Saturday, April 6, 2019

A beautiful lament

A marvelous, poetic rendition of a beautiful song.

Green Fields of France by the Fureys
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N2YvcB9lW18

The Green Fields of France
How do you do young Willie McBride,
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside,
And rest for a while 'neath the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day and I'm nearly done
I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the great fall-in in 1916
I hope you died well and I hope you died clean
Or young Willie McBride was it slow and obscene.
Did they beat the drum slowly did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
Did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined
Although you died back in 1916
In that faithful heart are you forever 19
Or are you a stranger without even a name
Enclosed then forever behind a glass frame
In an old photograph torn, battered and stained
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame.
Did they beat the drum slowly did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
The sun now it shines on the green fields of france
There's a warm summer breeze makes the red poppies dance
And look how the sun shines from under the clouds
There's no gas, no barbwire, there's no guns firing now
But here in this graveyard it's still no man's land
The countless white crosses stand mute in the sand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man
To a whole generation that were butchered and damned.
Did they beat the drum slowly did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
Now young Willie McBride I can't help wonder why
Do those who lie here know why did they die
Did they believe when they answered the call
Did they really believe that this war would end wars
Well the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain
The killing and the dying were all done in vain
For young Willie McBride it all happened again,
And again and again and again and again
Did they beat the drum slowly did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
Songwriter: Eric Bogle
The Green Fields of France lyrics © Music Sales Corporation

Friday, April 5, 2019

Two literary puffs


TUESDAY, MARCH 18, 2008

hard candy

she's  oh so sweet
  oh so fine
the problem is
  she's never mine

she's very proper
  oh so proper
that's why I'm
  a gonna drop 'er

she's always right
  and never wrong
i guess we'll never
  get along

she won't she won't
  i don't know why
should i give her
  another try

that candy cane
  she's made of steel
but i need soft
  and warm and real

SATURDAY, JANUARY 13, 2007

NPSD 151

NPSD 151 is a work in progress. So far, we have two little scenes. Still, anyone is welcome to incorporate one or both of these scenes into a stage compilation. Fees will be kept low.
Email Paul Conant at prconant@yahoo.com.


NPSD 151
Copyright 2007
By Paul and Christopher Conant

Characters (so far):

Blue, an artist picked up on suspicion.

"321," a cell mate

Sue, Blue's wife


Scene A

Two men in a two-bunk cell. The actors are encouraged to move, pace and use hand motions while talking.

321: You must have arrived while I was sleeping. What's your name?

B: Blue. What's yours.

321: Three-two-one.

B: Three-two-one?

321: That's all I can give you. My inmate identification number. Three-two-one -- the last three of my inmate ID number.

B: Huh? How's that?

321: My name is subject to NPSD classification authority.

B: Boy, is this crazy. Why don't you just go by a nickname?

321: Oh yeah, and have all kinds of new questions about that.

B: They'd do that?

321: Hey, do you know where you are, buddy?

B: Actually, not really ... So why didn't anybody tell me my name is secret?

321: It depends what category of inmate you are. Do you know what detention authority code they used on you?

B: I don't even know what NPSD means.

321: Who does? A lot of us have guessed. But the initials is all they give. Guess that's hush-hush, too. What did you get picked up on? Loitering in the vicinity of a covert op? We have a lot of those guys here. Most of them were in the wrong bar at the wrong time.

B: This is ludicrous. I never heard of such laws.

321: All NPSD authorizations are top secret. We had a lawmaker come through here just last week for trying to find out what law he had authorized on behalf of the Executive. He was charged under NPSD authority for violation of national security. They didn't waste any time with him. Probably in the gulag right now.

B: Gulag? This isn't Soviet Russia under Stalin.

321: (Laughs.) Well, all I know is that they have top-secret security camps all around the world. We just call it the gulag, informally.

B: How do you know all this, if everything's super-secret.

321: (Pause.) The grapevine. Plus, sometimes Dr. X lets things slip kind of accidentally on purpose, I think.

B: Dr. X?

321: You'll meet him. And his alter-ego, The Queen.

B: Why do you call him Dr. X?

321: You know, he's some kind of psy-ops guy. And he's got some weird machines.

B: You mean like electric shock.

321: Like worse. Mind-bending stuff. They want to get everything out of you. But, personally, I think the doc has his own personal research program going, on the side.

B: And what about this Queen?

321: She's one of the guards.

B: Christ I...

321: So what'd they get you on? What did you actually do to get their attention?

B: I don't know. As I told the -- the -- police? -- I'm not political at all. I don't know anything about national security type things. I'm a painter.

321: Indoor or outdoor? If you're up on the side of a house, they mighta thought you were a spy. They got safe houses all over.

B: Bizarre. But I'm not that sort of painter. I'm an artist.

