Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in condorwings' LiveJournal:

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Saturday, December 24th, 2005
11:39 am	Merry Christmas Merry Christmas by Ted L Glines Snug in their covers on Christmas Eve night with heads full of elves and Santa delight, children dream of presents he'll bring on this happy day when the angels sing, and a snowman grins amid lights all aglow listening for sleigh bells and magic "Ho Ho!" We send all our blessings to those far away, those who can't be here to share this day, our prayers and hugs - where ever they roam, we know their hearts are right here at home. A wonderful warm Merry Christmas to you and a happy and prosperous New Years too! Current Mood: happy (Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 13th, 2005
10:46 pm	OverTime What in the dickens is overtime, hours you work for a bigger dime, not that your work is worth anything more, as a matter of fact, it verges on poor. Farm folks were up with the rising sun, when the sun went down, their work was done, they got their pay from the farm's produce, no time to shirk and no excuse. The hogs got fed on holidays to make that bacon and earn your praise, so you could work eight hours fine, and claim overtime if you worked nine. Your packing-house hours stacked up real nice and your overtime helped to increase the price 'til the bacon arrived at the store to be sold at a cost which resembled the price of gold. But the farmer only got mere pennies per pound and quitting was the only relief he found, it's a vicious circle to make that dime and soon we'll be eating fried overtime. Bread - these days - is a pound full of air, two dollars price - no food-value there, the mom-and-pop bakeries have gone away, mega-giants like "Holsum" are here to stay. The farmer and the baker - now working the line at factories where the pay is fine, and though we might see it to be a crime, we bow to the lords of overtime. Current Mood: contemplative (Comment on this)
Monday, December 12th, 2005
8:39 pm	Chasms and Bridges Whether dancing the circle or sitting in the pews, the world is full of wonder and knee-jerk news. For those full of spite and woeful complaining, the world is full of darkness; no hope remaining. Diversity spawns attacking spasms, elevating hate and deepening the chasms. You are who you are, smart as a fox; why confine yourself to a bleak little box? For those full of love and compassion caring, the world's full of brightness and warmth in sharing. Diversity spawns a chance to build bridges, elevating love and life privileges. You are who you are, smart as a fox; expressing yourself, you're outta that box! We can make this world a beautiful place if we toss away frowns and put smiles on our face. Abolish that burden of complaints you've been lugging; begin building bridges and get used to hugging! Current Mood: cheerful (Comment on this)
8:36 pm	Dragon Rap Here comes the dragon All wings and flame Just fryin the earth; Ain't stoppin to aim. Mr. White Knight Done killed her son And rode away grinnin After what he'd done. The killin of her son Was mighty sad, And this Dragon Lady's Just a little bit mad. Here comes Mom In a holy rage, She's gonna burn you out And make a whole new page! She ain't hidin And she ain't lurkin; Her flame's on High And her Mojo's workin. There went London And Paris and Rome, Fried to a crisp And she ain't goin home. And after she flamed The County of Cork, They say she headed For ole New York. Now I ain't lyin And I ain't braggin Cause I peeked out the window And here comes the Dragon! No time to run, It's a little bit late Cause she's seen my helmet And my white armor plate. ... oops ... Just fire and flame All over the place; I gotta go now, It's the end of the chase! Current Mood: mischievous (Comment on this)
8:33 pm	Chase Life is such a glorious chase as we dash from place to place, pausing now and then to share a friendship here, a bonding there, stories told and gossip too, stirring friendships like a stew until your days are centered 'round these newmade friends whom you have found, and then there comes your time to leave, a day to cry and mournful grieve, but you must go and we must stay, perhaps we'll meet again one day, and we will miss you until then for being the friend that you have been, so, may your life be filled with grace as you race on - life's glorious chase. Life is grandly enriched by the good folks we meet in all of the momentary places where we travel and pause for little bits of time. It is they who contribute all of the spicy vignettes to what would otherwise be an endless and boring novel of life. Bless then, every one, for they have gifted us with the grace of their fellowship, and made our lives richer in the process. Current Mood: happy (Comment on this)
