Robin Lipinski

I once heard the question, “Would you rather lose your sight or sense of hearing?” There is supposed to be a ‘right’ answer. Of course I chose the other answer.

Questions of rhetorical queries are just that; a means of using history, personal experience, and personal logic to find solutions and answers to satisfy the curiosity.

The above two paragraphs set the stage for the title of tonight’s rambling and question, “What is more powerful, pictures or print?”

Notice that I used the word, ‘powerful’ over other adjectives, verbs,  nouns. Powerful.

Sure, a picture of sex lights up the mind while words written regarding sex… boring, boring, boring… Yet the obvious before our eyes is tempting to vote for while completely forgetting something that sets homo sapiens apart from the millions of other creatures with eyes… that being, the ability to write in a language of common.

And, if you happen to be atheist, agnostic, or believe in God, here is another question, “If everyone currently alive on this planet  (mostly) have read or’ heard’ of  God, and many believing the words in a book… Is that proof the print is much more powerful than pictures of a deity, a picture that does not exist? Imagine the power of print that leads to belief and faith. War fought over such beliefs. And yet amuse ourselves with the power of kitten videos.

***

Words

Set in stone while stones erode away

turning to sand

flowing to a beach

to join an ocean of eternity

Sounded or read, the mind accepts

the blind see

the caves present

around a fire words paint of picture of history

To say, “I hate you!” “I love you!” “I fell face down in a chocolate cake!”

write about a good time in a bathroom stall

vs

the pictures of past recordings

on the

television set.

readers form instant thoughts and opinions when reading anything from advertising to educational books. Interesting how the mind works. speed readers pick and choose the words as they cruise through whatever it is they read. slow readers or readers just learning to read think more on how to decipher the letters and make it a word than trying to understand the word read.

the following is some fun I enjoy. words in a soup mix. words jumbled and making a reader think and thus picture in their mind just what it is they are reading.
***

Crockery of the Bent Branch

Silken panties
Moist
Honey and chocolate

Canned tuna
worms
spoiled lettuce

Beach sand and latex
thong
bulging ball sack

Moldy bread
sodden newspaper

and if by chance the moon should fall
a jumbled mess
a catch of catfish and rye

sipped from a cardboard box
by the train tracks
of bliss

Youth grow and in growing try to make themselves a part of their world.

Indigenous cultures have/had traditions. For males/men, there were customs and rights-of-passage. For females/women, there were customs and rights-of-passage.

For thousands of years, the youth grew and made themselves a part of their world. In their struggles and journey their lives made them different.

Today, it is ‘different’. Society has/is fragmented. Cultures are degraded to the point of being vastly different. All aspects of life have become’ different’.

It could be stated that in today’s world, there is social evolution. That the various beliefs of people are making a ‘difference’. I say… Horseshit.

Youth of today have no real structure other than what is force fed them via the modern world of computers, television, school, politics, religions, and blah, blah, blah…

Today, youth want to be ‘different’. Pierce their dick as if it were some tribal right-of-passage. Pierce the nipple. Tattoo the buttocks, the face… Change sexual orientation. Anything to be ‘different’ when actually, the tragic comedy is, they’ve become drones of stupidity.

Not many will come even close to agreeing to what I write, that is because they are drones of some club or another. Some of those clubs could be considered stupid, some considered intelligent, but drones none-the-less, and no different than sand on the beach.

What   the youth of indigenous are/were, that set them apart, far apart, and very, very, very, very, very, very, X a billion… different than the modern drone society. What was that difference that made them uniquely different? War. Death. Adversity. Survival.

Today, the drones are trying to be different in a way that makes absolutely no impact other than mental rubbish and boredom of similarity.

To take a life… ah, now that is different. To save a life of one that tried to take your life… that is extremely different. Peace… Ha! That is currently impossible for the human tribe as whole…

If your town was at war with a neighboring town, you’d be different. You would not concern yourself with changing your gender, piercing your clit, donating money to save a manatee… no, you’d learn the art of survival and war, and from that experience you’d change and become what you really are, and not what you want to be…

So, War is what brings difference. It is what makes people different.

And

Peace is what brings difference. It is what makes people different.

Again, humans are a primitive species with cultures of predictability, not strange to see, not hard to understand. Drones of stupidity when they are without war/conflict/survival. Special and different for a moment when embracing real peace. One day, it will be different but not for thousands if not millions… of year.

In the meantime, enjoy being a drone. Go play a video game. Yell at a political rival. Have sex with a goat. Whatever you think makes you different. For me, I’ll be sooooooo glad to be far, far, farrrrrrr, away from this mess.

Bumping along with riding wind and ruffled ambitions

There, down below, hillsides covered in fire

And there, up high, a falling star

All around the particles of life.

