Notes - dark humor / (final) Brothers 14 / (final) Grandma 14 /

         Mid-afternoon. You did your exercises this morning, fifty minutes worth. Carol is taking her first walk around the lake at the park while you sit it out. You had left over Papa John’s pizza for lunch while you watched last night “Downton Abbey”. So far it has been a rather relaxing cool and sunny day. You got a short note from Rich and Ann D. saying you ought to continue your work and that I, the Amorella, ought to be patented for the prevention of writer’s block.

         1413 hours. He was being humorous.

         Of course. – Amorella

         I think my problem with Diplomat is that I am not wickedly keen on satirizing myself.

         No doubt. Don’t you find this refreshingly interesting? – Amorella

         I see the great dark humor in it.

         Isn’t that what you wanted, to see the darkness with the species – why not let Diplomat flesh it out. – Amorella

         I normally love research.

         There’s the rub. Funny, huh? – Amorella

         I must say humor knows no bounds.

         Why else a HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither? – Amorella

         True, a bit like Moby Dick that way.

         Here comes Carol walking across the dam. She looks cold. Later dude. – Amorella

         You ran some errands, including a hot chocolate for Carol and a stopped at Graeter’s before sitting in the car behind the Miami University extension at the VOA Park off Cox Road. Carol is on page 87 of The Postmistress.

         1523 hours. Time to work on Brothers 14. 

         1610 hours. I completed the segment though we moved from VOA Miami to VOA Centre Target to nearby Kroger’s Carol is getting candy for the packages she just bought for the Blue Ash Retired Teachers’ luncheon on Thursday. She and Ann are in charge of it this time.

         Add your Brothers segment. – Amorella

***

(final) The Brothers 14 ©2014, rho GMG.One

            It is an early morning in late August and Orion is up in the southeast sky. By afternoon high school and college football and band practices have begun in Riverton. While Richard thinks on why the New Year doesn’t begin in September like it should, Robert sits beside him on the back deck looking off into the clump of trees on the back of his corner lot at Main and West Streets.

            “I like the trees,” said Robert. “A couple in the middle are already turning.”

            Richard smiled contentedly, “Buckeyes, no doubt."

            “I’ve new a poem in hand.”

            Ignoring the statement Richard asked, “You started reading my book yet?"

            "I finished the first chapter.”

            “What do you think?” asked Richard enthusiastically.

            “Who is Grandma Earth exactly?”

            “She . . . I’m not sure exactly. She introduces the stories.”

            “Is she Mother Nature? That’s what I thought at first, but your side notes say she is the black actress in Gone With The Wind.”

            “Hattie McDaniel. That's right, I mentally modeled the character of Grandma after her. I didn't know it was a margin note.”

            “It is a draft, Richie.” He glanced to the browned blue grass in the late summer yard thinking he should have watered it more like Connie had suggested. “Whatever happened to Hattie McDaniel?”

            “I don’t know. Her caring portrayal in the film is what I wanted to express.”

            Robert gave a grumble, “Grandma as Mother Nature doesn’t give a damn. Look at all the natural disasters. Millions of people killed.”

            “She’s indifferent, just like we are.”

            “Speak for yourself, Richie.”

            “She’s indifferent just as I am. I made her up. What else would you expect her to be besides myself?”

            “You once said Grandma was modeled on the commercial face of Aunt Jemima."

            “People know about Aunt Jemima. She is still on the box, he paused and shuffled in his chair, “Well, she’s new and updated. Most readers wouldn’t know the name Hattie McDaniel, and I didn’t know how to reference Gone With The Wind in context with Aunt Jemima.”

            “Aunt Jemima’s supposed to be a cook too isn’t she?”

            “I don’t remember,” replied Richard in a ruffled tone.

            Robert spoke lazily, “The whole chapter is a bit unorthodox, but I realize you are writing for a very limited audience.”

Richard suddenly asks, “Do you want to fly out to Vegas again this fall or wait until spring?”

"The last time the four of us went to Vegas you spent most of our last free day playing nickel slots Richie.”

“That's because early on I lost a hundred dollars playing quarter slots. It isn’t nearly as much fun as nickel slots." He hesitated, "where are Cyndi and Connie?"

“We’re coming!” shouted Connie. “We’ve whipped up a special treat.”  

What have you two been talking about?" asked Cyndi as they came into the room.

"I hope it's double chocolate and caramel brownies," replied Richard.