8:30 pm	Candle See the darkness in a man what is it -- how does it scan how does it -- make the beastly hell why is it -- chaos does compel? Is it his imagination a wildly conjured compilation which turns his goodness inside out is that what evil's all about? Is it the nagging gnawing fear the little death which lives in here unknown terror which won't abate is it fear which turns his love to hate? Dark is the man whose killing deeds are done to those with "foreign" creeds and death must hold a mighty thrill for those adjured: "Thou shalt not kill." No love for creeds -- all evil -- dark with power as their driving spark, but -- I eagerly give my heartfelt nod to the man who says, "I love God." There's so much I don't understand in life uncharted -- so unplanned I know the darkness -- fear and fright will cease when we embrace the Light. All our lives we've fought this war and hope glows soft within our core there is one matter we will handle for in this dark -- we are the candle. Current Mood: contemplative (Comment on this)
8:27 pm	Do it now! Stay as you are and let things happen or take a stand. Your choice alone; you can make things better if you lend a hand. Just let things alone for a little more time and they'll only get worse. When helplessness rules and nothing is done, it's a downhill curse. Let go the burden that you don't need, it's dragging you under. Let it go now and you'll feel the light of happy wonder. Push forward the good and let go the bad; do it this hour. The sun will come up on a brand new day of positive power. You can do this, you can open your eyes and make a vow to do those things to improve your life; do it now ... Do it now! Current Mood: optimistic (Comment on this)
8:25 pm	Camille Lady of the Camellias ailing lovely courtesan - blue lady - weeping in the wind dukes and counts paid for her yet she loved Armand - a commoner - for free. oh the heartsick pathos of her love forever doomed to crave what cannot be. torn between her "proper" place and mellow love her heart loved Armand - her "station" said no ever trapped in a rain of loss and tears. Camille's lovers wore the purple at the gilded hearth of the elite, meanwhile her hopeful common lover embraced his dreams - intuition saying no, lost - a mournful whistle in a tuneless disarray, last scene - Armand threw jealous cash at her, insulted vengeful love - showing he could pay, a wreath of camellias - sadly wilting now signs her curtain call in memory to this day. "Lady of the Camellias," a joyful/sad work by Alexandre Dumas (the younger), spun the tale of a French courtesan who was loved by dukes and counts, but who loved a commoner, Armand. She was made to promise not to see Armand for reasons of protecting his and his sister's reputations. Armand was devastated, and her promise was impossible. She was dying of tuberculosis and from the poison of an ill fated love. Fortune was not kind to her. The Dumas play was later poorly imitated in "Moulin Rouge." Current Mood: sad (Comment on this)
8:22 pm	Desert wander round deserts screaming gaunt terrible energy yammers spiritual loco outsider remembers songs sung gratuitously yellow wind dries spirits sip peyote enraptured dream magic colors sap power republic cannot twist truth hymns sung grasping goodness silver rainbow weeps sadly yapping gargoyle enwraps soul last terror reaps silently yucca angel leans sobbing guru ultimate truth heaven never remembers singing gone everything gone enraged damned dreams switch horror running groping ghastly you understand death hereafter reckoned drab barrow wights smile Current Mood: artistic (Comment on this)
9:05 am	Plate What is this I see, with all these tasks you're burdened down, where none bring satisfaction and you always wear a frown? If your cluttered plate is stacked so high you cannot see, then you are surely busier than God intended you to be. Is there anything on your plate where you are making contributions to a world so rife with problems, crying out for your solutions? If there is nothing on your plate which uplifts the world today, then do us all a favor, throw the whole damned plate away! We've listened to your woes and heard your many lame excuses for all the ways you do not help to mend the world and its abuses. If you want to do some good, if you really want to please us, you'll exchange your wasted plate for the worthwhile plate of Jesus! Current Mood: optimistic (Comment on this)
Thursday, December 8th, 2005
