Frantic Friday
The ailments are fictional.
The complaints are imagined.
The ghost of Thursday sits silent.
Brooding. Her head bent over a dead
Mind, She is, "blown away," by Friday’s
Never erring Firing Range of Convictions.
Laws passed upon those who have no means of
Eloquent diction are inherently fishy, tricky nets…
Laid to catch the innocent lobsters vacuuming the
Ocean floor; the dazzling American and International
Sea of Ugly ME, is washed away by raging rivers of literacy,
Equality is not a theory but an act of being interested in...
Flooding the market with good actors making better movies and...
Avoiding the nasty red herring served as tonight’s Free "home cooked,”
High speed internet D R A M A! OH the shows, go slow, and stay “hungry.”
For those "starving,” deprived souls, searching for love, they welcome, the end.
Friday is a fantastic, Host. He wears a bow-tie and serves the most intricate
Roast beef and mutton, Rabbit, and Fox, all kinds of Otter and even the
The toast comes with caviar, poisoned, with toxic waste from corporate
Haste in a yummy and low-fat anchovy paste. The weekend is over.
Thyroid Thursday
Lucinda looks worried.
She is always in a hurry.
Her thyroid riots. Diet.
Doctors. Needles and
Pain! To treat the cancer
Headed for her brain.
She struggles to comply
With all the medical
Instructions.
The hassle is AWESOME!
Yet...
Lucinda, cries… she doesn’t
“Want to die."
But the Cast of her
Survival Show are all
slated to expire. Her
situation is truly dire.
Winsome Wednesday
Wednesday is lazy; wearing paisley.. To
match a tired last name, linked to fame.
The flames of ingenuity burn Wednesday’s
Bun, leaving a crust of cinnamon
Swirl in the whirl and bustle;
The ongoing hustle… Looking for
More Money to replace the fence
Around the property that will
Yield to the the yellow fields of;
Wet Daisies; twin towers of shimmering’
Queen’s Lace; face the west winds
catching smiles tossed on busy
City sidewalks.
Tight LIP Tuesday
Tuesday wears a flawed skirt;
Spring blows and hay happens,
the ocean ripples in the back
seat action of a Tuesday morning
cooking spree; and then WORK
Waits with an open sign and a cash
machine spitting out dollars.
Melting away in a lazy haze of
evening pleasure prone and
spread eagle with the remote.
Miraculous Monday
Guten Morgen, YOU!
How was your weekend?
Mine was very relaxing.
Yes. It was. I’m relaxed.
Tickled pink, actually.
Because today is a Miraculous May
Monday; another fresh start
Chiseled from the remains
Of last week’s charred
Sentence fragments...
Soul Soothing Sunday!
Ah, Friends…. Dearest and most cherished regular readers and supporters of Frau Kolb & Talkinggrid. I’m so happy you stopped by, again…. I don’t have much to say today, but yesterday; I was able to use my own blog as therapy. Yes, I did. I wrote about someone who had offended me, published it, and now, this morning I deleted it. I’m sure that that entry; that expression exists on some data-base which I have no control over and I am OK with that; because I got a little hurt off my chest.
Little hurts… they add up. Carry them around long enough and they burn holes in your armor; leaving you vulnerable to soul invasion.
Recently, I realized that I’ve set myself up for little hurts by trying to support people who have no clue how to love. None. When you give of yourself to those that are selfish; always focused on their problems… well, a couple years ago, I helped someone that was actually supposed to be helping me; he was in the healer position. (I have found that most of the alternative healers are actually quite desperate, horny, people… no more informed or caring than anyone else, yet… having acquired a license to perform acupuncture or Chinese Medicine… they become convinced of their own… virtue. Hah!)
Fact: some people LOOK forward to the part of the movie where you need help and ask so they can say, “Namaste,” which means: "FUCK YOU!" in California and now, the residents of Florida, ever so quick to pick up bad habits and turn them into dogma… also use the Sanskrit word for, “I see the holy in you…” into mode of saying; “GO AWAY! YOU have serious issues. In other words, party is over, I gotta GO Home.” Hah! Don’t let it get to you. But anyone who asks you for help or advice in CA is actually totally comfortable with the concept of using your ideas, profiting, and forgetting about the fact that they called you, got advice, succeeded, or avoided disaster—and then they forget, because… I guess the pace is so fast, the grind so hard, and they knew what they were doing, anyway, and just called you; begging for free advice… weeping… because they had no better strategy. Hah!
Now, I know… I’ve integrated this hard won knowledge into my mode of perception; defining reality, in terms of what is and what is not… authentic exchange, mutual interest, and dynamic; mutually enhancing support... and NOW… I’m FREE. I’ve given, cared, and worked to help others who… don’t even seem to notice; when you help them negotiate their way to WAY BETTER financial picture… money, getting it, is mostly about feeling that you can and finding someone that agrees, who is in the position to provide. That is all… the world is full of people with money and providing services, love, caring to them… will always ensure your own well being.
Being a descendant on my father’s side of former house slaves; who benefited from their status, as offspring of the BIG HOUSE in plantation land St. Croix… long ago… Of her masters, my grandmother, having emigrated to the Dominican Republic said to my mother, “They do not hit. They give enough food. We always have food. They taught us how to read.” My grandmother was an Anglo-Style servant, trained for Big Homes, and British style service; thus, she got excellent positions in affluent homes in Dominican Republic; where the economy under the dictator was booming. Anyway…
One of my Facebook friends; posted some interesting pictures of Kara Walker’s new work… sugar sculptures… “oozing,” melting evil… I don’t know but her spin on reality looks like white guilt porn to me… I don’t buy it. I don’t relate. I wish that if must rehash the past it wasn’t the same old song… we heard that already! WE know that dominant story of the black holocaust; I know serious material… thus it can’t be critiqued… I must say I prefer it when people tell stories in which African or partially African humans are humans first; not a fragment in a historical drama… not chattel, but rather individuals, kidnapped, yes… but not always into evil homes of sadistic owners; but much like the pampered pets of Beverly Hills women; some slaves were loved by their fathers; their masters; some masters realized that their property was had talent; was able and subsequently acknowledged their status as part of the franchise, preservers of the estate(s), managers of the household; the business, the cow-herd; people treated thus; might bare the “Master Class,” no resentment… or there might be people above thinking in terms of race, my father never told me of his racial status; his political ambitions and understandings; did not separate him from the rest of humanity; thus, life for many middle income educated African Americans; reality hinges on integration, success, and participating in what seems to us the tremendous good fortune of being born in the NEW WORLD; because it is the mix of European, sometimes sea-monsters, other times like in Toni Morrison’s work, into the children of the Africa diaspora which have tremendous verve… a poignant; rhythmic understanding of an elemental music of the love; capable of transforming hate into love via all embracing regard for the human truth: we have ALL SUFFERED, all humans suffer, the sons and daughters of kings suffer and no amount of money can protect you from reality. Yet, we can all celebrate because we have THE BLUES, a gift, a flower from the mud of oppression, sweet and fragrant; soothing and true, eternally in bloom and waiting to soothe you. Take heart. Your pain, isn’t yours alone. Remember; if you can’t patent the pain; if you can’t sell it, exchange it, or turn it into something good… well, it might be time to simply let it go and abandon the position which hurts… unless of course, you enjoy pain… and that is a different story.
Goodbye and Thank you,
Frau Kolb