321: An artist? That IS pretty weird that they'd be interested in you. Do you get calls from outside the country?

B: Well, no. Though I see what you're getting at... oh wait... I did receive one or two email inquiries from a London art dealer. One of my pictures was sold by my gallery to a British businesswoman. Routine business... runs a string of boutiques.

321: Aha, so there you go!

B: What are you saying?

321: Maybe she's got ties to an international conspiracy. Maybe she's a money launderer for a banned group.

B: Ties? What do you mean "ties"?

321: You know: TIES! Just TIES, that's all.

B: Oh well, this is absurd. I paint pictures. That's all I do. Not only that, I'm very retro. Not avante garde at all. All I do is abstract stuff. Modern. No post modern. No post post modern. Do you suppose the NPSD doesn't like retro?

321: There is no NPSD, per se.

B: (Pause.) Well, I can't help but wonder whether I painted something wrong. Though I don't see how that can be -- since everything is non-representational. Maybe one of my wife's poems?

321: I don't know much about art, but I know what I like.

B: I'm sure.

321: I like scenes. You know, mountains and sunsets. Boats, too. They're nice.

B: (Quiet for a bit, thinking.) The crazy thing is, one of the officers read me something from a card, but it was all national security gibberish. They said I have rights, but under national security my rights would be reviewed from time to time by a duly constituted authority, whatever that means. Made no sense. No charges. And it was an outrage. These people kicked in my flat door at midnight or something. Scared the daylights out of my wife.

321: Is she OK?

B: Yes, as far as I know. They just took me. They read her a card telling her that it was unlawful to disclose that I had been arrested. If asked, she was to say that I was away on a trip. I couldn't believe it... So what did you say your offense was?

321: I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you. (Pause.) I got busted for trafficking in prostitution.

B: What? That's got nothing to do with national security. That's a routine police matter.

321: No when a senior government official contracts a nasty case of herpes.

END SCENE



Scene B

On some broodingly painted set, Sue hurries onstage and embraces her husband Blue.

B: Sue? Sue!!

S: My God! Are you OK? Are you?

B: I missed you so much.

S: I can't wait till you're home.

B: I don't know when I'm going to be home. I could be here for a long time.

S: No!

B: I didn't think they were ever going to let me see you again.

S: They had to.

B: I don't think they did.

S: No matter what, they have to let a wife see her husband.

B: I guess so.

S: Even if he did do a thing or two behind her back (looks around nervously, wildly).

B: What?!

S: I'm sorry. We'll talk about it when you get home.

B: Why do you think they're letting me go?

S: They must have told you.

B: What?

S: That they're going to let you go.

B: What!?

S: They're going to let you go.

B: I thought that's what you said.

S: I miss you.

B: I miss you too, Sweetheart. What do you mean they're letting me go?

S: They said you haven't really done anything wrong. Nothing a hundred other people don't do. That it's more about the people around you.

B: I didn't do anything.

S: That's what I said.

B: I don't even know what I'm charged with.

S: Well, that's what they said.

B: What?

S: That you're not charged with anything. That's why they're letting you go.

B: So why am I still here?

S: I guess some paperwork or something.

B: That's it?

S: And you just have to tell them what you've been doing.

B: Sue, I've already told them everything I've been doing. I haven't been doing anything. Sue, you know me. I'm not a terrorist. I'm not even political.

S: I know you're not. Everybody knows you're not.

B: Then what am I doing here?

S: All you have to do is sign some paper, and they're going to let you go.

B: What paper?

S: I don't know. Some paper that says that your friend Elvis tried to get you to commit...

B: Elwyn?

S: Yeah, Elwyn, whatever...

B: Commit what?

S: I don't know.

B: I barely know Elwyn.

S: (Sharply and suspiciously.) You just corrected me when I said Elvis.

B: Well, I do know his name. It doesn't mean we're co-conspirators. It just means I know him.

S: I've seen the pictures.

B: What pictures?

S: Are you going to sign the paper?!

B: I haven't seen it. But if I'm supposed to say I did something I didn't, I'm not going to do that.

S: You don't have to say it was you. Say it was Elvis.

B: Why do you keep saying Elvis? It's Elwyn!

S: Why are you shouting at me! I'm trying to help you get out of here.

B: I know...

She cries.

S: I just want you to come home. I don't want you to be here anymore.

B: Me neither.

S: They come to the house every day. (He holds her.) I wish this wasn't happening.

B: Me too.

S: Please come home. (Pause.) You're not going to sign it, are you?!

(Silence.)

S: I thought you loved me.

B: You know I love you.

S: I have to go.

B: Goodbye.

She leaves.

