Tall Tale Without a Shot

You forgot to check the off switch again
You performed many clicks and pokes
All to no recorded avail
The machinery was not recording
You were never here
It never occurred

Pictures or it never happened
Is another way to put it
A policy of disbelief
A religion, if you will

Proof of existence
Presence in the matrix
Something for the AI databases to steal
As they educate themselves to destroy us all

As an aside to this, I offer a loosely related personal anecdote:

When I was about seven years old
This was in 1978
My father had gotten me into Quarter Midget racing
Which, for those who've never heard of it
Are little sprint car-looking race cars
All racing on one twentieth mile ovals

I rode the bus to school back then
And some of the older boys didn't believe me
When I told them all about what I got up to
With my Quarter Midget-ing on the weekends

So, one morning I got up early
And I dragged my race car out of the garage
And put it where it could be seen from the end of the driveway
Where the bus picked me up

When it arrived, and I boarded
I went to those boys, and I pointed
"See!  See! Right there is my race car!" I exclaimed
To very mixed reactions

At least one of them was duly impressed
But the rest just basically went "Whatever"
And said that didn't prove anything
It was just a stupid little car

I learned something from that
Not that day, of course
I was only seven
But upon reflection in the years since

Something a little fuzzy and not fully formed
That means I shouldn't seek other's approval for things I do
That I shouldn't gauge my own happiness with something
By what other people think of it

That even though I had something even better than a picture
I had the real thing
Parked twenty feet away from the bus windows
That it still didn't really happen

If the other person never really gave a shit to begin with

-FDR02OCT2025

Grey > Gray

Grey days and Gray nights
Combine to make the Greays
A truly horrid spelling sight

Grey sunlight spotlights my way
As I go greyly about
My greyest of days

The prettiest rainbow I have seen lately
Was a loud sheen of grey of shifting hail
Clearly divided stripes in the sky
A salesman's display of greyscale

Maybe it's just me?
I ask myself out loud
A middle aged grey man
In his little island of grey
While the rest of the world 
Is colorful
Is normal
Is more than just 

GREY

I'd build the fastest vehicle ever known
Just to escape the greys
Something with which to build the speed
Necessary to get to a red shift
To stretch the wavelengths like a taffy puller
Though I pause in this contemplation

What if I went to all that trouble
Only to find it all is a grey-shift instead?
That it was all just a mad search for something called color
When all that there is
When all that there ever was

Is GREY

- FDR30JAN2023

Just Don't Think About It

The rear end of a trash truck was bright in the darkness
My brain designed the arrangement of lights as a face
In an all too typical fit of pareidolia
Though definitely a mechanical version of one
Just a rough outline of five white lights
With one steadily flashing orange one at top center

Awaiting an input perhaps

George Harrison played on my radio
Another cheerful song
About some serious subject

And my mind wanders
Back to serious things
That I normally keep tucked away

Orange flashing light
George Harrison
Fucked up thoughts

I wish they'd go away

So I pass the now disapproving face of lights
That ass end of a speeding trash truck
Revealing open road ahead
Lined by all the multi-colored reflectors
That everyone wants to put at the end of their driveways
On their mailboxes
Corner posts
And unique family signs
Each trying so hard to be one of a kind
That they all bleed together into a kaleidoscope of colors
One not being distinct from another, really

George finishes his song
To reveal a sudden
"Burt Watson Chevrolet!
The only Chevrolet dealer by the airport!"
Distraction

I think of other things

More pleasant things

I bump up the cruise control a couple of times

And I drive on

- FDR22NOV2021

That Elderly Aircraft Mechanic's Lament

Gather thy nuts and bolts while ye may
For as the years grow colder
The fingers lack flex and closure
While the worms gnaw away inside

Until a husk of yourself is all that is left
An eggshell thin and fragile
Which would crack at the slightest shamble
Unable to bend and pick the FOD upon the ground

To grasp and pull upon that expensive wrench

Feels as a knife edge upon the fingers

A conundrum and conflict of a sort

For your skin turned to thick leather years ago

Too poor to quit

Too old to rehire

Is this that that awaits us

As we yearn to retire?

The Union stole your pension

The recession ate your 401K

Family emergencies sucked those savings

So you go in again every single day

Grind the corrosion

Flush patch the flaw

R&R a constant speed prop

Rig those flight controls

~A pause to sign your life away~

Account for all your many tools

Wipe down and slip into shadowed trays

Receive your Charles Taylor award

And keep on going until you can't

-FDR30JUN2021

When the Mob Thinks You Know Too Much and They Buy You a Brand New Pair Of Shoes

Come close
Lean on in
A tête-à-tête
As my feet 
Are encased
Within concrete

We'll discuss deep subjects
A universe
A mote of dust
An ounce of trust
Until our time runs out
As all things must

Remove your mask
Let me see your face
I've revealed all my secrets
Now lets hear yours
Allow me to read your lips
As sounds can be ignored

Almost time now
You prepare to push me in
One last glance
A word or two
Beleive me I understand
This is what you need to do

A moment of weightlessness
Then the water closes in
I'm holding my breath
The light begins to dim
Seconds tick by
Fish begin to pay attention

This is fine
I think to myself
As I exhale one last time
Face obscured by bubbles
Cold and quiet all around
I can think of worse places to be found

- FDR11DEC2020

Anachronistic Chronometry

Aluminum cased
Leather strap secured
Silicone and precious metals electrified
Time keeping in this modern age
Is smarter than it used to be
With apps to track my sugars
Count how many times I sit and stand
Compressing my stress
By reminding me to breathe
Telling the time is almost an afterthought
Replaced every other year

Prodded by ghostly gears and springs
Ruby bearings pressed by pin points
Spinning just one timeline over from this
Where electricity is not king quite yet
And long hands chase short ones
Augmented by compound functions
Wound with care never too tightly
Maintained by a craftsman
Passed down generationally

Faretheewell Google Plus

This song inspires something
A lyp sync battle
A half remembered hip shake wiggle
A lyrical introspection
About how this could have been you
If only you were more outgoing
And could play music
Or sing

Goodbye Google Plus. It has definitely been a thing.