When I wrote this poem I was thinking mainly of FACEBOOK friends - mainly because all but a very few of my closest lifelong friends are DEAD.
Yeah.
The number of persons I can talk too (familiarly) without having to explain anything
has dwindled down to less than a handful.
When friends die, part of your Life Verification dies with them.
Memories are unreliable narrators.
I miss the the phone call that doesn't come any more.
But that's a downer and I wanted my poem to be zany and fun.
And it was.
Posts by Terry
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11Friends! (A pain in the ...?)
by Terry infriends?
some friends are like a holiday a favorite pair of shoes the scratching post for kitten fingers to caress some friends can really wear you out with their whinging and their blues yet more or less - not worse than all the rest.
some friends are chatty cherubim and others?
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Terry
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11
Friends! (A pain in the ...?)
by Terry infriends?
some friends are like a holiday a favorite pair of shoes the scratching post for kitten fingers to caress some friends can really wear you out with their whinging and their blues yet more or less - not worse than all the rest.
some friends are chatty cherubim and others?
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Terry
FRIENDS?
Some friends are like a holiday
a favorite pair of shoes
the scratching post for kitten fingers to caress
Some friends can really wear you out
with their whinging and their blues
Yet more or less - not worse than all the restSome friends are chatty cherubim
and others? - they need therapy!
these flock like pigeons pooping on my roof
Fickle friends and loyal friends both casual / aloof
Over weaning minions with opinions by the ton
With lots of bitter Twitter or too syrupy.Knuckleheads and pecker-woods
Tiresome? Fire some!
Who gets your jokes? Who's got the goods?
Hire some. Admire some.Some friends are like a Gatling gun
Too cranky and too critical
So wonky or political
they eat away at sanity like Limbaugh or Sean Hannity
until I think I'm really gonna SCREAM!But then I stop and take a breath
to realize we all face Death
And each of us just does the best he can
For all the loopy giggling
and the smattering of niggling
contentious as a bulldog on a bone ...
Friends are necessary - and it's scary -
just to wallow in the free time of my "me" time
ALL ALONE -
81
Evolution or Creation Poll
by Vanderhoven7 inevolution is how we got here.. demonstrate that you believe that all species evolved from a single cell over/within 3.5 billion years by tapping "like" below.. demonstrate that you believe in special creation by tapping "unlike" below..
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Terry
I try not to CARE what others think or believe.
It has taken me years and years to keep my mouth shut when a pointy-head says something absurd.
It's tough. We all know it is tough.
Tough subjects to avoid:
Climate Change, Evolution, Bigfoot, UFO's - why do I need to care what you think about them?
It's human nature to want to set "others" straight, eh? Ha!
But when has anybody EVER been persuaded against a cherished (false) belief?
Not often. What happens is an argument and social blocking and banning.
Is it worth that?
A good discussion is achievable - but it takes intellectual honesty.
What is INTELLECTUAL HONESTY?
To be willing to change your most cherished belief when faced with facts and reasons which falsify them and the willingness to be open to admitting you are WRONG.
In my opinion, no debate or argument should begin without asking: "Are you willing to be wrong if facts go against you?"
If not -- why do it?
Evolution has seldom been argued within a boundary of COMMON belief as a starting point in debate. Magesterium VS Magesterium doesn't work.
You can't argue chalk with a piece of cheese. -
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Head Coverings for Women
by Diogenesister inwatchtower's ignorance around the historical background to many biblical directives has had a very negative effect on the lives of witnesses.. for instance paul said women should cover their heads because in corinth prostitutes walked the streets plying for business with their heads uncovered.
hence head coverings were never a symbol of headship but a directive very specific to that period, as was the blood directive!!.
watchtower leaders have been lawyers, businessmen, civil servants and door-to-door book salesmen, never, ever historians or biblical scholars.
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Terry
As a practical matter, covering up your womenfolk with veils and head-coverings in a time of outright depredation by marauders (and with the coercive power of chieftains and petty rulers to have sex at will with travelers ) would certainly help prevent targeting of daughters and wives.
As a Christian matter today in "civilized" countries, I can only roll my eyes and shake my head. But hey- that's me.
CONTROL of women by exercise of AUTHORITY (religious, domestic, and political) reveals itself in "customs".
Women are taught how wonderful it is from their youth to "submit" and surrender to (cough cough) any male through deference and obedience.
Yeah - well -- those days are fast behind us and it is unfortunate in the extreme how backward Christianity (and it's sects) self-target with pontificated pronouncements of imperious solicitude. To wit: Head covering is STILL important (or else.)
I'm sorry I wasted twenty years in a religious cult of Puritanical pointy-heads.
It's hard to grow up when you find a refuge of empowerment as a man that grants license to exercise dominion and eschew equality. Eh?
But guess what? If it weren't for these compliant Sisters, there'd be no Church at all any longer. Cognitive Dissonance reigns supreme and the well of reason is poisoned I'm afraid.
TO SHOW RESPECT for these practices bewilders me. It galls me.