END SCENE

Wednesday, February 27, 2019

The bold Fenian men

Image result for muireann nic amhlaoibh album cover

Appreciate this by reading along as Muireanne nic Amhlaoihbh does wonders with this air.
You may need to cut and paste the URL into the browser bar of a new page (hit control t.)
As artists are wont to do, she has varied her lyrics a tad from those printed here.


They fought for old Ireland...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fVfjqsNpW7A

The Fenian Rising of 1867 was a rebellion against British rule in Ireland, organized by the Irish Republican Brotherhood. A contributing factor to the rising was strong resentment at the continuing negative social effects of Britain's lackadaisical response to the Great Famine of two decades past. The revolution was easily suppressed.

'Twas down by the glen side, I met an old woman
A-plucking young nettles, she ne’er saw me coming
I listened a while to the song she was humming
Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men

'Tis fifty long years since I saw the moon beaming
On strong manly forms, on eyes with hope gleaming
I see them again, sure, in all my sad dreaming
Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men.

When I was a young girl, their marching and drilling
Awoke in the glen side sounds awesome and thrilling
They loved dear old Ireland, to die they were willing
Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men.

Some died by the glen side, some died near a stranger
And wise men have told us their cause was a failure
But they fought for old Ireland and never feared danger
Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men

I passed on my way, God be praised that I met her
Be life long or short, sure I'll never forget her
We may have brave men, but we'll never have better
Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Fenian men

Tuesday, February 26, 2019

The Boys of Barr na Sraide

Image result for muireann nic amhlaoibh Muireanne nic Amhliaoibh

Hunting the dreolin, from Litir to Dooneen


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rex8VnWoewk

I urge you to read along while listening to this wonderful rendition sung
by the former Danu singer, Muireann nic Amhlaoibh.
You may need to cut and paste the URL into your browser bar on a second page (Control t).
Dreolin is Irish for "wren." Nic Amhliaoibh's version differs mildly
from the printed version, evidently for stylistic improvement.


The town that climbs the mountain and looks upon the sea,
And sleeping time or waking, sure its there I long to be,
To walk again those kindly streets, where first my life began,
With the boys of Barr na Sráide, who hunted for the wren.

With cudgels stout we roved about to hunt the dreólín,
We looked for birds in every furze from Litir to Dooneen,
We jumped for joy beneath the sky, life held no print or plan,
And we boys in Barr na Sráide, hunting for the wren.

And when the hills were bleeding and the rifles were aflame,
To the rebel homes of Kerry the Saxon stranger came.
But the men who dared the Auxies and fought the Black-and-Tan,
Were once boys in Barr na Sráide, hunting for the wren.

So here's a hand to them tonight, those men who laughed with me,
By the groves of Carham river and the slope of Bean 'a Tí.
John Daly and Batt Andy’s and the Sheehans, Con and Dan,
And the boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren.

But now they toil on foreign soil, where they have made their way.
Deep in the heart of London town and over in Broadway.
And I am left to sing their deeds and praise them while I can,
Those boys of Barr na Sráide, who hunted for the wren.

And when the wheel of life runs down and peace comes over me,
Just lay me down near that old town between the hills and sea.
I'll take my place near those green fields, where first I grew a man,
With the boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren.
Written by Sigerson Clifford in recognition of his friends from "the top of the street."

Another goodie, Muhammad Al-Hussaini
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QoyLvhehdfs

Monday, May 28, 2018

Muddy's dark magic

Image result for muddy waters

I got the John de Cockeroo. You know I'm here. Everybody know I'm here. I got the black magic. I'm gonna mess with you.



Hoochie Coochie Man
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nr839d9t44I
Mannish Boy Mojo
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZoVO9zZTJ10


Hoochie Coochie Man
Written by Willie Dixon and first sung by Muddy Waters.
Gypsy woman told my mother 'fore I was born,
You got a boy child coming, gonna be a son of a gun.
Gonna make pretty women's jump and shout,
And then the world gonna know what this all about.
But you know I'm here.
Everybody knows I'm here.
Well, I'm the hoochie coochie man.
Everybody knows I'm here.
I got the black cat bone and I got a mojo, too.
I got the John de Cockeroo, gonna mess with you.
I'm gonna make you girls lead me by my hand,
And then the world will know the hoochie coochie man.
But you know I'm here.
Everybody knows…
African witch doctors had power and prestige, and their memory lived on among African Americans. The song really tells of the desire of the neglected, oppressed man for status, respect, recognition.

Magic, after all, if effective, would confer real power on the possessor, enabling him to bypass the social barriers that were all aimed at the black man's manhood. No doubt many of Muddy's songs are about manhood because those numbers worked well among his poor black audiences in Chicago. Of course, Muddy isn't the only African American musician to work the manhood theme. There is also, for example, James Brown and Wilson Pickett. But it was Muddy who blazed the trail.