           

"We made a fruit bowl," smiled Cyndi. "It's a lot healthier than brownies."

"But not nearly as good," replied Robert. With a hint of irritation the brothers laughed.

The girls sat somber-like for a moment.  Connie noted, "You two should be more health-minded." Then, seemingly out of the blue, Connie commented, "I'm not going to Vegas again unless we rent a car and drive to the Grand Canyon or one of the other national parks."

Cyndi added, "Richie you lost over two hundred dollars playing those dumb quarter slots."

"I thought you lost a hundred," said Robert.

"Why did you tell him that Richie?"

"I figured it out," said Cyndi happily, "when he started playing the nickel slots."

Robert piped in with a poker face, "Jeez, Richie, you should be more honest.”

"Richie's better at fiction," snapped Cyndi. "Isn't that right, Connie."

"Not always. Why, again, I did I marry you Rob, and not Richie? Seems to me you had a pretty good line," giggled Connie.

"Better than my brother's," intimated Robert coyly.

The four sat in a comfortable silence, each with a small known family smile relaxing on their faces. Finally, Connie spoke just above a whisper, "We each know who each is and who the other is not."

Uncharacteristically, Robert broke out into the laughter first. The others followed suit. Richard and Robert got out the card table and put it on the deck. Richard got the chairs. Connie pulled the deck of cards from the top right kitchen drawer. Cyndi put the fruit bowl away and picked up some beer and chips from the kitchen. The rest of the afternoon at the corner house was remembrances, fun and games.

***

         You are home after two hours puttering around town. Post. - Amorella

           2116 hours. Carol made a unique vegetable soup for supper and we cut into a fresh loaf of wheat bread bought today at the grocery’s bakery to go with it. We watched last night’s PBS's “Sherlock” and then NBC and ABC News. I completed Grandma 14 and am ready to drop it in the posting.

         You discovered some errors and may have created another so re-read it carefully in the morning. Add and post. – Amorella

***

(final) Grandma’s Story 14 ©2014, rho GMG.One

            I am standing on one of ridged Chinese mountain summits about five thousand feet high and a bit above an austere stone shelter where three people are spending their summer.

            Shushu is a rather pleasant young woman from one local tribe who usually has her own way. Her summer love is Ch’ang who is from an adjoining tribe. Her great aunt, Lili, shaman of both local tribes, is also on the summit. The stone hut is Lili’s for the summer months, and she invited Shushu and Ch’ang. Neither Shushu nor Ch’ang, are related except by love. Now, Lili knows a private love story of a different age in which both Shushu and Ch’ang are unknowingly connected. Here is Lili to tell to you this story.

            I am Lili of the mountains. I dance the mountain air to walk cloud tops when I dream of life now long ago to you, but not to me. It has been as twenty years of life, these two thousand of yours, that is how I sense it.

The two I am telling this private story about were dancers as I am. The particular summer of your long ago, I had begun an embroidery project with an emerald green backdrop. Something unpronounceable was in the air when I stared into the green silk cloth. My left foot touched something unseen, a stone I immediately dug up. The stone is unpronounceable in the summit air but it is Plenty and Bountiful, at least on its sharp edge. Understanding is a sense, like smell to an ancient shaman like myself.

            Shushu loves Ch’ang and she though can do something about this love she chooses to do nothing. Likewise, Ch’ang chooses to do nothing. Together the two become as a single room, like this shelter where Grandma and I, Lili, presently stand. To exert their separate personalities Shushu becomes a doorframe in the west wall while Ch’ang becomes a doorframe centered in the east wall. The river, two thousand feet below, runs from west to east. Two thousand feet above the river, love attempts to construct a bridge between the two doorframes.

As love is a condition it cannot build the bridge between the two stubborn friends. Hearts build bridges, not love. The walls of this stone shelter, the west wall and the east wall, are the rigidity in their hearts. The centered doorframes are the exacting souls of both Shushu and Ch’ang.

            Lili took a moment to smile then she suddenly transported herself to the center of the stone shelter where in her line of sight she can see through the two opposite doorframes at once. In life one cannot see through both doorframes at once due to the Nature of Things. In death one can sense the mark of the soul line.

            Each doorway is a Dragon of Plenty and Bounty. Each soul-framed doorway is equal. Each doorway is invisible in the Nature of Things. Each doorframe is invisible in the Nature of Things. Each wall is invisible in the Nature of Things. I, Lili am also invisible in the Nature of Things. Yet, as I am writing in Grandma Earth she is visible in the Nature of Things.

