Posted on by robinblipinski

A Wooden Stool

Items and objects; material in a non material means.

As a high class hoarder (genetic gift) I have traveled this world and admired/acquired many ‘things’. Things of normality and things of non-belief.

Items ranging from a kiss from God to a set a bull elk antlers found at a dumpsite. Items. Things. Memories.

What does this mean? A sickness? A disease? Dragons are known to collect and covet gold while in my laughter knowing they truly collect other things…

“What is it worth?” asked by those coming to my gallery and wondering. The reply, “Whatever it is one wants to pay.” Pay being a dollar or a curse, maybe a blessing or a sneeze. Value is whatever it means.

Lately I have been selling/casting away/throwing away things while attaining a deeper meaning and treasure from the experiences as the dust after years is blown away.

The pictures above are of a stool. A wooden stool of very little monetary value yet hold a story deep and rich as any item can be.

No, the stool is not the crown for the King of England nor a bit coin, which no one can see. It is a memory, a collection, a story. It is today and tomorrow and the next of next until it is yesterday; one of my favorite things.

The story: As an avid collector of anything NOT made of gold…(yuck, cosmic shit if anyone were to ask me) I bid on fifteen chairs being sold by a police department. The police in the small town had just buildt a new station with new cells, new windows, new carpet, new, new, new, so out with the old things.

Online auctions, a place where one can sit naked and sip whiskey while bidding on absolutely anything. Navy aircraft carrier screw shafts weighing more than a semi truck fully loaded. A submarine. A most wonderful and amusing distraction to enjoy while being hundreds of miles away.

On this auction of fifteen chairs, I won. My high bid was $10.00. 10.00 + 6% sales tax+ 10% commission (you do the earth math) and the chairs were mine.

What kind of chairs come to mind when reading this? Office chairs? Metal chairs? Obviously the wooden stool must have been one.

Off with the invoice in my hand, a truck full of corgi’s and a wife rolling her eyes and wondering if maybe there might be a cure for my obsessions. (lucky there is no cure, only relief)

Arriving at the new police station the directions further given were to an old shipping dock located in another part of town.

Pulling up in the truck it was a new adventure trying to find the gnomes in charge of the multiple manmade caves holding all sorts of ‘things’, things to include my newly purchased chairs.

The head gnomes eyes gleamed and in true gnome fashion laughed when seeing me. His friend came in from the dark and he too, laughed. (Gnomes have a unique sense of fashion and humor)

With the formalities out of the way and the minor social verbal tests given and passed, the chairs were released. Chair after chair after chair. Ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. Fifty two chairs were now mine. Chairs of every sort and style. Years of abandoned chairs. One chair actually was covered in faux leopard skin.

The chairs completely filled a 24′ flatbed trailer and the truck pulling it. The wife had eyes either filling with tears of joy or tears of sorrow. The corgi’s were just excited there were some gnomes to torture instead of the usual elves.

Fifty two chairs. A full load. A lot of strange looks driving back home. And once back at home there were calls to friends to be made. A LOT of chairs needed new homes.

Currently as I type this I’m sitting in a very large office chair that was a part of the goods. A wonderful chair and very comfortable and also fireproof. It had to be as I left it next to the heater and instead of bursting into flames, it just melted a little.

And now, the stool. As soon as i saw this stool i fell in love with it. And why? An old, ancient device a man once spent years sitting upon?

Look closely and see for yourself. The screws were of the old guild as were the square nuts. The wood from a tree long ago important and still sporting that importance today.

Look at the vibrant colors heralding the owner of the stool. Notice the scars of life given and taken during the duration of the legs sitting firmly upon stability while chaos unfolded around it.

Yes, there is definitely more to this story. Maybe one day i will write more of this little stool, a stool worth more than money or words, a stool that will always make me smile.

Posted on by robinblipinski

Therupy

Written by: A turnip farmer

Once upon a time there was a dirt clod separator agoing by the name, Cletus. Now Cletus was what you might call, a turnip sodbuster. Meaning he’d be one of those folk that turns the sod over by using a mule and a plow. Single shank shiny sodbusting machine a straight out of Sears and Roebuck cateelog.

Now Cletus was a definitely not a fancy dandy. There was no automobile, no lectricty, and no telivision.

It might sound strange but turnip sodbusters wor funny clothies. They had to cuz there weren’t much money to be made by selling turnips. Most nips ended up as hog slop, or in Cletus cause, his still. See, turnips made some nice alkehol.

I’m telling this story as Cletus wuz my cousin who worried about nuthin, well, almost nuthin cept talkin to women folk.