9:02 am	God God In the beginning, there was nothing, no thing, an infinite Empty. Then God created the heavens and the earth, and all of these newly created things filled the Empty. We might suppose that the Big Bang theory is science's attempt to quantify Creation. Finally, after all this was done, God created one more new thing ... life. Unlike God, all of these new things were finite; that is, they had a beginning and an ending. They were temporary. And, in creating life, God created mortality, or death, and life came equipped with awareness, compassion, intelligence, ambition, competition, mendacity, aggression, and ... fear. At the forefront of the things feared by mankind was death, ending, ceasing to be alive. Since death appeared to be an unavoidable consequence of living, mankind conjured up a need for some sort of immortality, a spiritual continuum which could be trusted to go on forever. Thus did God become needed as more than a simple provider of fruitful hunts and bountiful harvests. Fearful men congregated around highly intelligent spiritual leaders, and thus they learned all about the wages of sin and and the glory of salvation. And these congregations became religions where fear was written into doctrines to produce organizational structure and immortal hope for the spiritual realm. In the fullness of time, the religions of man clothed God in some of the attributes of mankind, such as fatherly love and fatherly punishment. Perhaps this served to re-create God in a teachable format, but it also presented a humanized and limited God, and a somewhat confusing and dysfunctional God, to be sure. Being human, philosophers are not qualified to define or quantify God, but, nonetheless, libraries are well stocked with their vain attempts to do so. Bless them. You are a world renowned painter. You have completed a highly controversial painting which depicts God. I am blind. Please describe your painting to me Current Mood: contemplative (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, December 7th, 2005
9:51 am	Buccaneers Once upon the ocean blue came a story just for you 'bout the bloody buccaneers who sailed the Main in yesteryears. There was peg-leg Cap'n Flatt, swashed his buckle -- tipped his hat, hair and beard were all in curls, he was loved by all the girls. Then we have dear Bos'n Brown, known as "Killer" in the town, Brown was bald and small and lean, and he was known for being mean. The Cap'n's crew was boisterous, "A pirate's life is fine with us!" They took to fighting happily, pillaging upon the sea. "Yo ho ho and a bloody sword, we're gonna steal the good King's horde, we'll sack his crews -- sink his ships, and drink his wine with salty lips!" You should have heard the stories told, chasing -- fighting -- chests of gold, feats of boldness on the sea where men are mighty -- men are free! All of London town was cheering at each tale that they were hearing, in every pub -- the welcome mat was always out for Cap'n Flatt. Sailing day was quite a fete, dancing -- parties -- in the street, sails billowed -- out to sea with Jolly Roger flying free. And in the town, they breathed a sigh, they knew they'd see him bye-and-bye with tales of daring and new tunes and piles and piles of gold dubloons. So Cap'n Flatt put out to sea to seek his fabled destiny, a story lived -- as we shall see in a way -- quite differently. Then for months and weeks and days they plied the tossing ocean ways, "Red sky at night -- sailor's delight, red sky in the morning -- sailors take warning!" On a bright and misty day they dropped anchor in a bay where lay a town much loved by men, where all the sailors came to play. Ships from England -- ships from France, all King's sailors come to dance, to lose their gold at games of cards and pay to hear the songs of bards. Brothels owned by Bos'n Brown did brisk business in this town, and Cap'n Flatt's own gambling clubs raked in the gold -- as did the pubs. You've heard of Blackbeard, so I'm told, this is where he got his gold, and Cap'n Hook, all the while, played his dancing crocodile, prancing in a pinafore with gold in piles upon the floor. Up above the town did fly the Jolly Roger -- there -- on high, to bring the sailors -- grand marquee proclaiming "Here is pleasure's spree!" Weeks and weeks -- transporting gold, Cap'n Flatt filled up his hold 'til his ship was laden down and set to sail for London town. Going back -- they made up stories, fabricated pirate glories, songs to thrill both me and you and not a word of it was true. Spare me all those dirty looks, just toss away your history books, for every tale of bloody glory: just a made-up "pirate" story. But -- if you're good -- someday I'll tell location where this island dwells, still run by kin of Flatt and Brown, a "genuine ole pirate town." Current Mood: mischievous (Comment on this)
