Zuckerberg Finds Religion
Mark Zuckerberg was jogging on the sidewalk one day, when a white van pulled up next to him. Men in white suits and white ski masks jumped out, covered his face with a cloth soaked in chloroform, and he fell asleep.
When he woke up, he found himself in a small dark room, facing a gigantic video monitor. His legs were tied to the chair, his wrists were handcuffed behind him, and some contraption was holding his eyelids opened, while also squirting artificial tears in them from time to time. He had biofeedback sensors all over his shaved head.
The screen showd various images- it would show grotesque scenes of disease, rotting corpses, and violence while a gentile femele voice says the word "athiesm". It would also show beautiful pictures of butterflies, meddows full of flowers, and happy children playing with puppies and kittens. Durring those scenes the woman's voice would say "religion".
This would go on for about an hour, then a man would come into the room and ask, "Is religion very important?" If Mark said no, he shocked him with a tazer. Then the videos resumed. then the next hour, the man came back. Mark said "yes, religion is very important" but the biofeedback machine could tell he did not realy believe what he was saying. This went on for many days. Mark was not allowed to sleep. Eventualy Mark said "I believe Religion is very important. It is bad to question things. Religion is very important. It is bad to question things."
They untied him from the chair, and removed the restrictive devices. They put a wig on his head exactly like his previous hair style, and then dropped him off in an aley behind a Pizza parlor not far from his home.
Mary had a wee lamb,
It adored her so darn much.
& everywhere that she went-
To market, the museum, or the lake..
The lamb was sure to go.
One day it followed her to school...
And learned about legends ´nd myths,
Then it received a great big shock...
Of why it had a horn,
It wasn't a lamb,....but a unicorn.
Jack & Jill.
They say two heads
Are better than one-
In this case there's none,
Each was voidless.
For you see,
There's so much
They tried to be...
Even cooks for lunch.
Jack was loud
And Jill was proud.
Till one day,
Both were at bay.
A storm passed by...
Soon they were fry,
Zip, zap, went the -
Lightning, with a strike.
Jack gained a quicker mind,
Jill became more kind.
& they wondered.
What happened to
Jack and Jill?
They are now so
Much better at the grill.
Quietly, I Bleed the Bricks
silence curls in my palm
like a gun,
and my pen is bleeding scabs,
and I'm sitting
in the stillness of her shadow,
eating fireflies to try to kill the light
so I can rest between the rays,
into the void created
between her heartbeats,
here I will swallow
all of it,
and I will drink her breath
like a fish
until my ringing ears
hear more than static and steps,
and I feel the mortar
until there are no walls between us
and I split the skin of bricks
and they bleed out bloody dust
and stand no more,
lying softly on the earth
like sunrise fallen,
like sand stained by our triumph,
and we will build
a castle upon the ruins.
There are 24 hours, 1440 minutes, or 86400 seconds in a day. Humans are creatures of habit, and we repeat our standard day-to-day plan. How often are we given opportunities to change and improve, but turn them down? How often do people enter our lives and we don't appreciate them? At a young age we run around and play, scream and shout, eat whenever we get the chance, and sleep every other moment. Sadly, one we've reached a certain age, we lose that sense of freedom and beautiful chaos. We are lulled into a specific routine; that routine controls who we become and what we do.
How often are there those lucky few that break from the common, and thrust towards the unheard of and unspoken? Those people are viewed as outcast or wrong, until there are drones of society following their lead. Change is uncertainty, and humankind does not enjoy the sensation of being uncertain. We've been desensitized to how change can be a promising and beautiful thing, just as how we saw it while mere children. Chaos has its own beauty, its own rhythm. How often to we acknowledge what we have in our life, and realize how plentiful it is.
How often do we stop during those 86400 seconds, 1440 minutes, or 24 hours and accept how gifted each and every person is? The answer is not enough.
How to Embarrass an Intern
On Tuesday, September 5, I underwent a repeat right-side mammogram and mammary sonogram. As noted on previous films, a “faintly visible cluster of microcalcifications is seen in the upper outer quadrant” on breast x-ray. The sonogram showed “no evidence of mass.” So, I had my fingers crossed that the results were good enough to warrant the cancellation of the following week’s surgical consultation.
There was no such luck. On September 13 (a hallowed number – only to be superseded by 666), I found myself being screened by a YOUNG surgical intern for a manual breast exam. (This guy couldn’t have been more than 24 years old.) After going through a series of standard medical questions, my hospital apprentice then informed me that he would be getting a female nurse to “chaperone” the physical inspection.