The person with "a mojo" is someone with magic power -- perhaps in the form of what Europeans once called a familiar spirit. He might keep various amulets and magical implements in his "mojo bag."

Wiktionary tells us that "mojo" is probably of Creole origin, cognate with "Gullah moco" (witchcraft), Fula moco'o (medicine man, witch doctor).

The word usually refers to a magic charm or spell, or a supernatural skill or luck.

Slang meanings include personal magnetism; charm; sex appeal; sex drive; illegal drugs.

But what about Muddy's "second cousin, that little Johnny Cockeroo" (as he has it in his song Mannish Boy) ?

We have from Wikipedia that "the Conqueror, also known as High John the Conqueror, John de Conquer, and many other folk variants, is a folk hero from African-American folklore. He is associated with a certain root, the John the Conqueror root, or John the Conqueroo, to which magical powers are ascribed in American folklore, especially among the hoodoo tradition of folk magic."

The old tale is that "John the Conqueror was an African prince who was sold as a slave in the Americas. Despite his enslavement, his spirit was never broken and he survived in folklore as a sort of a trickster figure, because of the tricks he played to evade his masters." Again, it is easy to see the appeal of a character who uses his cunning to outsmart the white person "who has it good."

But "John de Cockeroo " refers to a specific herb known as John the Conqueror Root, which Wikipedia tells us is "said to be the root of Ipomoea jalapa (also known as Ipomoea purga), an Ipomoea species related to the morning glory and the sweet potato. The plant is known in some areas as bindweed or jalap root. It has a pleasant, earthy odor, but it is a strong laxative if taken internally. It is not used for this purpose in folk magic; it is instead used as one of the parts of a mojo bag. It is typically used in sexual spells of various sorts and it is also considered lucky for gambling. It is likely that the root acquired its sexual magical reputation because, when dried, it resembles the testicles of a dark-skinned man. Because of this, when it is employed as an amulet, it is important that the root used be whole and unblemished. Dried pieces and chips of the root are used in formulating oils and washes that are used in other sorts of spells."

We are told that John the Conqueror root is a tuber, perhaps carried in the user's mojo bag. The spell involves rubbing the root. John the Conqueror root is carried by the user, and the spell is cast by rubbing the root.

Another herb known as Low John is the root of the trillium or wake-robin, Trillium grandiflorum, Wikipedia explains. It is carried on the person for assistance in family matters. It is also known as Dixie John or Southern John, and additionally is the basis for a hoodoo formula called Dixie Love Oil.

The term "Hoochie Coochie" was adopted by songwriter Willie Dixon to refer to a man with some form of magic power. Originally it was a phrase associated with lewd, sexually provocative dancing. But doubtless Dixon thought "hoochie coochie" had a better syncopation to it than "hoodoo," which is the name of the African American witchcraft cult in the Deep South that both he and Waters, both Mississippi men, would have known about.

In any case, among black men (and men generally) sexual power represents power. So the mixing of raw sexual power with dark, dangerous magical power had a strong appeal among men who were oppressed and disenfranchised.

Waters mixed mojo into his magic with another number, "I got my mojo working."
Got my mojo working, but it just won't work on you
Got my mojo working, but it just won't work on you
I want to love you so bad, I don't know what to do
Going down to Louisiana to get me a mojo hand
Going down to Louisiana to get me a mojo hand
I'm gonna have all you women under my command
Got my mojo working
Got my mojo working
Got my mojo working
Got my mojo working
Got my…
Got my mojo working
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1gNs-29s-0Q

The Urban Dictionary relates that the top definition of "mojo hand" is: "A powerful hoodoo charm, usually a cloth bag filled with roots, herbs, minerals, goofer dust, etc. Does not actually refer to an actual hand, but to certain roots commonly used in mojo. Also called a gris-gris."

Wikipedia tells us "Mojo" was written by Preston (Red) Foster in 1956, with Ann Cole's first recording released in 1957. Waters popularized the song that year and it became a feature of his performances throughout his career.

Thursday, June 28, 2012

Thinking of Dad


A crowded mission
in San Diego
eating happily
A thin wiry man
is managing to sit erect
drunk

booming out
I'm no goddamn Chicano!
... I'm an Indian!
I speak English!

Very cowboy sound, actually, like he's from West Texas or somewhere like that
Especially the way he said goddamn
Indians of the Old West
maybe Tombstone?

used to call the cowboys goddamns after their manner of speaking
Dad was an Old Californian I guess. He said goddamn just like a Westerner,
just like that Indian
who speaks goddamn English


Copyright 2011 by Paul Conant.

Friday, December 2, 2011

Cody


A short play or prose poem

(Asterisks indicate pause.)


Hey there, young fellow, got an extra cigaret for an old tramp? Name's Cody. What's yours?

***

Pleased to meet you.

