#ThursThreads Week 231 : Just The Fun Parts

I sat at my computer, staring at the screen, and trying to figure out how to say the words. I finally just gave up, and typed anything. See. I was chatting with Sally. And she’d asked how my brother, Simon, was doing. And I’d had to tell her Simon was in jail.

I hadn’t told anyone else about it yet. I was trying to figure out how, when, or even if. But Sally I trusted. She’d always talked with me. “I know when you’re hurt. I know when you’re heart bleeds. You can’t hide that from me. Please. Talk with me.”

I couldn’t tell her no. I could never tell her no.

“You know how Simon watched movies? How he fast forwarded through them, and stopped here and there?”

“Yeah. He said it was ‘cause he wanted to see just the fun parts. Nothing else. He skipped over the bad parts.” Her words came across the page.

I paused as I tried to think. “He did that same thing with books. And restaurants, and food. He left what he didn’t like on the plate. He threw out the pizza crust. He only bought the songs he wanted to hear, and never bought an entire album.”

I waited for her response. “Just the fun parts, right?”

“Well. Yeah.” I paused. There was no polite way to say it. “Um. Guess what he kept of his ex girlfriend…”

Sally didn’t answer. So I did, “Yep. Just the fun parts.”

247 words
I’m not on Twitter anymore…

Cara Michaels asked a bunch of us to write for this weeks #ThursThreads, since she’s judging it. So, I decided to write something for Week 231. As always, #ThursThreads is hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read.

You Do Not Understand The Problem


Humans. Oye.

Well. We’ve now had the entertainment in Milwaukee. And we’ve now been observing the brain dead responses of way too many white people, who just flat don’t get it.

There is a time for peace.
And a time for war.

Everyone knows those words. What everyone doesn’t know is when the time for war arrives. And again, I’ve been watching it get closer, and closer, for 36 years now. And the saddest part? It’s the white people who are making it happen. The very same people who don’t understand why it’s happening.

You can not beat down an entire people forever. They will rise up. They will strike back. They will, when enough blood has been shed, defend themselves.

It seems we are approaching that time when enough blood has been shed.

When you force, demand, expect, a people who have their own traditions, their own history, their own society, to become just like you, and you bitch, endlessly, about the problems they have, the conditions they live under, being caused by their not being like you, you clearly do NOT understand the problem.

When you live in a society where everyone thinks the same, holds the same beliefs, holds the same values, places the same emphasis on the same things you place emphasis on, and declare anyone who doesn’t hold those same values, same beliefs, gets what they deserve in this life, again. you clearly do NOT understand the problem.

When you have closed your mind, frozen your heart, and no longer can see anything but the “successful path to life” that our media, our society, and our religion, have all combined to convince you is the only way to be happy, and declare those who have problems in this life need to get with the program, and be like you, and everyone you know, you clearly do NOT understand the problem.

When you argue that your child, your flesh and blood, cannot learn in a classroom setting, and demand the public school system change, to better address the needs of your child, and to teach them in the way they best learn, and then demand the children of other people need to “buckle up, and get serious about their education” so they can pass those standardized tests, you clearly do NOT understand the problem.

I could go on, and on. I could ramble about this for hours. And still…

You would not understand the problem.

For you have closed your eyes to it. You have frozen your heart. And you believe that everything is as it should be. For you, it is not a problem. For you, the problem does not exist. You cannot see it. Cannot feel it. Do not live it. Do not experience it. So it’s not real.

And those who say it is?

They lie, don’t they.

And so. You will never understand the problem. Or how much you are part of the problem.

#ThursThreads Week 228 : I Was Ready

The asphalt was cold from the rain as it pressed against my back. My bare arms were limp by my sides, as I stared at the sky, unable to move, unable to speak. If I looked, I could see the hilt of the sword that protruded from my chest.

I tried, again, to shift my head, to locate, to see, Damien. I wanted to see my sword, protruding from his body, his blood leaking out, staining the puddles of water he was in the same shade of red I knew I’d see if I could see myself.

“I was ready.” The thought repeated in my head. Echoed again, and again, “I was ready.”

We’d agreed to meet, to talk of how he’d taken my family from me. One by one, they’d abandoned me, to join him. Our war had left me broke, bankrupt in every way, no money, no possessions, and no friends.

He’d won. We both knew that.

I will always remember his face as I opened my case to hand him the title to my home, and instead drew my sword, and shoved it through his torso. I will always remember the look of betrayal, the blind rage.

Imagine my shock when he remained standing long enough to draw his sword, and run me through. We’d both fallen. Now, I was going to die with him, in the rain, in the dark.

“I was ready. And still, he won.”

241 Words
I’m Not On Twitter Anymore.

Slowly returning to writing, starting with #ThursThreads Week 228. As always, this is hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read.

#VisDare 144 : Exude

Valerie had invited me to the warehouse, to watch her play the guitar she’d wanted so desperately. I could not understand why she’d put on her Sunday best, but didn’t argue, and tagged along. In the warehouse, she propped her guitar against the wall, and began to draw a music score with sidewalk chalk.

I watched, fascinated, “what are you doing?”

She paused, “I’m writing the notes to play.”

“So, you make them up, then play them?”

“No, Daddy,” Valerie giggled, “Jimmy tells me the notes.” Valerie stopped writing, turned to face me, and pointed to the guitar, “He shows me what to play.”

I sat down on the warehouse floor, transfixed, “Like. Wow.” The ghost of Jimmy Hendrix held my daughter’s guitar, and was fingering out notes. They flowed from him, to Valerie, and I watched them exude from the chalk to the wall.