A bird flying backwards

A snake climbing the vine

Crickets demanding

Children smug and crying

Where does the trail end or begin if hobbled with the mantel of humanity

Circle path beaten into a canyon passed from life to life

Is this where the line starts?

End?

It matters not as the sound of laughing

ever the wind and cares

blowing, blowing, blowing,

this is my Life.

foggle

goot

mirrtle

bop.

and that is what you clicked on to read a bunch of shit.

Some say the day is just a day

A day

is

though it is

more

than just a day

Today was a day, some say, just another day

though

for me

today was indeed

a good day.

There is a television show called, Shark Tank. It actually is an entertaining bit of television with some fun drama.

For those not familiar with the show, it deals with ‘Sharks’ who are actual successful business women and men. There are many guest Sharks on the show but the main characters are, Robert Herjavec, Kevin Leary, Mark Cuban Lori Greiner, Barbara Corloran, and John Daymond.

So, the Sharks are the investors and main ‘players’ who listen to the other characters… those people with idea’s for products and wanting publicity and for the Sharks to invest in their dreams and ideas…

A perfect show and perfect fodder for the inspiration of the following. (I suggest you watch an episode of, Shark Tank first and then read the following…) Enjoy.

***

Shark Tank

(just another episode of reality)

Tonight’s episode shows two groups of people who arrived and tried to seduce the sharks into investing in their respective products. The first was a solar powered tooth brush and the second was an invention that would turn water into wine in only thirty minutes. Both products were dismissed by the sharks. The third and final appearance was now set to enter the ‘tank’.

The television music set the scene for the next entry. Sitting in their chairs, the sharks sat silently waiting for the doors to open.

Usually the engineers editing the show only allow a few seconds until the next act comes in. This time however, they let everything unfold. Almost as if they had lost control of the filming and episode.

First one minute passed, and then two, and finally after three minutes had passed it became apparent that the sharks were getting agitated.

“What’s going on? Is there a problem,” Mark Cuban asked Kevin Leary who sat next to him.

“I don’t know, maybe the next one has cold feet.”

In the actual filming of shows, much is edited, especially comments that take away from the reality. In this case, Lori Greiner turned to the director and said, “So, what’s up? Are we going to film this or not?”

The director was speechless, almost as if he were made of stone.

Finally, a gruffy, scruffy character entered the room. There was no music, no fanfare, nothing but an appearance of a man wearing old raggy clothing, dirty shoes. He sauntered up and stood in front of the sharks, of which all now wore the look of shock upon their faces.

Sticking his finger into his nose and rooting around for boogers the man finally found success, and taking the dusty chunk of ‘nose gold’ he popped it into his mouth.

“Hey! Is this some kind of joke?” Mark exclaimed.

Robert Leary just sat there and started laughing.

John looked stunned.

The rest of the sharks expressed various combinations of the above.

“Hi, my names Bob.” The man said with a smile as he sat down on the floor and sitting with crossed legs looked up at the  sharks and then said, “So, what do you want to invest in?”

Mark, the most vocal of the sharks, said, “Why are you here? Did someone send you to prank us? Is this all a joke?”

“No. No joke. I just thought I’d stop by and see what you all really want to invest in…”

Barbara Corloran asked, “Okay Bob, I’ll play. What is it you are offering?”

There was silence in the stage prop now. What looked like a room was actually nothing more than a stage. The camera people were silent. The director was silent. The sharks were silent. All across the world that had people tuned into, Shark Tank, were silent…

With a big smile now, Bob replied to Barbara, “I’m offering whatever it is you want. So, what do you want to invest in Barbara?”

A nervous laugh came from Barbara. Not only from the strangeness of Bob, but also because the zipper on Bob’s pants were unzipped and Bob’s underwear showed the world that Bob wore pink boxer shorts. Yet, she tried to play along and said, “I’d like to fly…”

“I see…” Bob said. He then turned to Robert and asked. “So Robert, what would you like to invest in?”

Bob said, “This is nuts. You’re the one that is supposed to show us an idea and dream, not us. This is crazy. You’re crazy. This is all a joke.”

“No. No joke Robert. What is it in this world that you’d like to invest in?”

“I want to invest in a method that changes sand into gold.” Robert said with a sneer.

“Okay. Got it. So Mark? What about you?”

“I want to invest in making you disappear. My time is too important to waste on this crap.”

“Yep. Got it. And you Kevin?”

“I want to be young.”

“Okay Kevin. The fountain of youth. The liquid of life.  And you John, care to invest in anything?”

“I want to solve poverty through business opportunities for all the poor people”

“Mmm, interesting. Okay.  And Lori, you’re the last shark, what about you? Care to invest in anything?