Sometimes they call me the Old Philosopher around here. I don't know about that, but I don't mind passing on a thing or two, if you don't mind listening.

Don't be so hard on yourself, is my advice. You're probably not as unique as you might think. Here's what I say, everything everybody does is pretty much a bunch of nothing. Everybody's running around trying to get ahead, and the more they run, the more they just stay in place. Work like a dog, and what do you get for it? It's always been like that. People come, people go, and the more things change, the more they stay the same.

The way I see it, this world is all about work. Even the sun is busy: up down, up down. The wind is always in a hurry to get somewhere, but, don't worry, it'll be back. Look at the rivers: always moving. We are all caught up in one big merry-go-round,

Things keep happening over and over again. You think you've figured out how to beat the system, but then some hobo will tell you, forget it. Been there, done that. This world is a lot like a hall of mirrors, in my opinion.

You know, back in my glory days, I thought I was a hotshot who was smart enough to figure out what makes this world tick. I said to myself, if there is a God, why would he make things so tough for everybody? I was a real people-watcher, and it didn't take me long to realize: everybody's running uphill. Just a bunch of frustration is all.

Some people have all the answers and carry the whole world on their shoulders. But -- guess what? -- the world is messed up no matter what you try. When you fix one problem, all you do is trade it in for another one. So much is out of joint, there's no way to fix it all.

***

There was a time when I was really pulling in the moolah, I said to myself: I have arrived! I even had a big house with a new Mercedes in the driveway. A white picket fence, a dog, the whole nine yards. That worked for a few years, but then it started to get old. The wife: nag, nag. The kids always need something. Never had any time for myself. The more I wised up about what's really happening, the worse I felt.

That's when I said: You know what? It's time to put some fun in my life. But even that got old. It dawned on me: all this fun is going nowhere.

I even tried a mood-altering substance and did some crazy things to see if I could find out the meaning of it all. And in my work life, I was quite the empire builder. I really knew how to impress. I had a few shekels. Quite a few. I could buy anything or anyone, I was that big back in the day. And when I got to the top of the heap, I stayed sharp as a whip.

And, by the way, I could really throw one hell of a party.

But, I have to admit, something was missing. I had everything, and I still felt bad inside. All that work, and all I really had to show for it was a bunch of nothing.

Mulling it all over, I realized: what's the point of trying to be Bill Gates, anyway? I don't mean that it isn't better to have a head on your shoulders. Stupidity isn't cool.

Still, even though sharp guys have an edge in life, everybody ends up the same: pushing up daisies. So what's the big deal about being a real comer? Once you're dead, all your great achievements are, soon enough, just vapor, really.

Think of it like this: No matter what you do, life happens. Somebody is born, somebody dies. If you're not weeding the yard, you're cleaning the gutter. Everything's nice and peaceful and then, it's war. For every building that gets torn down, two more are going up. Some people are miserable, others happy. Some mope at home, others party on. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Some things last, others get the heave. Sometimes its best to speak up, other times: zip your lip.

Sometimes everything's all lovey dovey. Other times it's total war.

My point is, with all that going on, how can anyone get anywhere in life?

I often wondered, why did God put everybody in this crazy mixed up world? But then one day it finally came to me: if we could just somehow get in sync with God, we would realize just how beautiful everything really is -- and he just keeps on giving. God's real aim is to make people happy. So, basically, there's nothing wrong with enjoying what you have. And, when you think about it, wouldn't that mean that God must have a plan for you, one that, absolutely, will work? How can you not respect that?

God's got more than all the time in the world. So whatever he said back when, it's bound to happen. Just you wait, young friend. All those smart people who think their rip-offs are a big joke and who go to church on Sunday and worship the devil the rest of the week, they won't get away with it. You can bank on it.

I don't mean to offend you or anything, my friend, but too bad people can't see themselves as they really are -- just a part of the animal kingdom. Don't people and animals all breathe the same air? Don't they all fall over and die some time? In the last analysis, man and beast both turn into compost. And, by the way, what makes you so darn sure you'll go up instead of down when you die? Maybe it's not that simple.

What I am saying is, now is the time to enjoy your hard work. Otherwise, life's a bitch, and then you die.

I really took it personal once I realized that everything I had worked for would be taken over by somebody who could very easily turn out to be a numbskull who blows everything. Give it up! That was my attitude, What's the point of El Shrewdo passing the baton to El Dumbo?

What do you really get for working your butt off? Work, work, work, that's what you get. El Shrewdo turns out be El Stupido.

Instead of being a workaholic, what you need to do is slow down and smell the roses. Take time to enjoy what you work so hard for. There's more than one kind of lockup, young friend. But when you know how to enjoy life for real, you're really blessed.

No matter what happened or how you ended up where you are, in the last analysis, your problem is you. You're the man, you do the deciding.