            This is what I, Lili, thought those many years ago and this is what I think today. I made my embroidery that summer. I am the small centered red dot. Shushu is the west dragon. Ch’ang is the east dragon. When a living human being stares at the red dot long enough sheorhe sees not a red dot, but the tip of the tail of me, Lili, the Red Dragon.

            It is then that the mirror image dragons, Shushu and Ch’ang, immediately form into one dragon. Shushu and Ch’ang become an illusion in one as do the heart-and-soul as do the doorframes but not the dragon’s door.

Grandma carefully steps down off the stone walled shelter of heartansoul and begins a little mountain jig. For time and not, those old black feet move like a river dance. Standing straight and tall those feet dance. Grandma's hands ridged on her hips as Grandma sings, “I move in human feet stomping. I dance in a Nature seen and unseen.” With that, Grandma jumps to a cloud top and Lili re-appeared. Both dance side by side until they are out of sight in the sky.

Cloud dancing with Grandma in the sorcerer’s dreams

Have a past and a future, without the difference.

Words dancing in stories with schematics on themes

Of balance and cadence and conscience and prudence.

***

Notes - Dead 14 (final) / working on Dip perspective /

         Mid-morning. You are sitting in the car waiting for Carol who is in Kroger’s on Montgomery Road. The weather is cold and damp and there may be icy roads later today. With the weather comes a bout of arthritis, which is making you a bit sluggish. You waited until the Sunday paper arrived before this errand and you both will have breakfast once home. Such is your morning. – Amorella

         0844 hours. There are lots of cars in parking with people later coming out with a bag or two of groceries, not a whole cart full. Last minute items I suppose, or essentials.

         You had breakfast and read the Sunday paper. You are bothered by your sugar being at a new high, especially since you have been doing your exercises. Your knees and lower back are still uncomfortable because of the weather and you are in wont of a morning nap before today’s exercises. – Amorella

         Why do you mention things I already know, Amorella. What is your purpose pray tell?

         To keep you honest, my man. To keep you honest.

         1324 hours. I had a nap and did my exercises.

         Before that you did some hack work on Dead Fourteen – Amorella

         Yes, it appears too wordy. What was I thinking? I sometimes get lost in words that are as a dream and upon awakening I find a word pile, an offshoot of legalize without any real poetry nearby – self-screwing words draining slowly into non-sense.

         I think the horse left the barn door open, boy. – Amorella

         1810 hours. I have re-completed Dead 14.

         Quite a change, boy, with the adding an edited version of your eighties poem “Priestess” from the Pringle and Orndorff poetry booklet (unpublished) “Take Two {Split/Personalities}” . – Amorella

         It fits.

         Add and post. – Amorella

***

(final) The Dead 14 ©2014, rho GMG.One

            Merlyn lay on his bed in his hut encapsulated the private spiritual environs of heartansoulanmind. He grumbling, "I am no more a princely pebble than the commonest of headstones." This questioning place is no different when alive. Once in life a young druidess came to my lean-to shelter deep in the oak forest and said, "I am searching for wisdom while attempting to define love. I was told to seek you out, thus here I am."

            I remember smiling, mostly in surprise. I said, "What is your name child?"

            She quite clearly, as clear as a mountain stream, politely and melodiously replied, "Vivian. My name is Vivian."

            In a forest of hard wooded honesty I said, "Why did you repeat your name just now? Are you not sure who you are?" She was either underwhelmed or overwhelmed, I could not be sure.

            I stated directly to her clearly green-rimmed dark pupils, "You have to define yourself, Vivian, before you can define either wisdom or love." How I remember those young dark Celtic eyes. That was so long ago but her innocent youth is still fresh.

            Such is a memory, but what does it mean for a human being not to be innocent? Why is Mother Nature innocent? Why are the lesser animals innocent and why are we considered corrupt?

Attempting to maneuver the future for our own betterment, is that innocence? That's what these two rebellions of the Dead are about. The Dead lost the first Rebellion and we won the second. Manipulation of self and others cannot co-exist with innocence. Physically surviving life is not innocent not matter what the age. None of us Dead are so innocent yet we survive in spiritual form. Why? We continue whether we wish it or not. We make do even now in this HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither. Even when we appear to sleep in stone it is only a dream, a wishful thought of being solid again. What a strange thing to have continuity within Nothing nor Neither. For millenniums people were anxious about what happens after death; now, we are still anxious because nothing happens unless we decide to direct it.

