Tag Archives: absurdity

Surprising Archaeological Finding

Yesterday, while in the bog,
I dredged up a bottle of spiked eggnog.
I exclaimed “How strange!” and “Oh my word!
Its remains are perfectly preserved!”

I briefly worried it could be a rig,
It’s not expected on a dig.
But upon inspection, though there was no mold,
Carbon dating confirmed: eighteen hundred years old!

By the gods! I didn’t know what to do,
I found myself questioning all that I knew.
For of course, I have seen my fair share of old beer,
But how could spiked eggnog have ended up here?

It could not have been traded, or won in a war,
Its design is quite modern, of that I am sure,
Bottled in glass with a logo, no less:
This puts our data in a real mess…

Unless…

Before my colleagues notice what I’ve exhumed,
I ensure that the artifact is safely consumed.
I’m certain it’s a finding that wouldn’t be missed,
And I’ll be the only person who’s pissed!

Happy April 1!

I Resisted, I Got Inspired, I Tweeted

This is a post about how I started tweeting, some poems I have tweeted, and a fun venture you can join me in tweeting about.

I’m not enamored with social media. Don’t get me wrong, I like media—music, poetry, art, storytelling, informative news– and I like being social, so I see nothing inherently problematic about combining the two. But I’m hesitant to jump onto popular social media band wagons for two simple reasons.

First, most social media websites take an inordinately long time to navigate when the person trying to get around them is totally blind. I once tried planting plants in three friends’ farm patches on facebook, and after an hour and a half of technical negotiation, none of which involved down websites or malfunctioning programs, I succeeded. Which leads to the second reason I’m suspicious of engaging in too much social media: even if the sites were accessible, I believe I would get just as obsessed with posting on them as I already am and waste lots of precious time which I could spend on my career or, perhaps more importantly, on socializing with friends over email or in person which won’t result in PDC (i.e. Public Display of Communication.)

I’ve used facebook since my sophomore year in college when it first came out and was a way for students at top American universities to connect with one another and the friend requests you would accept were from people you were already close friends with. You know, back in the day…

Mostly I now use facebook to participate in closed private groups because anything I want to post on there is usually something I ought not associate with my real name: I’m still in the broom closet. Actually I am technically at the moment in my living room, the closet is metaphorical.

But, it’s surprising how often, as a pagan, I have to be exceedingly careful, especially as I have as many friends in the physical world as on the other side, and that’s not considered normal. If only facebook let you have more than one identity! (I’m sure men and women fleeing abusive relationships and double-agent spies would appreciate this as much as closeted pagans and other targeted minorities, facebook! Come on with it then…)

In any case, although twitter does allow, fortunately, sensibly, responsibly, for as many identities as you like, I struggled for a long time with actually getting onto twitter. I kept feeling like I am this old fashioned thirty-something person who likes face to face communication, and more importantly, I’m a person. Whoever heard of a person tweeting? The concept sounded so absurd to me. I mean, if I walked into a room and five or six people were literally standing around tweeting, I’d get concerned, and quickly. Especially if their vocal bird calls were too convincing. Then I would probably sincerely ask them if they were channeling bird spirits—and I don’t mean the kind of spirits birds might consume to get intoxicated.

I decided therefore that I never wanted it to be said of me that I had tweeted. I imagined a list of modern honors and deeds one might recount upon a person’s death: “She was a wonderful person, no one has ever spoken ill of her, she was a loyal friend, she was never rude in the use of her cell phone, and she has tweeted.”

This imagined scenario made me shutter and adamantly think, not of me, please! I felt like tweeting might once and for all situate me in the modern age, an age I often don’t understand and even less often agree with. Not that past ages were any better. But I live now, so I can point out what’s wrong about the present and usually get away with it, and with sympathy.

That all changed when Ali Isaac and Jane Dougherty posted an invitation to tweet love poems based on Irish mythology to coincide with the coming out of their jointly written book, Grá Mo Chroí, , which I encourage everyone to read! It’s a wonderful book. And, what is more, once I read the previously mentioned invitation, my antitweet resolve began breaking down. To my astonishment, I found myself creating a twitter account. Then, to much less astonishment and great fun, I discarded my, albeit never officially stated, vow to refrain from having tweeted, and have tweeted (twittered?) more times than I can count now.

I’m not sure what the protocol is about posting tweeted things on a blog, but here are a few of my tweeted poems. I’ll create another post with poems by/about my ancient family more directly, as they deserve a space of their own.

***

Together sound
Songbird and foghorn
Take care, come listen
Sirens seaward cry
A soaring and a warning
As day sings itself awake

***

To walk the path
Steeped in mystery
With false starts strewn
Step lightly
One word, yes
Begins your hero’s journey

***

The six encircle me in love
At the center
I, shaped as a star
Enfolded within
Their single light
Resonate with joy

***

Fierce passion Consumed their young souls
Now centuries flown
In the otherworld
They are love
A gentle light
Between them grown

***

Landscape aches
For ancient reverence
Carve a place
A new old way
Weave the pattern
Of what happens
Into being
Come home you say

***

Fretful my night
Until your light fills
This space, glowing
Dissolving my fear
Your silent strength
Guides your lost child home

***

Finally, I love playing around with words and decided to create a hashtag called #absurdwordnerd under which to write ridiculous new definitions of words. Creatively changing the word by adding or subtracting a letter and then redefining it is also totally silly and acceptable. For example:
Indentured servant: a servant with false teeth. #absurdwordnerd

I am doing this just because why not, and because I think the world needs more humor. So come participate whenever inspiration hits you (just ask it to hit nicely.)