I've been on the road a while, and this is what I think: If I try to keep on track, God will help me. I will have a better handle on what my next move should be. But, if I take my will back, then little problems can turn into big hassles. Not only that, the guy who doesn't game the system gets what I should have had, with interest. Just being smart isn't enough over the long haul. It's worse than a waste of time.

The more I thought about everything, the more bothered I got. Think about all the poor people that get held down while the high and mighty use them for doormats and nobody can do a thing about it. Maybe everybody would be better off dead, was my view of it. Why come into this world just to get stepped all over? Even people who make something of themselves and do impressive things are, when you get down to it, just playing a game that they can't win.

The other extreme is the numbskull who makes like a couch potato. He can hardly blow his own nose. Not much future there.

If you want peace of mind, be satisfied with the basics. Less really is more. The Scrooge who spends all his time trying to get rich is so afflicted with more-itis, he has no time for anybody else if they won't further his agenda. He's always looking for a sign: the dollar sign. He doesn't take a minute to reflect and realize: 'For a self-employed person, I sure have a rotten boss.'

What's the good of being an old skinflint who's to cheap to share? But, if you have a partner, you have that opportunity. Plus, you can help each other, and give each other a break. A friend can even warm up an old coot. Plus, there's strength in numbers. Life is easier when you have real friends.

Oh, hey Joe! No, I don't have any smokes. I bummed this one. See you later at the mission.

As I was saying, money isn't everything. Isn't a poor kid with a head on his shoulders in better shape than the old money bags who has to have a nurse follow him around? The poor kid still has a chance to break loose from the ghetto way of life, but the rich kid who has always had everything handed to him goes and blows the family fortune at the casino. That's how life is.

Look back over time, and its one long parade of people playing games, and for what?

I advise you to go up to the mission, son, so you get some chow and a place to sleep out of the rain. But I suggest that when you're in chapel, keep a low profile. Some people like to act all big at church. That's pretty ridiculous, I think. I don't mean to talk down to you, but I believe in showing God some respect. Talk is cheap. Watch what you say when you're in church. I mean, can you read the future? That's God's job, not yours.

Take that mission. It's full of folks running their mouths who have nothing to say.

Don't be like that. If you tell God you're going to do something, do it. Don't beg off and act like God doesn't mind. What if he does? Take my advice: Be sincere, don't show off, follow through on what you say.

There is more than one man over at the mission whose big mouth has ruined his life. There was no getting out of it. Promises, promises is all he gave God for a long time, until finally enough was enough. That's what comes of paying attention to everything except God.

Here's another point: if you see a poor man getting a raw deal, you're not the only one who notices. God made this world for everybody, not just for a privileged few, though it's obvious that that's not what money grubbers think. They want to own everything, and even that's not enough.

And those who like nothing better than to spend, spend, spend, what they really have is the disease of more, more, more. Big waste of time. Anyway, a lot of money just means there'll be a lot of people around trying to get a percentage of it. After you have the basics, everything else is pretty much eye candy, which, really, doesn't do you much good.

Usually, the working stiff sleeps like a log while the fat cat tosses and turns worrying about his stash and how to add to it. Though, I will say, many a poor man will work like a wild man trying to get rich quick, only to lose it all by dying young, leaving his kids with nothing. And what's crazy about it: you can't take it with you, so show me how he got ahead.

Goes to show: money grubbing can be real bad medicine. You work yourself to death -- a miserable one, at that. That's no way to live. God would rather you enjoy life. Count your blessings. If you have enough and the health to enjoy it, you are truly blessed, no? You know what they say: time flies when you're having fun.

Reminds me of the fellow who finally makes it to the top, but then once he gets there, doesn't get a chance to enjoy it. There is something really wrong with that picture,

Then there's the fellow who has done all right for himself financially and could afford to raise a boatload of kids. He lives to a ripe old age, but, his whole life he's been a low-down SOB who would sell his own grandmother if it meant cash on the barrelhead. His birth is worse than an abortion. At least a baby born dead doesn't have to bother with a useless life piled up with trouble.

If that man lived 2,000 years, what do you think the end result would be? You can't put off consequences forever.

Of course, just about everybody works to eat. No getting around it. Whether you have a college degree or street smarts, makes no difference, you're still just one of the Bozos on the bus. If we could just be satisfied with what's in front of our noses instead of thinking the grass is always greener over the hill, we wouldn't spend so much time spinning our wheels.

***

All the scientist is really doing is trying to find out what's already written down in one of God's books. It's true like they say: the more I know, the more I know that I don't know much.

There are all kinds of ways to kill time, but what's the point?

Does a man really know what's good for him in this smokescreen of a life? It's a mystery what's coming up, wouldn't you say?