            A voice whispered from the corner of the roof down to the earth-like floor beneath his bed. "Hello, Merlyn. I can't sleep either. Do you want some company?"

            "Is this Brighid, daughter of The Dagda?" Once considered a Celtic goddess, he thought.

            "No, this is Brigit, who was once your love, Merlyn."

            "Before Vivian."

            "And after, Merlyn."

            Love does not go away among the Dead, remember Merlyn. Love does not run nor does it linger. Love is a moment never completely lost thus it has no right to recovery. Love is always surrounded by innocence.

            "I read your thoughts, Merlyn," whispered Brigit. They are always lined in kindness.

            "You could always read me. I think that is the reason we parted in life."

            "Only physically, Merlyn, and Here we are together."

            "How is this that we remain true to friends and lovers in this place?" He felt her right arm touching his back as he lay on his right side.

            "I am forming as are you."

            "Wishful thinking," grumbled Merlyn as if he were half asleep.

            "Just as in life, my love. People are married to wishful thinking."

            "In life people are married too many a thought for life," responded Merlyn and suddenly felt his patience growing and his back and her arm disappear into the night.

            He turned over, opened his eyes and saw the empty wall with no roof above. He blinked innocently to see the stars are out, and concluded, such is the lot of we who are Dead. And, in a moment Merlyn lies fully dead, a sarcophagus, a human spirit entombed untimed until Vivian’s once living voice flares in the sluggish  darkness:

                        I am Priestess -- Guardian of the Great wheel.

                                    My blood flows in rhythm with the white of the moon.

                                                I hug the Oak bark hard and kiss the bright sun to yellow.

                        Slowly. Apollo ignites me, and I conjure hot with wild timeless winds

                                    Blowing among ancient marble – tall stately columns

                                                Rising solid above our grassy Mother on this and other worlds.

                        I am invisible to all those who are outside my head,

                                    I am boundless reality beyond the walls of the known universe.

                                                I am Priestess -- Guardian of the Great Wheel, I am Vivian.

                        Jarred to half awake, dead Merlyn replies half of two thoughts long -- Can memory alone be an enchantment? Is love alone endless?

***

            You and Carol watched parts of the Superbowl, mostly waiting for the commercials, and you have nothing in mind for Diplomat and assume Diplomat has nothing in mind for you. – Amorella

         2201 hours. You hit the nail on the head as usual Amorella. I try to imagine Diplomat watching my h-dream:

***

. . . me seated behind the steering wheel of a maroon 1948 two-door Ford sedan with a tan cloth interior. I turn towards the back seat and ‘sense’ a clothesbasket overfilled with letters of the alphabet. I am less than a year old and I hear a voice distinctly above me say, “My name is baby.” [It is a male adult voice but not mine.] Outside the right back car window I sense Diplomat observing the inside of the car taking notes; she says, “This is where I begin. [Richard and the Baby are being treated as separate entities when in fact they are one in the same. Richard realizes he is Baby but does not associate himself with the name ‘Richard the Observer of Eyes on the Box’. He would rather accept someone else’s definition of himself than his own definition. Immediately he does not show trust in his own facilities, in his own direct observations.]”

***

            Your ‘imaging’ not Diplomat’s. Post. - Amorella

Notes - concept satire / faith / Pouch 13 (final) /

         After noon local time. Carol is talking to Alta on the phone; you have done your exercises and had a nap so it is time for your day to begin.

         1234 hours. I like the idea of a satire as long as the humor stays gray to dark. I’m ready to see what she does with it.

         That’s good of you, boy. – Amorella

         Actually, it doesn’t seem to me there will be too much challenge to satirizing my state of being as long as it stretches into the species quest into knowing who one is – I would hate to waste this on myself.

         That’s more like it. Post. - Amorella

         1308 hours. I have Diplomat’s Introduction and Thesis posted.

         And? – Amorella

         Shouldn’t it be posted here also?

         Why? – Amorella

         Okay. Interested readers will have to go to

         What is she going to begin with? That isn’t much of an introduction either.

         O yea of little faith. – Amorella

         1313 hours. I don’t know what to say here.

         And yet you found the words. – Amorella

         It is not a matter of faith.

