The Wheelhouse.

Seeing that his true course was behind him, slowly, the bow turned to port and the captain steamed in the direction from which he came.

As the ship came about, he could see the subdued purple of the dawn creeping over the horizon.

When the sun finally peaked up over the edge of the Earth, a brilliant shaft of orange red light lit up the sky.

O! What a Heavenly light!

Onward the vessel steamed, into the broadening day, onward toward his long home, onward.

Summer Programming

I wake up.

I can't open my eyes.

I have the sensation of being jostled slightly, but I can't turn my head to see what is moving me. Wouldn't matter anyway, I can't open my eyes.

I try to shift my weight on what I think is a bed, but my wrists and ankles are bound by something, or someone.

God, I wish I could open my eyes. There is a dull throbbing in my head, and I have an overwhelming urge to rub my eyelids...a dull throb, and slight itch. Why are my wrists bound?

Where am I??

"We're almost done here?"

Voices.

Just there, I can hear them.

"Yes, very nearly. Less than five."

...and again! Who is that? Hello?!

I call out, "Who's there?!" I can feel my mouth moving, but only just. My whole face feels slightly numb. I don't hear the voices anymore, but I feel a presence next to my right ear. Was that fabric on a coat?

A slight pinch in my right arm.

I feel myself falling asleep. I've never felt so tired, and relaxed.

Even though I can't see, I have the sensation of 25 pairs of eyes watching me intently.

"Gone in two."

The dagger-like pain shoots through my chest and lungs. I can't breathe, and my chest is burning!


I suddenly have the very desperate desire to break from my binds and leave, but the hands begin to grasp all about my torso, pulling me down.

My eyes are open, now.

"It's done. Time is 12:07"



Oh God, I wish I could close my eyes.

The Pink Mist

Edited.

I wish I could wake up and it be January 1st, all over again.

Progression: A Series of Thought IV

I am not sure.

Progression: A Series of Thought III

I am not.

Progression: A Series of Thought II

I am.

Progression: A Series of Thought

I.

Bah!

My head feels like it is going to explode.

Part of me wishes it would.

Variation

A

A B

A B R

A B R A

A B R A C

A B R A C A

A B R A C A D

A B R A C A D A

A B R A C A D A B

A B R A C A D A B R
A B R A C A D A B R A
A B R A C A D A B R
A B R A C A D A B
A B R A C A D A
A B R A C A D
A B R A C A
A B R A C
A B R A
A B R
A B
A

The Lion's Paw

It's interesting...less than a month after getting this ink, I am already used to it. I remember getting my first tat, back in '04. I was constantly looking over my shoulder into a mirror so I could see my ink. I did that for months. Of course, that isn't to say I don't like this most recent art. In fact, I am most fond of this one.

On a slightly related note:

"By the exercise of brotherly love, we are taught to regard the whole human species as one family. The high and low, the rich and poor, who as created by one almighty Parent, and inhabitants of the same planet, are to aid, support, and protect each other. On this principle, Masonry unites men of every country, sect, and opinion, and conciliates true friendships among those who might otherwise have remained at a perpetual distance."

"To relieve the distressed is a duty incumbent on all men, but particularly on Masons, who are linked together by an indissoluble chain of sincere affection. To soothe the unhappy, to sympathize with their misfortunes, to compassionate their miseries, and to restore peace to their troubled minds, is the grand aim we have in view. On this basis, we form our friendships, and establish our connections."

"Truth is a divine attribute, and the foundation of every virtue. To be good and true is the first lesson we are taught in Masonry. On this theme, we contemplate, and by its dictates endeavour to regulate our conduct. Hence, while influenced by this principle, hypocrisy and deceit are unknown among us. Sincerity and plain dealing distinguish us. And the heart and tongue are joined in promoting each other's welfare and rejoicing in each other's prosperity."

Virtus Junxit Mors Non Separabit

Redux

Today, (edit: Last week now) I spent the afternoon with Ash. We met for lunch at TGIFridays, and then took a motorcycle ride to Papas on the Lake. Quite the fun time! I got a little sun...or a lot of sun. We had fun sipping a couple cold ones, and feeding french fries to the ducks.

I haven't had that much fun in a long time.

"No matter how much Peter loved her...what made the Pan refuse to grow, was that the Hook brings you back."

"I fell right through the cracks, and now I'm trying to get back..."

and

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

Here goes...

enter the jester.

The Joke...

The Joke is on you, now.

The Jester's Soliloquy

Darkness. Faint ringing of bells, of the tri-corn variety. A candle is lit, then a second, and finally the third, completing the candelbra. As each candle is lit, the house lights are raised, illuminating a figure dressed in motley. His back to the audience, the man sits on a wooden chair in front of a wooden desk, writing with an turkey quill and scroll. His movements cause bells on his costume to sound, until at last he removes his tri-corn and tosses it on the desk and in one motion he is up. Facing the audience, the lights dance behind him, with one alternating lens on his front. He is intermittently obscurred by shadow, thourghout the piece. His voice, is raspy, as if he's just been bellowing or yelling for extended periods.

He coughs.

BEAT

Well now...

My father, he says to me...he says, this has got to be a score and two ago...he says, "Thom...you cannah let tham make a fool autta you! You onny git one life from tha laird. Don' wass it trying ta please noone!"

He was drunk, my ol' father when he gave me those words of advice. O'course he was drunk the most of a time, was me pap.