A man might want to ask himself: Where is my name written down? If it's in the right place, he can die with a smile on his face. What a payoff you'll get for taking grief in this life instead of always being a people pleaser. Life's no joke the way some people think. Listen to the spiritual man, and watch out for the power party crowd. While they're whooping it up, hell's a'poppin'. They think nothing of ripping off poor people, and you can't do much about it, because payoffs have a way of making smart people not see the obvious.

You know, life is made up of one hassle after another. So it's understandable why people are in so much of a hurry to get past life's problems, whether real or imagined. You're better off to take life one day at a time. Take it easy, and don't try to get somewhere by throwing your weight around. A hair-trigger temper is a ticket to trouble, so learn to chill out, my friend.

Another thing: When you hear people talking about the good old days, be a little skeptical. You won't get far traveling down Memory Lane.

I know everybody wants to win the Powerball jackpot. But, what they really need is spiritual power. Then they'll really have something to share with other people.

Sure, an education can help ease your life. But what you really need is spiritual knowledge. Think about how God operates. Can you straighten out anything he bends? But isn't that what a lot of people are really trying to do?

When things are going well, we should enjoy life, of course. But when things get rough, there's a reason for it: to keep us right-sized.

I've been around and I've seen a thing or two. There's the fellow whose sense of honor gets the better of him and, as a result, his life is short. Then there's the sly old Mafia boss who lives to 90. He's not getting away with anything, I assure you.

Respect the Lord, young fellow. He'll pull you through. If you'll pay attention to him, you'll have power to do the heavy lifting. But don't worry, God knows you're not perfect. Everybody's done something wrong.

Including you. So try to let some things pass; you'll be better off. If somebody on the job says something about you behind your back, think twice before you make a big issue of it. Remember the times you've done something similar.

Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. Been there, done that. Back when I was wet behind the ears, I tried to be Mr. Know It All, but it didn't work. I messed around with the occult, and that was a bad trip, let me tell you. I ran into a witchy woman, but thank God I got clear of her. What a pain she was! If you go for that sort of thing, she'll do you in, brother.

If you were to look at the ledger book in heaven and see who is checked off, you wouldn't find very many names with an OK.

It's hard to understand how God puts people on the right track but they keep getting sidelined.

***

It's a true saying that they eyes are the mirror of the soul. You can tell a lot about a man by reading his face.

***

Now take my advice, obey the law as best you can and stick with the Lord. You can't hide from God, no matter how hard you try. You can't beat him, so why not join him? You'll be glad you did when you discover you keep cool in situations that would make most people frantic.

Bad things happen for a reason. But people stay miserable because, really, they don't want to accept God's decisions. They're trying to control the future. Well, forget that. It won't work.

When your number's up, your number's up, that's what I say. You can't dodge that bullet, no matter what you try. Your retirement fund won't help you then.

***

Ever notice the fellow who claws his way to the top? What's he really doing to himself? I've seen big crooks who went to church regular be buried with honors. Doesn't mean a thing. Problem is, justice delayed encourages people to learn the wrong roles. They don't seem to realize we're all auditioning. Those who please the director will get the part; those who don't will make a quick exit.

It's an unfortunate fact that in this world there are friends of God who are treated like criminals while big crooks are bowed down to. That kind of crazy situation can't last forever.

I used to think I was some kind of genius, but all my head-scratching boiled down to these basics: Keep a positive attitude. Be satisfied with what you have. Count your blessings. I lost a lot of sleep over trying to put a tape measure to God, but I found out that no matter how long the tape measure, it's never long enough.

You might be pretty smart and a nice guy, young man, but isn't that actually God's doing? As I've said, no matter how hard you try, you really don't know what's coming down the pike. Although, it's safe to say that there's one thing that happens to everybody: the good, the bad and the ugly. In one way of thinking, it doesn't seem fair that the Grim Reaper cuts down everybody -- all these poor, confused people, here today, gone tomorrow. Why?

A flea-bitten dog that's still scratching is better than a dead king of the beasts. At least the dog has maybe a bone to look forward to. The dead are just star dust, or something. All their loves, hates, desires: Done.

A man should make his life count while he has the chance. What you do now is what God is looking at. You might say "maybe later" once too often. Self-will run riot is a ticket to disaster. If you get married, try to get along with your wife. It's hard I know. But that's the way God wants it.

I mean, now is when you should be doing your best, right? It's a little late once you're dead. I agree, things don't always work out the way you expect. The winner isn't always the fastest or strongest. Church pastors go hungry. Smart people can be poor. It's hard to say how the chips will fall.

People don't have any idea of what's really going on. They don't even realize they're like fish swimming into a net or a bird about to spring its own trap. All of a sudden -- boom! -- the jig is up. Done.