Ode to Torque

Oh pivotal inertia’s twin,
Whether the masses find equilibrium or not,
You keep us levered at arm’s length.

Found when the wheel rotates with vertical spin,
Discovered as the current recoils from the coil,
The product of your motion leaves its sine everywhere,
Example given: the closing of a door.

I am accelerated to be an integral part of your work.
You are the alpha and omega,
Your cause gains momentum farther out.

Our lives rotate around the fulcrum point of your profound significance,
Oh force behind the workings of many electrical objects,
We calculate your greatness by the right hand rule, oh torque.

The End: Fairy Tales Gone Awry

We’re taking a break from usual content today to bring you a large dose of ridiculousness, humor, and absurdity. As I am currently a very, very stressed out grad student, I happily present to you … in the style of pointedly pure procrastination … a diversion. So laugh, cry, or do whatever else you were planning on doing today and have fun!

You’ve heard all the old fairy tales and stories about superheroes before. But here is what your mother never told you:

In her old age, Bat woman decided to stop taking life so seriously and just wing it.

A much older Superman admitted the joker was right in one respect, and from then on laughed at his mistakes on the fly.

On the day the ex-men and Zoro crossed paths, they traded conversation and ideas. Zoro left convinced of the power of fighting tooth and nail, and the X men began representing themselves with the sign of the Z.

An aged Rapunzel refused to let a bad hair day get her down.

Snow White sat with her grandchildren enraptured at her feet as she told them of her childhood. “It’s not true what they say, that a bad apple ruins the whole bunch,” she concluded. “After all, I learned, didn’t I, that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

An elderly Hansel and Gretel sat at the table having dinner together. At one point Gretel turned to her brother and said, “There’s something I need to tell you. You’re the only living relative I have, and I can’t keep this a secret any longer.” “What is it?” her brother asked encouragingly. “I’ve grown to be more spiritual in my old age. I’m learning to become a witch.” Hansel was quiet for a long time. Finally he said, “hmmm. Well in that case I don’t think I’ll be having any more chicken tonight, thanks.” “Not that kind of witch!” Gretel laughed. “Oh forget it, I must be getting old,” Hansel grumbled irritably, “Could you remind me again which witch is which?”

After Goldie Locks went through two nasty divorces, she had an epiphany. Of course! She said to herself, I should choose my next man in the same way I chose which chair to sit in in the house of the three bears: not too big, not too small, but just right.

Cinderella’s face was ashen as she held the hand of her dying Prince Charming, now in his eighties. “Do you have any last requests of me, dear?” she asked solumnly. “Yes,” he said, his eyes serious and cloudy, “Live the rest of your life to the fullest. Tend the hearth of your heart and don’t let it burn out. And remember, if the shoe fits, wear it.”

After Rumpelstiltskin stomped and fell, unconscious, through the queen’s floor, he landed in her private indoor garden, was mistaken for a garden gnome, dressed in a ridiculous outfit, and taken to kindergarten by a servant’s daughter for show and tell. After that, babies just never had the same appeal: and he always checked before leaving on a nepharious mission that he had the right floor plan…

On her deathbed, Sleeping Beauty admitted that her waking life was not nearly as interesting as the dreams she had from age sixteen until her prince woke her up. “Ah perchance to dream,” she said longingly of the possible life she might have after death, “I wish I never had to kiss it all goodbye in the first place.”

The aging ex-wife of Bluebeard wanted to take the car to get groceries.
“You look fretful my dear,” her loving second husband observed, “Is there anything I can do?” “My keys!” his wife cried in distress, “I can’t remember where I put them. I had them in my hand just a minute ago. I can’t leave without them.”

The little match girl was actually taken into the warm house before freezing to death. Much much later, at ninety-five, she died from heart failure and exhaustion. “Her body was just burned out,” the doctor told her grieving family.

Ariel the mermaid, now no longer little in any respect, turned to her loving husband and asked, “Remember our wedding day when I finally found my voice and you said you would love me for all time?” “Ah dear, I do,” her husband replied. After a thoughtful pause he added, “You were so beautiful that day. The whole event went swimmingly.”

Spider Man was called back from the waiting room at the doctor’s office. “I’m sorry to tell you this,” the doctor said soothingly, “But we’ve confirmed a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. You will slowly lose your memory until your grasp on reality is hanging by a thread.” “Oh, that’s all? Well if that’s the case I can handle it,” Spider Man replied with confidence.

Dorothy passionately espoused that there was no place like home. Then she got married, adopted a rescued dog, a stray cat, and two rabbits … and had three children…

The ugly duckling learned he was a swan. After that, he started making money treating psychological patients—until he was exposed as a quack.

Beauty was talking with a friend after her husband’s funeral. “How are you doing?” asked the concerned friend. “Terribly,” Beauty confessed. “They served roast beast at the funeral reception.”

“Where do babies come from?” a grandchild innocently asked Mother Goose. “I don’t know,” the old goose answered honestly, “But I’ll take a gander and find out.”

A not so little, aging Red Riding Hood was asleep in her bed. Suddenly the door swung open and an irritatingly gregarious youthful grandchild bounced into the room. “Grandma! Grandma! I’ve come to visit!!!” the little girl screamed. “Arrrrrrrrrrggggg.!” Came the reply from the bed, as Red Riding Hood opened her mouth, revealing fang-like dentures. “Grandma, what big teeth you have!” the little girl cried. “The better to eat you with my dear,” her grandma snarled, her dentured mouth contorting into an eerie grimice. With a shreak the frightened grandchild ran out of the house and back into the woods. Yawning, her grandmother promptly fell back asleep. Peace restored, she thought smugly, as she drifted off.