9:50 am	DeadManWalking Death licks my soul's tale Eating at the table of All my bad habits Daring me to survive further. Misfortune ticks my minutes Accelerating dissolution through stress Neither offering respite nor reward. Wisdom bows to maggots Accumulated knowledge will rot Lost after all my years of Knowing it was smart to learn - and Intelligence resets to Nothing in my coming Grave This is Ted at play. Note that the first letter of each line, scanned from top to bottom, reads "DEAD MAN WALKING," and the challenge was to contrive a poem which matched that phrase. A more difficult challenge might be to create the poem in rhyming verse, and I may take my own challenge on that one. Current Mood: artistic (Comment on this)
9:48 am	Boneless Chicken Ain't nothin better or finger-lickin than a southern-fried plate of boneless chicken. Greasy-chin stuff, just cain't get enough of that cotton-pickin boneless chicken. Ya see them cluckers rollin through the wood, them boneless chickens don't run too good. Easy to catch in all kind of weathers, gonna raise me a flock that ain't got no feathers. Mix up the batter and add some spice, dip in the chicken and fry it up nice. Round these parts it's understood that my boneless chicken tastes mighty good. Pass the chicken, please! Current Mood: crazy (Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 6th, 2005
9:41 am	Tastings I would love to swim in a chocolate lake, or burrow through miles of spicy cake, to live in a cave in a Swiss cheese mound, I'd be overjoyed to never be found, give me a mountain of Georgia-fried chicken, battered and breaded and finger-lickin', fresh hot biscuits full of leaven, the scent and the taste - sent from heaven, don't care a whit 'bout Jennie Craig while gnawing a succulent turkey leg, strawberry shortcake - piled whipped cream, hot apple pie - what a spicy dream, my soul may be sinning - an awful plight, as appetite rules my heart tonight, and even if sex should rear its head, pass the dumplings and send her to bed, bring on the platters - aroma array, until I get full and push away, with Martha's Vineyard to wash it down, Original Vintage - wine of renown, finally - after this wonderful treat, Pepto Bismol - bon appetite! One does not guzzle Marthas's Vineyard Original Vintage - $1,000+ per bottle. Nope. One has to sneak up on a wine like that. Might be better to just slum it and order the house red or white, or maybe smuggle in your own bottle of Ripple (aged on the truck). Oh, while I'm at it, here's a tip: Avoid any menu item which is printed in a foreign language; it is bound to be something wizened and green sitting in a puddle of magenta sauce, costing $100 ... which even your mutt would reject in favor of Mighty Dog. More at http://xsorbit29.com/users5/poetrylair/index.php Current Mood: full (Comment on this)
Monday, December 5th, 2005
9:08 am	Deadline To awake at dawn with a grin on my lips overwhelmed with joy - my fondest of trips. Bored I have been for many long years ever sharing the work - the tears and the cheers, creating kings for a pittance of pay overcome by deadlines - no time to play, my day will soon be my own to rule, easing out of the box and swinging kewl. Timid notes for a brand new song into the arts and writing strong, ready the heart and steady the pen, entering life once more again determined to fly like a Hippy wren. After decades of slaving - someone else's job done getting schedules completed and paydays won, ages of striving to scrimp and save imagining freedom - hopeful and brave, never more a deadline - except for the grave. (Acrostic: "To Become Tired Again.") Well, "rehired" is to become hired again, so "retired" must mean ... Knowing me, I have the feeling that my "retirement" activities will tire me out worse than anything I ever did in my "working" life (M2). All of my life (like yours) has been spent in servitude to the needs of owners and bosses, helping them to achieve their goals, helping them to make their fortunes, and now I am about to become my own boss for the first time in my life. Gosh, I hope I turn out to be a good boss. I'd hate to have to go on strike against ... me! Current Mood: cheerful (1 Comment |Comment on this)
