• being alive •

• being alive •
I went crazy,
mixing my metaphors,
and what a mess I’ve made.
Oh, the decadence,
Oh, the humanity.
Still, I’m full,
with satisfaction,
and gratitude,
to capacity.
if it doesn’t smell good in here!
Some things are worth breaking.
There’s that, too.
Isn’t being alive,
just, something!!?
~ Tim Burchfield



• plink •

• plink •
Day two, steady rain.
Plink, plink, plink.
It’s days like these
that make me appreciate
the dull monotony
of a tin roof
that doesn’t leak:
it’s not much for storytelling,
but it’s awfully good for sleep.
~ Tim Burchfield


• remembering •

• remembering •
I was just lying here, quietly,
when I realized,
I’ve known the extraordinary pleasure of friends,
singing my praises,
and dancing around me,
under the starry sky,
at my own ‘wake’.
I have known a St. Bernard,
called Maynard, who liked me,
because he liked everybody,
and that was okay with me.
I have had the pleasure
of being asked, once
upon a parking lot,
if I was Mad Dog,
and saying, “No, and you?”
I have seen babies born,
before my very eyes,
two of them, my very own.
I have seen you
on your “little island”,
as you practiced your prepositions.
I have surfed closeouts,
at Boca de Pasquales, with you.
I have been drunk
with a dog called,
‘Toe Muncher’.
Yes, ‘Toe Muncher’.
I have laughed so well.
I ‘cracked the sky’, one time,
for laughing,
with laughing,
by laughing,
that one time,
I’m pretty sure.
That time, I was with you,
and you,
and you.
I am the happiest of men,
from sheer remembering,
just now.
I treasure
the simple pleasure
of remembering you, friends:
dear, dear friends,
of remembering you.
~ Tim Burchfield


• the second law •

• the second law •
Playwright George Bernard Shaw ordered this headstone comment: “I knew if I stayed around long enough, something like this would happen.”
Conversely, the iconic terse form of the equation S = kB log W on the tombstone of Austrian physicist and philosopher Ludwig Eduard Boltzmann (February 20, 1844 – September 5, 1906) more or less, amounted to the mathematical equivalent of “I knew my entropy would reach a maximum eventually.” Not exactly the life of the party, I’m guessing. Then again, I’m Texan, not Austrian, so what do I know. His ‘maths friends’ probably found him hilarious.
Aside from the fact that the consequences of the Second Law of Thermodynamics are particularly immutable and irrevocable, what important life lesson are we to take from this?
Well, clearly: playwrights are funny; not so much, with physicists.
~ Tim Burchfield


• my dear valentine •

• my dear valentine •
Flowers, candy, red hearts and romance. That’s what Valentine’s Day is all about, right? Well, maybe not. To be completely frank, after, for decades, now, being, yearly, hanged upon the horns of an ongoing dilemma, along the lines of an “appropriate appreciation gesture,” be it, just the right card, flowers, candies, jewelry, or combinations, thereof, I find a little education on my part has gone a long way to reduce the perennial pain of it, and to realize my personal goal, some happy day, of leaning towards a semblance of mental health, and, too, of potentially becoming a meaningful part of a satisfied and grateful society: meaning me, of course: of me, by me, and for me. God bless us, one and all.
Then, this happened, last night.
(Snoopy dance.)
What synchronicity! What a windfall!

Check this out.

I heard, on NPR, that Valentine’s Day has it’s origins in anti-marriage, execution, and war.
Say whaaa? I know, blink, blink, and hiccup!
Drumroll, please.
Oh, to heck with suspense.
Here’s the patooty-wooty:
In a nutshell, about two thousand years ago, a nutcase of a king, nicknamed, “Claudius the Cruel”, decided to outlaw marriage.
Crazily, it seems, married men were refusing to go off to war because – get this – they had much rather be safe at home, with the wife and kiddos, than risk death and dismemberment, for the sake of the Republic.
I know. Right? What the heck? Go figure.
So, new law.
No marriages, period.
No connubial bliss, no sanctified unions. Nope. None at all.
No problemo. If you’re king, of course. That’s what ‘mail order’ brides are for. So.
(Everybody is horny, and, presumably, pissed, and ready for a fight. Now, Rome is ready to invade… everybody. A perfect state of a union. Yay, for War!!)
Fox News, anyone…? Ever heard of it? Sound familiar? Hm. Nevermind.
Then (‘bit of a sticky wicket, whatever that means), a certain Roman priest, by the name of Valentine, a dissenter, believing in the inviolability of the institution, was, on the sly, performing illegal marriages, at four bucks a pop. He was executed on February 14 (sometime between 269 A.D. and 278 A.D.) on the orders of the king, Emperor Claudius II, for breaking the law of the land (and, also, for “pocketing the proceeds”, even though, technically, being a priest, and wearing robes, having no pockets in his robes, he tamped the proceeds away in a sock, which, as it happened, belonged to his “roomy”, Brother Whitman. Hence, the infamous term, “socking away”, was born, as was, “Whitman’s Sampler”, formerly, “tampler”.).
Valentine was sentenced to death: a three part execution of a beating, a stoning, and finally a decapitation, all because of his stand for Christian marriage. (I guess a civil union wouldn’t do – especially if the County Clerk really, really, didn’t want to.)
Bummer, dude, totally. For him, that is. For the rest of us, (those of us who aren’t complete losers, and live in America…and can afford our own) we get chocolates.
~ Tim Burchfield