I have four daughters. You can be quite certain they'd have plenty to gainsay were such customs proposed to them.
In our family, we only respect those who earn our respect sensibly, rationally, and equitably.
Religious Faith is a tenuous tightrope walk of superstition across a chasm of modernity and Civil Rights by indoctrinated victims who see themselves as righteous and the rest of us as --- well --- we remember, don't we? How we regarded people who DID NOT share our view of "THE TRUTH"... -
6
The Day I Met a Midnight Cowboy
by Terry in“the day i met a midnight cowboy”a hollywood memory .
he approached me at the service counter.
clutched in his hand : something in a small paper bag.
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Terry
Thank you so velly velly mucho!
I can't help but write. Ya know?
Some part of me (a caged canary thought) banging wings against the cage.
All any writer craves is to be read. We never dare hope to be appreciated :)
This morning I had a poem inside me. I honestly don't know where these things
come from.
But -- here it is.
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REDONDO B**CH____
Preety thang she was.
Norma in jeans.
Standing by the rock wall on the strand at the beach.
Hair shocked out and colorful - wooly wonderful t'was
Men's eyes a buzz of appetite
Shorts too tight (you know what I mean.)
Redondo sunrise colored eyes
Mystery spinnakers in a pool of surprise
and life was wonderful then (Woo hoo)
And life was wonderful.
Dangerous thang she was
Norma in jeans.
Splashing wine in my face two times, what a b**ch!
Claws and fangs aren't kissable, ya dig?
All the doves in lovey dovey scattered high
Time to say, "Bye-bye."
And life was surely shitty then (Boo hoo)And life was flushable.
Preety memory she is
Norma in jeans.
Standing by the rock wall on the strand at the beach.
Life has lessons to teach
Better to love from afar ...
You know who you are
my little REDONDO B**CH.
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** BEACH
A stream-of-consciousness poem
by yours truly
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The Day I Met a Midnight Cowboy
by Terry in“the day i met a midnight cowboy”a hollywood memory .
he approached me at the service counter.
clutched in his hand : something in a small paper bag.
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Terry
Interesting reaction :)
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6
The Day I Met a Midnight Cowboy
by Terry in“the day i met a midnight cowboy”a hollywood memory .
he approached me at the service counter.
clutched in his hand : something in a small paper bag.
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Terry
“THE DAY I MET A MIDNIGHT COWBOY”
A Hollywood MemoryHe approached me at the service counter.
Clutched in his hand : something in a small paper bag.
The shy little man spoke elegantly; he was thinking about custom framing an item of personal importance and sought my expertise.
This was 1986.
I’d abandoned Hollywood in 83’ fleeing my fanciful dreams of an Art career, shambling back into the womb of my hometown in Fort Worth, Texas.
On the edge of my “Cowtown” I was managing an Art Gallery and frame shop. I may as well have been a balloon salesman on the dark side of the moon.
I had plenty of downtime, however.
I could read, write and - best of all - play out loud my record collection as I
Performed custom-framing tasks for a few locals who patronized this little shop on the edge of nowhere.
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I’ve always been a person who savors meeting interesting people.
This man in the tweed coat clutching a crumpled paper bag appeared to be just such a prize!
For one thing ...
There was an elegance behind this man’s words of great interest to me. Don't ask me why----why do dogs chase cars?
We briefly chatted--nothing earth shaking--but not ordinary chit chat by any means.He introduced himself.
“Easy Davenport.”
A question popped into my head. I couldn’t help myself.
“You’re a writer.”
He froze as though I had told him he was under arrest.
Odd reaction, I thought.
He made a face and reached into his coat jacket--the kind with patches on the elbows--and produced a business card he deftly proffered. . . as though I had asked for it.
Before I read this card, I gave him a once over glance.
He looked to be maybe 70 or so and almost certainly a boozer. You know the look.
He had prominent cheekbones, ears that stood out on the sides of his head, a calming baritone voice and deep circles under amazingly intelligent eyes.
There was a glint behind those curious orbs; the eyes of somebody who’s been places and seen things.
I lowered my gaze to his offering.His card held a tiny line drawing of a court jester with two things under it.
M.L. Davenport
"Easy Does It."
What was I supposed to say?
I lifted my eyebrows a little. He could tell I’d never heard of him.He changed expressions and spoke quietly.
"I wrote MIDNIGHT COWBOY, does that count?"
I snorted involuntarily. Instantly regretting it sounded like an accusation.
"Waldo Salt wrote MIDNIGHT COWBOY." (I asserted warily.)He shook his head sadly, "How well I know."
The know-it-all inside me added abruptly, "His daughter, Jennifer Salt, was an actress in the film."
He cocked his head and squinted."How do you know these things?"
He inquired with genuine curiosity.I use to show off a lot back in those days.
The only reason I knew Waldo Salt wrote MIDNIGHT COWBOY was that I owned soundtrack recordings by John Barry. He’d also composed THE DAY of the LOCUST. (Another Waldo Salt screenplay.)