I could not resist writing this story for Angela Goff’s Visual Dare, Week 144. The picture was magic, and I had no choice but to write. Please read the other entries in this week’s Visual Dare challenge. Be amazed at the magic people can put into 150 words or less.

The Cryorig M9a Installation.

Earlier this month (June 2016), I upgraded the air cooling system for the AMD Athlon X4 870K processor in my computer. This was a major undertaking, and required the removal of the motherboard from the case. I promised a few people I’d take pictures of the process, and share them. So, here the pictures are.

Now, here’s the explanation, starting from the top left picture, and proceeding across each row, the pictures are in order. The first picture shows the original system configuration, with the AMD heatsink and fan. The pictures show the disassembly process, the removal of the original AMD mounting bracket, the installation of the Cryorig mounting bracket, the installation of the Cryorig M9a mini tower cooling system, and the reassembly of the computer.

Since I took these pictures, the EVGA GT-730 graphics adapter has died. It has been replaced with a XFX Radeon R7-370. It’s not the best system on Earth by any means. But it’s more than sufficient for my needs.

The Cryorig M9a works very well. Combined with the three case fans, the CPU temperature reported by the MSI Control Panel averages in the mid 5oC range (51C to 57C), when all fans are turned up. That’s over 20C lower than the original AMD factory cooler.

It is worth noting that I could not have stuffed a larger air cooling solution into the case. The top of the M9a fits just inside the case, and the fan sits on the first RAM module. The R7-370 also comes close to the plexiglass cover of the case, but I could install a larger graphics adapter if I ever elect to do so.

This was not something I would suggest most people do, unless you have experience at repairing computers, or have made your own custom builds before, or have a friend who has, and is willing to help.


Thoughts Denied

We all have them.
Thoughts we deny we have.
Feelings we don’t admit to.
Hatred we pretend isn’t there.
We all have them.
And we deny they exist.
We pretend we don’t.
We pretend we’re better than that.

We lie.
To ourselves.
All the time.

Let me explain.
Let me illustrate.
Let me show you
An example
Of what you deny.

This week
My autistic mind showed me
The picture of a gun.
An AR-15.
An ugly machine.
Designed with one purpose.
With one objective.
To make it easy
To kill.

Above that picture of a gun
My mind wrote the words,
“Tired of finding out she used to be him?”
Then, below the picture of the gun
My mind wrote the words,
“There’s a cure for that.”

And I knew so much about that image
Painted in my head.
I knew so many people
Who feel that way.
Though they won’t admit it.
Though they’ll deny it.
They’ll scream at you,
“How could you think I feel that way?”
“Do you have any idea how wrong that is?”
“I don’t condone using a gun in that way!”

The list goes on and on.

But the louder they scream.
The louder they deny the truth.
Of what they feel,
Don’t they.

It happens all the time,
Doesn’t it.
These types of lies.
These denials.
When we pretend we aren’t that way.
When we pretend we don’t feel that way.

But it shows,
Doesn’t it.
It always shows.
“Let’s just shoot all the trans people,
And be done with it.
Life would be simpler.”

Little glimpses of the truth.
Hidden beneath the words.
Hidden beneath the lies.

Lies like this one.
The words above the picture
Of a syringe,
“Putting my kids at risk by not vaccinating yours?”
And the words below the syringe
“Let me stab you in the eyes with this.”

Little glimpses of the truth.
The unspoken words.
The denied reality.
No one admits is there.
No one dares admit is there.

The words above the picture
Of another AR-15.
“People keep cutting ahead of you in line?”
And then the words below.
“There’s a cure for that.”

Little thoughts.
They flash through our brain cells.
Like single frames of a movie.
Blink, and you miss them.
“Did I really see that?”
“Did I really think that?”
“I’m not that way.”
“That’s not how I feel.”

But always.
That image.
It turns up.
And again.
And again.
Without end.

And always.
We lie.
To ourselves.
“That’s not right.”
“I’m not like that.”

So many thoughts
We can’t face.
So many thoughts.
We can’t have.
So many thoughts.
That are just wrong.
Flat wrong.
And we’re not like that.

Thoughts that are always there.
Thoughts always hidden.
Thoughts always ignored.
Locked away.
Behind our lies.

So very many
Thoughts denied.

#ThursThreads Week 221 : Who Bought It?

It is somewhat disconcerting the first time someone still living walks through you. It’s also a good clue that you’re dead, dead, dead. That, and looking down at your body with a big ass hole where your forehead used to be, and seeing the shredded remains of your brain.

Getting walked through was my fault, really. I was too busy staring at the mush inside my head to notice Freddy when he walked up, his gun still smoking, and looked down at my dead body. Lenny stood a few yards behind him, “See if he’s got anything in his wallet.”

Freddy laughed, and put his gun back in its holster, under his left arm. He straightened out his jacket. “Who bought it?” He looked at Lenny. “Who bought the farm?”

Lenny giggled, and pointed at my remains, “He did!”

Freddy grinned at my remains, “You should’ve known better, Billy boy. You should’ve known not to bang Mr. King’s daughter.” He bowed his head. “You had potential, you did. But you crossed a line in the sand, and Mr. King said to me, ‘Freddy, Freddy, Freddy. Make sure Lenny buys the farm tonight.’ And you know I do what Mr. King tells me.”

Lenny giggled again, “Who bought it? Billy bought it!”

The two of them shook their heads, and walked out of my bedroom, leaving me to stare at my dead body, and wonder, “What the heck do I do now?”

I saw the prompt for this week’s #ThursThreads challenge, and this strange idea just kinda popped into my brain cells, so I wrote it. It’s for week 221 of Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read.