I was getting burned out by the seriousness of my potential medical situation and decided it was time for some comic relief. So – using sarcasm concerning the need for a chaperone – I said, “You just can’t wait to get your hands on a 60-year-old woman with terminal cellulite, huh?”
The new doctor answered quickly with, “I thought you told me that you were only 58.”
Then he smiled while I admitted, “Well, the age was exaggerated a bit.”
Soon, a senior surgeon and good-natured nurse entered the room. Apparently, the seasoned physician was going to show the younger intern how to properly give a mammary exam (and having little shame, I couldn’t resist having more fun).
The experienced doctor directed me to have a seat on the examination table. Then he began to instruct. “First, you observe the chest of the patient sitting in an upright position.”
I then interrupted in with, “Next, you lift the patient’s breast from her right kneecap.” (At this point, the nurse stifled some giggling while the senior physician turned his head in an attempt to hide a chuckle.)
My behavior was definitely not conducive to a professional environment. By the time the physician-in-training was asked to examine the “area of concern,” he was almost too embarrassed to touch me and was barely able to make contact with my skin. (There is no way in hell that he was able to feel what the practiced doctor had intended him to encounter.) My value as a teaching tool was zero, but entertaining.
A Basic Truth
“Who is in control of your life?”
At it’s heart, this question contains an element of what I subjectively refer to as ‘basic truth’ regarding life. You may not agree, but because of my belief in this truth I am a happy person, and it is one I have tried to ensure that all of my children, grandchildren, and indeed, every young person I have mentored in any fashion, have not only grasped, but committed to heart.
Before we can honestly answer this question of control, we have to agree on exactly what it means—as a concept, “control” is difficult to pin down. Keep in mind that there is a percentage of people who, through physical, mental or emotional disability or immaturity, need others to be in charge of some, or even all, of their daily lives. This message does not apply equally to these folks, whether children or adult.
For the rest of us, the basic truth that I have found is this:
You cannot truly control anything in life, except how you react and respond to what happens to you, and the choices you make.
Please, read that again—it is that important.
Society imposes certain limitations and expectations on us and our behavior, but we must choose to respect those. The law says I can’t speed in my car, but the truth is, I choose to obey that law. If I choose to disregard this societal imposition, it may well cost me my money, my freedom, or even my life; choices have repercussions... most of which I also have no control over. If I drive in traffic, I cannot control how the drivers around me handle their vehicles, but I can choose to get angry and curse them, or turn on some jazz music and relax. That choice is up to me.
You can be victimized by outside forces, people and events, but that doesn’t mean that anyone or anything can dictate how you respond. There are those who are physically, mentally or emotionally abused and imprisoned by others [if this is you, please reach out and find help] but for everyone else, those people you love and/or hate only have as much power over you as you let them have. No one can make you have a bad or good day, feel angry or excited, make you smile or hurt your feelings... unless you let them. We all know of people who let life’s miseries bring them down, and others who rise above the turmoil… for the most part this is a matter of them exercising control of their reactions, and then choosing how to move forward.
As humans, there is very little about the physical world around us which we can actually control. You can’t do much about the wind, the tide, or the seasons. Weather, like most of the environment, is something we can work to modify and learn to deal with… but controlling it is fantasy at best. You can shape your surroundings; you can build a place to exist in which you have some measure of impact on the forces around you; you can choose which people to associate with, and thereby gain a bit of control of the energy (both positive and negative) around you.
The key element is choice—and we must remember that choosing NOT to choose, is also a choice we sometimes make.
In the end, as much as I would like to be able to blame someone else for the bad parts of my life, and take credit for the good parts, all I can honestly say is that I have, with time and effort, gained a fair amount of control over my reactions and responses, and I am actively working on making the best choices I can to ensure that the majority of circumstances in my life are ones that I want to happen.
I choose to be a happy person, and I am in control of that choice... and thereby how I live my life.
© 2017 - dustygrein
Frailty and a Butterfly Soul
he flinches in the light,
checking himself for sins
he might have missed
when he tried
to scrub the darkness away,
but his soul is frail
like butterfly wings,
and he opened holes
beneath the mist
he wears as skin,
shaped like the bristles
of whiskey and cigarette burns,
harsh like good intention
possessed by weakness.
but there is no door
in the cocoon
shaped for re-entry,
no wisp of nature's breath
that forms a current
back to the beginning,
no passage beneath the clock,
but he rises, knowing,
can still glide home.