Cletus was a bigun, stood about three axes high with black wiry hair strong enough to slick a tick. Sometimes the mule he used to sodbust got cranky and tire so many days old Cletus had to take the leather straps n pull that single shank shiny plow hisself, whistling and going gangbusters.

One day Cletus saw a woman standing on the road next to a automobile spewing black smoke. This worried Cletus as he was alway fideting and sweating when his body was near a female, specially them ones that were not sporting a beard or sipping from a jug while not having any teeth.

This here woman was a looker, weighing in bout ten stone, the heavy kind. The kind where a man could have her help pull a cord of wood, split it, and still have enough spark to plow twenty acres.

Cletus tried to avert his gaze and while the plowing was hard work, he started sweating a pool of stink and his gut felt like a skunk crawled up inside to nest.

A strong whistle came ringing down and plumb slammed Cletus in the head. He had no choice but ta check the source, source being of course, the lady astanding next to the dead automobile.

With a tremble said to the mule, “Yahooo…” Which in mule language means, “Stop.”

Wiping the dirt from his hands Cletus ambled on over to talk to this woman.

“Uh, howdy miss, need any help?” Cletus now was truly sweating up a storm and the skunk in his gut sought higher ground inside his head.

“Yes indeed sir. Seems my car here is not feeling well.”

Now, Cletus could talk mule, he could talk plow, heck he could even talk to squirells, dogs, and wildcats. Women folk without beards and had most of their teeth were a might hard to even evoke a whisper.

Pausing for a spell, Cletus told this fine lady, “I don’t know much bout automobiles. Nothing at all.” And with that he turned and lumbered off.

He lumbered off a mumbling an giggling. Lumbered past his mule and plow. Lumbered past the turnip patch. Lumbered past his shack. Heck, he lumbered so long he go tired and lay down to take a nap.

When Cletus woke up he found himself naked, surrounded by fried possum, fried grizzly grease. He was shocked as he stood up and saw a lake with giant trout jumping up and laughing at him daring him to catch them. Cletus realized he was in heaven an what a wonderful heaven. No turnips, no mules, no plows, no cousins, no women with or without beards.

“Yehaa!” Cletus said as he reached down to pluck a ripe watermelon. Yessir, heaven it was indeed. An not a worry in the world.

Daily writing prompt
What’s something you used to worry about but don’t anymore?
View all responses

Posted on by robinblipinski

Why?

Why is it that when washing socks in a washing machine there is always a missing one when finished. Seriously, after years of washing socks and being frugal with them I am missing hundreds. Where do they go? I’ve checked the filters. I’ve checked the sofa. Those fuckers disappear without any evidence as to why.

The Beverly Hillbillys are excellent to watch. Jed. Elle May. Jethro. Ha! What a fucking hoot! Raising cows in a tennis court. Those are my kind of folks.

Now why am I writing this shit? Is it because Old Crow is flying into my brain cells? Ha! Fuck yeah.

( Had to delete so you have to resort to looking at the keystrokes just erased. Sorry about that. ((not really)) not sorry for anything except wanting to know where those fucking lost socks went)

Sheriff Giddings once said “Where do you see yourself in five years?” Now the poor sod is sodden.

West Virginia! Whee! Gonna buy a shack and tell the world to get lost. Gonna stay away from the zombies. Gonna catch fish. Gonna watch fire flys. Gonna play with corgis.

Now, haven’t written a poem in awhile, a while, a spell, a bit. And, fuck the poetry crittics. Everyone is a poet whether they either know or don’t have a fucking clue.

(inspired by a humming bird. A real fucking piece of what for me is reality)

***

Concoction

There the hard reality of soul resides

sighing

Giving thanks unspoken while retaining the motions of life.

A small egg tendered with care to give flight to motion

A wing

A prayer

A flight where to meet with air tipped and enrich with flower.

Yes, and always so as to deny only brings the darkness of night

Swirling and twirling and hovering with trial

Always striving to cling to what is real

and Life.

***

(Whee!)

Now, where are those fucking missing socks!

Posted on by robinblipinski

105

Yesterday the temp was 105. Hot. Weird drivers. Crazy planet.

Today watching a hummingbird bury her little head completely inside a flower. Wonderful. 86 degrees. Work done and it’s Friday. Whee! Old crow and diet Dr. Pepper with ice cold ice. Wonderful indeed.

Currently getting a nice foot bath by Orff. Corgi’s are the best plus there is the added benefit of getting enough shed fur that spinning the hair into strands enables more research into knitting corgi hair sweaters. Probably sell them on Ebay for $100.00

“Write everyday,” someone somewhere always says. Write. Write. Write a book. Write a recipe.