How often back then I would sit with the album cover in my hands as I listened and read the credits and liner notes. A ritual.“I pay attention.” I decided I could play coy.
He quickly changed the subject but didn't seem offended by my challenging tone.
He rummaged inside the crinkled paper bag and extracted a small lapel pin and slid it across the counter.
"What do you suggest for a frame?"The pin was not quite round. It felt like gold. On top it read “Easy Does it” and on the bottom, “First Things First.”
I found out later from a friend, it was connected to Alcoholics Anonymous.
Quickly I offered a couple of choices for a shadow box frame and suede mat. There would be a spacer for the glass--sort of like an award or presentation. He quietly nodded, pointed to his choice and I wrote up the sale.
____A week later, one of my favorite people, Carol Ann Raines visited my shop. She had been a mentor in all things art, music, and writing when I was a shy and scrawny teen with no social graces.
She believed in my talents and encouraged my pursuits. Carol Ann collected 'interesting' people as she went through life. I was a part of her collection."Terry, I need to pick up something you framed for a friend of mine named Easy Davenport."
I couldn't help myself, I laughed and blurted: "Oh, you mean screenwriter Waldo Salt."
Carol Ann's face contorted into astonishment. I had floored her!
"How in the world did you know that, Terry? He keeps his identity a secret. I'm the only person he has told because he and I go to the same A.A. meeting."
Well, now it was my turn to be floored.
For a different reason
I had not the least clue my mentor Carol Ann was any less than perfection itself.
Was she saying she was an alcoholic? Secondly--she corroborated the little man’s claim - he was REALLY Waldo Salt!Quickly I sorted priorities and decided not to react.
There are days in your life you will remember forever after. This was turning out to be exactly that sort of day."I know things, Carol. I'm mysterious"
She flashed a radiant an appreciative smile at my humor.
Carol Ann began to regale me with all manner of mind-boggling details about Mr. Waldo Salt.
In the early 1950’s Waldo Salt was blacklisted in Hollywood for refusing to testify in Washington before the House UnAmerican Activities Committee.
Although he later won Academy Awards and other honors, he remained bitter over the loss of others' careers and his own ordeal.It turned out he had written some pretty famous films, too.
HUMORESQUE, ETHAN FROME, THE FLAME AND THE ARROW, THE DAY OF THE LOCUST, COMING HOME.
Sadly, during the dark years of the Hollywood Blacklist, there were several uncredited rewrites on THE PHILADELPHIA STORY and he did not return to writing under his own name and earning film credits until the early 1960s.As I listened to Carol Ann, I gave a long, loud whistle hearing all this infamous history pouring out.
"Why do you suppose he told you who he was, Terry?"
"From a few words of conversation. . . I figured out he was a writer. I nailed it.."
Carol beamed.
She looked like a doting mother whose son had made her proud."All any of us want in life, Terry, is to be truly known for who we are."
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EPILOGUE
As it turned out, Waldo Salt would die the very next year, 1987, from lung cancer.
The day I met him and spoke to him, he did not seem well. In fact, he seemed wearily resigned to fate.
There was a bit of the court jester in his banter and always the hint of a smile that never quite came out to shine. He was sort of like the sunny day that never was.
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I’ve discovered a conversation mentioning Waldo, with writer Joe Eszterhad (Basic Instinct.)“I learned this trick from screenwriter Waldo Salt (‘Midnight Cowboy’ and ‘Day of the Locust’). He’d finish his script and then tear six or seven pages out of it and turn the script into the studio. The studio execs would sometimes — not always — notice that something seemed to be missing from a sequence and suggest that he fill it in with some scenes. Seemingly acting on their suggestions, he would then put the pages that he had torn out back into the script. The studio executives would then praise him for listening to, and acting upon, their suggestions.” —Joe Eszterhas
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If You Could Live In Any Era or Decade What Would It Be?
by minimus ini kind of like the 50’s and early 60’s because of the innocence and “happy days” outlook by that generation.
it seems most people were pretty innocent and real.. would you rather be living in a different era or is this century working for you?
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Terry
I'd like to go back (again) to 1955-1965.
There were soooooo many incredible changes going on in every facet of American life.
Knowing what I now know, I'd enjoy it even more. -
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The One Per Cent (1%) - Is it a Phenomenon of Nature itself? Is it Fair? Is it our enemy?
by Terry inopen discussion.
the rich and powerful vs the struggling poor.. the 1% we all hear about.... is it fair that a tiny minority has more and wins more often than the rest of us?____.
(let's make a survey).
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Once Upon A Time In ... Hollywood (My review)
by Terry inonce upon a time in... hollywood my review.
i rode my bike through 3-digit temperature and watched quentin tarentino’s new film.the title harkens back to sergio leone’s trilogy titles.. i wanted to see it for personal reasons.
the time span covered is the background to much of my life.
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Terry
I was thinking just yesterday that Hollywood didn't really know what to do with
"hot looking" actresses in the sixties. The roles they got made the specificity interchangeable.
Sharon Tate and Suzy Kendall, for example.