         No, it is. You don’t have faith in Diplomat to do her project. – Amorella

         I have faith in you.

         Post. - Amorella

         Mid-afternoon. You drove to Blue Ash for a Marx Bagels ‘picnic’ lunch – tuna salad on honey wheat topped off with two chocolate chip cookies, all freshly made. You sat in the car, eating and watching traffic on Kenwood Road. Now you watching traffic on Mason-Montgomery Road after a quick stop at Kroger’s.

         1523 hours. Such are the days of retirees. No complaints.

         Why don’t you work on Pouch 13 and we can come back to Diplomat later. – Amorella

         Fine with me.  Carol is on page 68 of The Postmistress; I thought she was further along.

         1550 hours. I have Pouch 13 edited.

         Add and post when convenient. – Amorella

***

(final) Diplomatic Pouch 13 ©2014, rho GMG.One

            Ship analyzed all personal and public information gathered on Pyl, Justin and Blake as well as their fine-lined DNA substructures and ongoing vital signs many degrees beyond those presently possible or even known on Earth. With what Ship has presently he can create a female and/or a male twin of each individual earthling for non-rejecting fully mature and transplantable whole body or body parts within twenty-four hours. Observations of living earthling vital stats while anywhere on Ship are compartmentalized into Box-UsefulanMixeData.

            After explanations as to general safety procedures and how the control room sorted data on Ship, the earthlings sit down in comfort at an accompanying table and chairs in a small pushanpull bump-out room. A short break with familiar drinks of choice and a few assorted well-known tidbits sat on a small wall shelf for their pleasure.

            Justin asked, "I'm sure Pyl and Blake are fascinated with the overall mechanics of operation as what you say reminds me of a flight manual. I appreciate that this is a general review as I am somewhat overwhelmed with the size and detail. Friendly, you mentioned that you have about a twenty thousand year head start on us in science and technology. To carry through – what is the form of politics and social control used on your three-planet solar system, that is, how is society organized so that you could build and man such a ship as this?"

            Friendly spoke, "First, the point is that we are not any more intelligent than you are. Our species developed differently for a variety of reasons even though the physics of our planets are quite similar to your own. We can breath your air, drink your water and eat some of your food without momentary illness. We evolved similarly because we are from similar habitats." She paused taking a sip of water and relaxing at a slower pace of speech, "Think of your family automobile and how it is built and used. It is a vehicle to take a person, friends or family safely from point A to point B."

            Blake slightly raised his hand but interrupted, "But we have a choice as to what vehicle we buy."

            Yermey raised his index finger and touched the slight smile forming on his lips but said nothing.

            Friendly continued, "We had choices too, over the millenniums, we tried many choices but after about five thousand years of whittling down to the best choice for us, we chose one that while not perfect, works better for us. Change happens, just as your species has had to adapt, so do we still. Our being on Earth is an example of this. We are here on our own because ThreePlanets is not ready for you, not because of your lack of technology or because of your being primates. ThreePlanets is not ready for you because you think differently than we do."

            Hartolite smiled in agreement with her comrades. "We want to show you our humanity because we feel our basic humanity is really no different than your own."

            "Perhaps we might begin with a what do you do?" questioned Pyl. When we are at a social mixer this is one of those questions people start with." She paused awaiting Justin and Blake's fuller attention. For instance, if asked I would say I am a career counselor at the University of Cincinnati. She glanced, "Justin?"

            Her husband smiled sheepishly, "I teach archeology at the University. I have spent time in the field, the last time abroad I was in Israel and Egypt.

            Blake quietly added, "I have a software company that specializes in small electronics -- behind the scenes work in communication devices. My father started the company many years ago. Pyl, my sister, and I own it jointly. It is a private company."

            Yermey interrupted his silence with, "I am a problem solver."

            Hartolite followed, "I too am a problem solver."

            "Me too," responded Friendly. "The three of us solve problems. We are employed by Family Services, what you might call State Services."

            "You mean you counsel the poor?" asked Pyl, "It looks like you are all pilots. You flew a ship across the galaxy. The jobs seem so unrelated to one another."

            Blake quipped, "Maybe we are the poor these people are counseling."

            At first Yermey sat delighted thinking Blake's humor quick and excellent; yet he found himself unsure.

       Meanwhile Ship realized humor and storytelling might be the best path for two humane species to develop a common trust. Everyone likes to be entertained, thought Ship, even me.

                                                                        ***