***

There's something else that makes me shake my head: During the last war, there was this town surrounded by several army divisions. Everybody knew what would happen if the town was overrun. Then, one of the privates in the local militia had a really sharp idea to defuse the situation and spare the town. It worked. That private didn't even get a promotion. Everybody forgot about him. Some general took all the credit. If that poor man had any other good ideas, it made no difference. Nobody listened.

Even so, it goes to show that a thoughtful person can speak in a low voice and still have a big impact. Nobody pays much attention to people who scream and holler.

In fact, a man with a head on his shoulders is worth 10 divisions of combat infantry. But all it takes is one Bozo to screw things up for everybody.

It's like this: just like one little old dead fly wrecks a nice bowl of soup, one little slip can ruin your name for a long time. Take a tip: stick to the straight and narrow, son. Watch what people do, and you'll figure out who not to be like. Dumb bunnies are painfully obvious.

That includes big shots. They can be the biggest dummies of all. So if you happen to rile up somebody like that, it can't hurt to try a little humility. You'd be surprised what people will let go if you stay calm and try to be peaceful.

I don't mean to say that some of these big boys can't really mess things up. Especially when they promote the worst type of ass-kissing flunkies to top positions and kick their best people to the curb.

It seems to them like their method is working. But, eventually, things catch up to you somehow. For example, you'll be working in your yard and get bit by a copperhead, or you'll fall off a ladder at work, or get into a car wreck...

***

Anybody knows, if you want to make it easy on yourself, you have to sharpen your ax. That's why it's important to get some inside knowledge from the man upstairs. Think of it this way: Have you ever been to the circus? Spiritual knowledge works in your favor the way a lion tamer's knowledge keeps him from getting hurt. But put somebody who doesn't know his business in that cage, and you'll soon be making a call to 911.

We need spiritual knowledge, young friend. It makes a big difference in how you talk. Without that, a man's own words will make a fool out of him. He'll tell you his crazy ideas and, before you know it, end up in some screwball mess. Talk is cheap when you don't worry about consequences.

A fellow like that wears everybody out with all his kooky chaos because, really, he can't even tie his own shoe laces.

God help us all when somebody like that gets to be in charge. He's got a business plan: Fun City 24/7. Things go better for everybody when top people have a responsible attitude and don't act like every day's their birthday.

When the high muckamucks are too busy playing games, the whole shebang starts to go bad and fall to pieces.

Are you against the government? Well, just a tip: Watch out for happy hour. Walls tend to have ears. Sometimes it's best to keep your opinions to yourself. You'd be surprised at how much they're watching everybody these days.

***

Here's a true idea: Cast your bread upon the waters, and sometime down the road you'll get it back with interest. Don't just give what anybody might give. Dig down deep. You never know when you'll run into a problem yourself.

***

You can stare at the sky all day, wondering if it's going to rain, but things happen when they happen. I mean, if you're always waiting for things to be just right, you'll never get anything done. When you get down to it, life's a mystery, or, in other words, it's impossible to figure out the Creator. So, young fellow, I suggest that maybe you're better off with more than one iron in the fire. If one thing doesn't work out, maybe the other will pay off.

Take the long view while you're still young, friend. I mean, if you see someone who's lived a long time and always had it easy, that shows there's something wrong. He's in for one really bad day -- in fact, a bunch of them. He'll be in Crazyville soon enough.

So a young man like you should take a positive attitude toward life. But, even so, remember that at some point you'll have to answer to God.

I'd suggest you start working on those resentments that are eating you up -- everybody has them -- and try not to always put Number 1 first. You're not always Number 1. Quit wasting your time on that kid stuff.

You're better off to get right with God before you burn out and the world starts to go down the tubes.

(Changes tone)

When the shades are drawn over the sun

and the moon and the stars

When there are no more spectacular sunsets

When this old building starts to shake apart
and the caretakers get sick to their stomachs

When tough guys' knees turn into water and workers lay down their tools because hardly anyone is left and people fade away who were waiting for the next paycheck

When all the stores and factories are locked up and the hubbub of the cities gets real quiet, though you might hear the sound of the clean-up crew on its way

When people are afraid to look up, and the land is overgrown and the bugs are like combat infantry and the temple of Me, Myself and More will shut down because man is going to his eternal destiny

And they're weeping in the streets.

Once the plug is pulled, the lights go out and the utilities are shut off, it's time to meet your Maker.

***

The things we think are so important in this life are just a bunch of nothing, son. I have tried to give it to you straight and advise you which way to go when you get to the fork just around the bend. You can hang your hat on what I told you, for sure.

You can read books till your head spins, but it all comes down to this: Respect God and do what he says, and that's good enough.

Remember, friend, nothing gets past the Big Man. Whatever you do or don't do, it's written down somewhere.

Say, it's about time to get up to the mission and get something to eat. You coming?

Copyright 2011 by Paul Conant