Are you a writer? If so, why? Why feel the letters in your fingesr trying to attach themselves to your brain while at the same time pausing to take a drink?

Heard about a guy who wrote a book using only A.I. Why? That’s sorta like asking a toaster to make the bread first.

Rattlesnakes? Fuck, they are EVERYwhere. Mice population has plummeted though. Yellow jacket nests are cropping up everywhere. Everywhere. Everywhere. Where everything is is speeding up their advances towards immortality!

Financial advice: Spend your treasure on whatever you want. Loser it all in the stock market, buy drugs, donate to the lesbian dwarf foundation. And what’s with this GoFund shit? “My daddy lost his left testicle to a rampaging goldfish. Our goal is $500 to buy him an artificial nut made out of clay. Please donate today.”

(sip)

Yep. Just more fucking insanity. Time really does not exist. God really exists. Corgi’s are fucking awesome. Oh, and saw pigman today. Am I sure glad I don’t work for them anymore. (or is it, I sure am glad I don’t work for them anymore? I tend to get confused. Oh look,a pipe cleaner and a shackle in a furnace tempering to make the steel even stronger.)

Oh shit, I just lost my nut sack. Better go get another drink and start a GoFund

Squirrels rock!

Posted on by robinblipinski

Perspective

A crack whore looks at a day through the lenses of obtaining the means of the next high. Selling her body so to poison her body.

A navy sailor on watch stands on the bridge of the ship looking at the world with order of military precision, boredom and sometimes shear terror.

A politician views his/her world as one of power and yes, corruption.

A believer in a deity looks at the world with a controlled form of obedience to that of which they accept.

So much perspective. A poor person often pursues a fantasy of becoming a rich person. A rich person to become a kind person or maybe even a richer person.

A fat to be thin. A. A. A.

What’s your perspective parasite?

(munching on some recently discovered canned dog food the parasite replied) “That you are retarded.”

Perspectives. Objective. Adjectives. Negatives. Positives.

Today I watched J.P. piss on a rattlesnake. He did not see the snake as he let go and yet was very surprised to see and hear the rattlesnakes announce it was not only pissed on but pissed off.

J.P. also got stung over eight times today and broke his ipad.

A worker for J.P. got to see me pick up yellow jacket nests with my bare hands to prove that fear is what drives them to sting. They both got to see a perspective that i fear nothing and as such i am not stung.

From my perspective; to see a world lost to itself. Brief moments of kindness replaced with the cold hard reality of a battle between good and evil. To see the evil win over the domination of this planet and fail absolutely over the world of what matters.

What does matter? A question of perspective and a simple one to answer. What matters is the realization of when one embraces evil and then embraces goodness and then the reasons as to why.

Posted on by robinblipinski

no shit sherlock

(no filters, you get exactly what the raw sewage smells like spilling from the mind/fingers)

so proof?

Demons. Just had one double tap and whispered, “Porn. Fucking. Pussy. Go ahead.”

Laughed my fat ass off and ate some cheese.

Did you know that Idaho banned porn on the internet? Well, unless you use a credit card and wash your hands before you play with yourself. That means the kids have learned to use VPN back channels. Puberty is a bitch. Back in the day it was Playboy. Before that it was fairy tales. Before that, well, you don’t want to know what happened. Today though, ha! What a fucking fuck joke.

In case you did not know some facts about this video game you are participating in, your avatar, your identity (complete with clothes, hair cuts, hats, shoes, you)does indeed have free will to navigate the paths of cognitive choice.Amazing choices. Ever choose pain? Ever choose to turn the other cheek? Ever choose to be poor instead of richer than Midas?

When the whispers come and go I too can cum or go. Fight or flight. Ever wrassle a demon? Wild as they cheat and avoid the illusion with a very real form of reality. Example: Imagine kicking Spock in the balls while watching him on a Netflix movie. Not gonna work will it? Now imagine Spock looking all ‘actor’ like and suddenly reaching out of the screen and kicking YOU in the balls…Ouch.

Why write this? Because i am not supposed too yet choose to because it is all a part of wrassling with what is really real. Really? (bonk)

Watching a clip now of a guy laughing as he got caught driving around with his dead wife. If you listen close you can hear her scream. And she is dead. Dead as a 9mm he just laughed about.

No porn.

No accepting the reality of make believe humans just crave.

As for cheese? Much better than what is all around.

Oh shit, forgot to mention the earth cracked last night. A large crack and the hydrant is seeking gravity. Yikes! Rocks go boom boom.

And as Sheldon would say before kicking you in the nuts, “Bazinga!”

Posted on by robinblipinski

This is what happens when i am happy for a second or two.