“You know Bob, this is some really crazy shit going on right now. I don’t ,now if we’re being punked, played, and the butt of some kind of joke, but I’ll play your game. I want to just find out what’s going on and who you are. How about that? I’ll even offer a dime to find out…”

With a laugh, Bob stood up and brushed some dust off his trousers and the  zipped up his pants. The room became silent again. “Excellent! What fun. Alright. Lets get down to business.”

“First, Barbara, this is a sample for you to pique your interest.” And with a wave of his dirty hand, he pointed at Barbara where a tiny spark flew from his hand and it floated over to her, where upon contact, she levitated from her chair and she became stuck on the ceiling, bouncing around the electric cables and lights. Her screams were real and sincere.

“And for you Robert, everything you touch will now turn to gold.” With the same gesture of hand and similar spark, Robert too, screamed as the chair he was sitting on turned to gold, and then everything else he touched as he ran from the room. Soon he would die of hunger and thirst as everything he touched turned to gold.

“Kevin, enjoy your childhood,” And Kevin was no longer an adult. He was now a squalling infant and would remain that way forever.

“John, your investment choice was excellent. Good for you. Because of you millions of poor people will now find success…” And out in the world, already the many millions were busy finding success.

“As  to your investment choice Lori, a wise investment and your dime will be put to good use. So, to answer you, my name is Bob. I need nothing from this world. You all however, are of this world and need. Some of you chose wisely. Most did not. Choice is a wonderful gift. Enjoy this knowledge world and invest wisely going forward,” Bob said as he turned his gaze to the camera’s beaming the show across the world.

“And finally Mark, your investment was a natural one fitting for your world. You wanted me to disappear and so I shall. But first, know this. There are bigger sharks in the sea…”

With a loud laugh and clap of his hands, Bob disappeared leaving behind a blue spark floating brightly in the air, only to soon fade in color and disappear, leaving the world to wonder now as to what the heck just happened.

Building a home for a couple who are fun and interesting. Both are retired. She likes cats and he likes toys… by toys I’m talking about Jeeps able to climb cliffs in fourth gear while the driver wears a parachute.

Today, the man helped me start forming up the stem walls. It went well and it was also amusing.

If any of you watched the old show, Beverly Hillbillies, you’ll remember a character on the show going by the name, Jethro. Now Jethro used to wear a rope for a belt on his trousers. Today, the man working with me wore some baling twine as he had forgotten his belt at home.

I too, wear a rope as a belt very often as it is practical, comfortable, and fun.

All day long he was constantly adjusting the twine; amazing how simple things are so inspiring. And gives a whole new meaning to, ‘baling wire’ and farmers.

***

Tween twine and a drop in drawers

Choosing a reveal or conceal

Wearing colored baling cordage

is a wonderful deal.

Sweat rolling down, trousers trying

and smiles.

She just shook her head

He just went with what was on hand

in his hand

a knotted line only getting cinched tighter.

And when the day is over, pants over the chair,

still hanging by a thread

a simple line of the familiar.

Hot weather to almost the extreme. Setting metal re-bar for a stem wall with metal so hot it burns. Yet, at the end with the temp in the high nineties, a red spider sat on top of one of the footing sticks of re-bar.

It was a proud and very wonderful little creature. For such I have great admiration. We talked and I told it that tomorrow the concrete forms will be installed and thoughts of a web should be moved.

Tomorrow, we’ll see if the spider took the advice. Though, it is much like me and probably will just proceed.

Thus, the inspiration for a poem.

*

Web Slinger

Often silken nets carpet the ground, bushes, and trees

In size large to small, the spiders work and watch it all

Flying the currents so high, burrowing holes so deep

even some swim under water with a bubble to call home.

Today the visit by the red spider, it was nice to see

Eagles soaring in the distance and cry

Ravens social circle of rage

Sun so hot it burnt

yet the red spider

stood

and

talked to me.

Today, the harvests are in full gear as the combines consume countless bushels of Idaho grain fields. And endless vista of dust clouds, trucks, tractors and combines. With the high heat and low humidity, the conditions are perfect for harvesting.

It reminded me of my farming days. Those wonderful days where their was no internet, cell phone, satellite, fast-paced world of digital shit. And combining was indeed a joy.

A Massey Harris model 90 combine. Ugly rusted red. Flathead Dodge six banger. But for all it’s faults, it harvested many, many bushels. And it was in my memory today as the harvest comes in.

*

And thus a poem is cut, sifted, and ground.

**

to the sky

***

Shadowed trembles stalked dry

With height of Spring behind amid a Summers binding

comes the breeze of calm winds and the ignition of spark plugs

in a combine finding.

Circle, a blur of yellow with polished mirror reflecting the blur

the zippered line of receive and churn

for before it all fell, fallen, consumed…

Hand upon the wheel while in a hopper feel

falling

gold

feeling…

Smile bearing direction

Inside feeling the day

Those were the great ones in those old combining days.