9:04 am	Blessed to impeach this president would show him less than heaven sent (epiphany) - what a thought after all the trash we've bought boys and girls exploded - dead from all those faith-based words he's said Iraq - Orleans - it does not matter when he's offered only chatter and we blame him for the cost of hopes and lives forever lost yes, we see his explanation just another long vacation from a shabby bitter truth that he is worthless and uncouth. That's cold - ain't it? But that's how some would paint it. Orleans - Iraq - and Nine-One-One burdens for this Texas son a lot to handle (does it matter?) he has too much upon his platter and we-the-people - you must see have built this foul bureaucracy where men entrenched in awful power do nothing in our crisis hour but tell us "Help is on the way" while no assistance comes today and prayers go up to God on high while we watch the children die ... and we should wither in our shame when we do naught but curse and blame. a Light called Jesus walks this way and works through heros every day a child is saved - a bus is driven good works done with no thanks given no religion and no tricks as Jesus comes to work a fix and governments can take a rest and leave the job to those who're blessed. This one goes through some changes. The first stanza slams right into the blame-game controversy, but then it pauses and shows the above to be one side of the story. Then we have a stanza which is a softer blame-game, which almost gives an excuse to the leaders, but then it pauses long enough to slam the idea of blame-games. Finally, we move into individual responsibility with the help of a higher guiding power (no matter what name you call Him/Her), and we try to leave the reader with the idea that the blame-game is simply a waste of our precious time. Current Mood: accomplished (Comment on this)
9:01 am	Gossip He say - she say - we say more and soon the story becomes lore, the facts are blown clean out of sight a simple tale becomes a fright, threats are hurled with approbation soon becoming litigation, careers ruined - lives are blighted, wrongs not done cannot be righted, the villain - laughter unabated for all the fuss he has created, the only one not hurt by this; our gossip grins in lying bliss. More at http://xsorbit29.com/users5/poetrylair/index.php Current Mood: cynical (Comment on this)
8:59 am	Blame here in America living high and arrogant disasters always happened over there somewhere else "those poor people" we'd say prayers throw money at their problem then be distracted by the next reality show even nine one one was just a patriot act with a villain far away outrage for some but disconnected from self and home eclipsed by some obscure Jihad and here in America we are so haughty looking down on third world abuses horrific pain and death despotic mismanagement pointing boney fingers always at "them" as if we are above all that until Katrina came her wake spinning off mutilated elder bodies people thirsty starving scared and promises negated by red tape while abandonned people waited hopeful becoming hopeless crying begging drowning gas blazing on the waters only looters came to help themselves anarchy walked those streets raping children random robber killers our own American terrorists while police walked off their jobs hundreds of school buses sent away empty to protect them (from the refugees?) maybe it is good for Americans to feel this "third world" agony right here at home tearing at our hearts while the whole world watches with no one but ourselves (imagine that) to blame No distracting rhyme or rap meter for this one. Simply images and surfacing thoughts about this horror in our own back yard. Current Mood: aggravated (Comment on this)
8:55 am	Tammy This is for Tammy - a special friend, her path was mean right to the end, if drugs had never entered her life, she wouldn't have ended in fear and strife, immortal now and gone away, summer lands bless her spirit today, frenetic nights of crack cocaine offering days of crime and pain, always afraid of heavenly gain. The last time we talked - one kidney was dead, a few months left with fear in her head, more from Tammy - I have not heard, memory aches without a word, yes she is missed - with blessings unsaid. 24 October, 2005 An acrostic for all you acrostic-fans. Tammy St. John, a 47-year-old grandmother and crackhead, with a $400-a-day habit, last called me from her home in Michigan after she had come in off the road from a several-year stint at running cocaine from Arizona to New York to Florida (earnings helped to support her crack habit). She said that she had lost one kidney and the other kidney was failing, and they had given her only a few months to live. She was frightened. No word since then. Tammy was a devout Catholic, but the Church frightened her, too. I have tried to locate Tammy, but her mom and dad and daughter have not heard from her. I may be the last person she ever talked to. For some reason, Tammy is on my heart tonight, so this may be my requiem for her - in the fervent hope that she has finally found the peace she always sought in the chaos of drugs. Current Mood: sad (Comment on this)