First, none of anyone reading this know me nor should they. I’m nothing of import or importance. More like a firecracker, a huge firecracker with a dead fuse.

So, i am happy right now because it is sunny outside and my corgi’s, all five of them are inside and happy. Margareta just made some fucking fantastic cream cheese and pepper filling for tonight, and I’m drinking a vodka/huckleberry drink mixed with sarachi sauce, pickled garlics, ice, pepper…a drink I call bloody mess. Fucking awesome. And now the song, West Virginia is playing while waiting for Norway to play true football, not the pussy American football for weak minded beer drinkers.

There will always be moments in your life where you just try and deal with the accepted reality and then there will be those few precious moments where you get to experience happiness. Today. This moment. i am happy.

Yay!

And in this moment, i give thanks for those who allowed a formation of a country trying to cling to freedom. As such in the freeing moment, fuck people for abortion, fuck people who hate God, fuck people who think their shit does not stink, and fuck me for being so wound up in thinking i could make difference as really Life already knows what it wants.

It truly is the small things that matter. Those small tidbits of nothing adding up to one very important thing. Thing: A word to describe what a thousand other words describe more fluently.

I and i hope today somewhere in this somewhat world, others can find fleeting moments of happiness.

Also, (alcohol speaking) when this shell of biological mass is cremated, the smoke will smell sweet with the feeling of Life joining the Wind of Life and celebrating what truly matters.

(now lets see if Norway kicks Paraguays ass tomorrow and if France pretends it is civilized today)

Posted on by robinblipinski

Parasites attempt at writing a historical perspective:

Written by: A parasite.

(shaking head and thinking it is a bad mistake to let the purple blob write about history)

Once upon a time, a time once called 19th June, there was a holiday called, Juneteenth. Juneteenth was also a part of the month called pride month.

Juneteenth was a holiday celebrating the color black while pride celebrated a rainbow of colors, colors so very important to humans consumed by colors.

Humans see all sorts of color. They see green when throwing up after binging on alcohol, they see red when listening to politicians, they see white when whacked in the head with a baseball bat. Yes, for humans June was a very important month especially in a landmass once bearing the title, United States of America.

In a place once called a city, Chicago in an area once known as Illinois there was once a celebration on the 19th of June where a dead president (president: see footnote description to describe corruption/evil/hate) whose name is now lost to history yet thought to sound like bama. Possibly alluding to a state called Alabama.

On the 19th of June in the year of the second terror of 26 where 47 was ruling, a monstrosity built by humans to celebrate corruption was celebrated.

Much is lost in the history of humanity. After the great war and collision of the comet of Death the remnants of history were mostly stored in the archives of those species visiting the planet and storing what they could glean from surviving machines the humans had left before their collective extinction.

The visitors did collect some of the human species who survived and while in the experiments to modify their biological markers, those survivors were no longer able to replicate due to nuclear degradation and X-2b1 influences thus ensuring the end to a failed experiment at planet colonization.

Earth. That was the name of the planet now void of humans and most advanced life forms. The environment was now very hostile to life and in the ensuing waves of evolution the substance the humans had introduced into the core would abruptly cease any advances. Ironic that X-2b1 was once the innocent brainchild of a human hybrid called, elo musky. (or maybe the records show allen tusk?) was also the creation ensuring the final demise of humans.

The visitors had long ago left the dead planet to die in its own way of solar violence. A shattered moon, a dimming sun; oceans almost dry. A pitiful orb more along the metaphor of a old moldy cigarette butt.

Now, with nothing to view or monitor the dead planet it left peace and quiet for the mutated cockroaches now roaming the harsh surface, a surface where once was a city called, Chicago. A city where mutated huge cockroaches white in color were now currently engaged in a massive orgy. And for the few remaining millions of years before the sun went nova, life was finally good on the planet.

The end.

(Yep, note to self, never let the parasite write about history. Maybe next time I will let it write about the future…)

Posted on by robinblipinski

Lets examine experience.

I have been blessed with many abilities, reading being one of them. A little background. Growing up there was no television, no video games. Growing up there was school, work, and books. Thousands of books. Books written on every subject. Books of fiction and non fiction.

In my prime I could consume three books a day easy while still providing ‘time’ for sleep, work, school. Carrying a pile of books weighing 25 pounds or more every time visiting the library. What fun days.

Now why babble about what just glazes over the eyes of those already bored reading this? The reason is that in the consumption of millions of words it became easy to get into the minds of those authors writing the books. To feel the personal touch of both the author along with the editors and publishing houses.

Lately the obvious is now words written with the aid of A.I. or other computer related signatures. Yet, still the mind of the author comes through.

