sense; on those elevated margins it is much less valuable, just like everything else.