I no longer read a lot of books as when it comes to humanity, the collective mind has already been read, devoured, processed, and placed into permanent storage. It now is very rare for me to be ‘surprised’. There still remains the hope that some human somewhere will express something from their experience, their mind yet that outcome is very doubtful.

Poetry is the exception. Poetry surpasses anything A.I. can come up with. Poetry written by A.I. is as obvious as a rock falling off a cliff and smashing a hiker in the head, so does not count.

Poetry is the only literature, the only written thoughts by humans that are not only real; they surprise.

Now, the reason for writing this is to make a point of some sort or another. Currently enjoying a book written by Michael Drury. She wrote a wonderful book of which pleased the nerves in my mind. She obviously is well versed in writing and in presenting what is inside her mind. She is open, raw, talented, and also jaded, ignorant, and sad.

Michael’s way of presenting her thoughts are rare and refreshing. And in reading her work the experience gives rise to the thought, “Maybe there is hope for this world?” A thought soon dashed when reading chapter four titled, ‘The Other Side of Love’.

In chapter four it instantly became easy to see that while Michael is a very intelligent woman and that her approach to age and time is excellent, her thoughts of what love is, is to say the least, absolute bull shit.

So, what is love? For Michael love is something she has not truly known, which by my own statement is also bullshit. Every human has experienced love. Without exception, every-human-knows-and-experienced love. True love. Real love. Almost every human has rejected that love, instead embracing the illusion of hate the world smothers each and every human in..

I won’t spend much ‘time’ regarding how every human has experienced true love suffice to say, God knew each and every human before they were even born… God is nothing if not the face of the purest Love ever was/is/and will be. Of course, this is one reason why people forget they know love as many choose to forget God.

Okay. Getting back to Michael and love, she explains her opinion in a wonderful way of physical writing and a wonderful way of showing pure ignorance. For all her intelligence my dog Thor know what love is better then she ever will.

For all the intelligence being placed on the human experience it is absolutely amazing to see how one can love and yet condone the death penalty. How one says they love and yet hate that of which they love.

My sister has been married five times. The common thread was how much she ‘loved’ each husband and how soon that love turned into hate.

What is the point of this all? Well, the point is that love from God is easy and yet almost impossible for most to understand. (maybe because it is too simple for people to understand?) It is also that love from another is also easy and yet almost impossible for most to understand.

Some bullet points.

  1. Love is not hard, love is easier than breathing.
  2. Love is not evil. love is the fire and water is the hate wanting to extinguish the flame
  3. Love knows no time, no age, no bitterness…L-O-V-E is e-t-e-r-n-a-l. Eternal. Love is absolute.
  4. Love is not physical, hormonal, pheromones.
  5. Finally for the point of this exercise, love is not of this planet. It comes from nothing in this illusion you all embrace as a realty called, home. Love is a true gift from God, one meant to be shared by all.

Reading is wonderful. Writing is fun. Experience every ongoing. And stuffed jalapeno peppers with cream cheese, honey, and bacon are addictive.

Posted on by robinblipinski

U.s. vS aUsraLiA

So parasite. Friday. Soccer. Who is gonna win the game between the red/white/blue robots and the flip flopping kangaroo people afraid of guns?

“What? Kangaroos, guns, robots… Oh, yeah, been awhile and I almost forgot you are retarded. So obviously you are referring to the world cup. I hate soccer and last night a dolphin from Miami Florida stole my binky.”

So no opinion on whose gonna claim the title Friday of playing with their balls better?

“Nope. However, if I were to bet I’d bet the hookers will win as they will be busy during and after the game.”

Not helpful and yet so you parasite. As a consolation prize though I have a new binky for you as I knew those dolphins were planning revenge for what you did to them last year when you stole their stash of strawberry jam.

“Seriously? You are going to be nice to me? (the parasite looked perplexed though it’s hard to tell if a purple blob is capable of be perplexed, horny, or constipated)

Yep. Here you go.

(silence)

“This is a jar of pennies? What the fuck am I going to do with a jar of pennies?”

Suck on them. Those pennies have been places you’ve never dreamed of. Some I found on the ground outside the convenience gas station store, some I found while cleaning out clogged sewer pipes. I swear you will find sucking on these will taste and comfort you WAY more than any chinese made rubber nipple.

(was that a smile on the parasites face? nope, definitely gas and the emitting smell proved thus)

“Thanks dude. You want to suck on one?” The parasite offered a particularly nasty looking 1964 penny minted in Denver dangling of a tentacle.

Nope. All yours. Gonna go watch the saudi sand moles kick balls at uragay.

“Whatever.”