But, I took heed of his advice. I never let anyone make a fool out of me. Oh sure, I led them to believe that they were having their laugh at my expense, but it were me who was having the real laughs. I'd be telling a jovial tale, or singing an ode to some ridiculous event, all the while veiling the true meaning of my story. That's allegory. stories within stories...but you know this, one feels.

BEAT

It was about ten year ago, when I came to jest for the court of Tristan. Now, King Tristan was a tyrant, a right foul menace. He never gave an ounce of anything to his people. His was "the rule of mine".

His Kingdom, through and through. BEAT

...and I ain't talking material possessions...to him, to HIM everything was a material possession. Even his women. This King Tristan would take a woman a night, despite keeping a wife in the dreadful Queen Annabella. She were a fright, to behold no jov. They's marriage was a play to unite the two empires, and they both knew it. Her

A Bug's Life

Being on night shift, I have the auspicious pleasure of being awake when the majority of the others are sleeping. When I am at work, this is not such an issue. However, on my "days" off I find myself sitting up alone, for most of the night. Unable to sleep, unable to do much of anything, for there really is nothing to do in Spring, TX after 2am. So I watch movies, or write, or do homework.

Tonight, I sat on the porch and read a book.

While doing so, I noticed a thumbnail sized beetle or crustacean creeping toward the front door of the house. For whatever reason, the insect became upended, and was struggling on its back. I became engrossed with its battle to right itself.

For ten minutes, this creature flailed, and God help me, I didn't do anything but watch. In my defense, I have righted countless insects, before.

After about two more minutes, the beetle stopped moving, altogether.

This begs the question: What cognitive processes were transpiring in its bug brain during the struggle?

God gave man the power of emotion. The trait is evident in many lower creatures as well. The rest of the primates, canines, felines, equines, and even the swines. Is it really farfetched to believe that even the simplest of creatures have the cognitive function of emotional response?

Imagine being the insect, in the last moments of its life.

Imagine the last moments of your life, perhaps as you struggle to make it to the surface of the water before drowning, or during strangulation.

I have never claimed to be senitmental to arthropods, but taking these thoughts into account, one might feel more empowered to right a few more bugs.

---
On a related note, my second cousin died tragically by an accidental hanging. He was eleven years old. Please, take care and watch out for your little ones. They may think they are being funny, or that it's just a game, but they don't yet understand.

Be well.

Dreams

Good evening.

Last night, I was feeling peckish, and was craving a most interesting combination of delectables. I couldn't help but smile while contemplating my desire for some deviled eggs and angel food cake. Perhaps, I was manifesting the eternal Jungian struggle within all of us. In any case, I really wanted some deviled eggs, more even than the angel cake. What does this say about my existential mindset? I am not really sure, but there it is.

When I fell asleep, I had one of the more incredible dreams of my life. I was singing lead vocals with Curt Cobain, and Nirvana at some huge music festival. It was one of those dreams where I knew I was dreaming, but didn't want to wake up. And when I did wake, I wanted to fall back asleep, and keep going. Alas, the ringing of my cellphone was more persistent than my psyche.

Ah well.

Today, I received my iPhone mount for the Street Glide. I can't wait to install it!

I am at work, tonight, and have quite a full weekend ahead of me, with school, engagement parties, work, and whatnot.

Bonus: Ten points if you can account for the significance of my blog title "The Jester's Soliloquy" and my URL "House of Montressor".

Enter the Jester

Behold, the court jester.

What jest is swimming through his brain?

What new satire, riseth from his heart?

Listening intently, he waits for a cue.

He, who controls the court of kings, he who silences even the throne, with his tales of mirth and myth.

He alone, who takes liberties noblemen dare not attempt.

Listening carefully, he awaits his cue.

They call him a fool, a motley simpleton, there only to entertain.

His is the domain of truth, masked in raucous allegory...jokes at his "majesty's" unwitting expense.

He pays allegiance to only one rule.

Mirth is his King*.

Waiting for his cue.

Enter the Jester.

---

So, I am sitting at work, listening to the the sound of emergencies. Listening to the sound of a hit-and-run motor vehicle incident involving a car and a bicycle. This is the sound I listen to every night. Either that, or listening to 9-1-1 calls where a father tells me his child has died in her sleep. I have been doing this for almost six years now, and I have reached a point, where I am starting to feel the strain of the profession. I have long been able to work through experiencing, vicariously, the horrors of the real world of life and death.

I fear that I am no longer quite as impervious as I once was. I find myself becoming too emotionally attached to the individual situations.

To admit this, I have taken a big step, even though my audience is small.

I recognize that the job I do is considered noble, and I understand that I am doing a great thing by being a part of the lifesaving process.

However, throughout it all, I have always felt like I was waiting for my cue.

Enter the Jester.

*I really hope I didn't cross a line...

High-Sided

So, where shall I begin?

Ah yes. Would you like to know how it feels to be in a motorcycle accident?

Ok, Let us all recount our worst, most painful, scariest automobile incident.

Got it? Good.

I want you to imagine driving thirty miles-per-hour down the road, and seeing someone pull out in front of you. What do you do? You slam on your brakes. Perhaps your car skids, perhaps not.

Remember the feeling in your arms? When you hit the brake pedal, you also tensed the muscles in your arms and shoulders...bracing for impact, so to speak.

Now, remember the moment of impact.

The JOLT.

The sudden STOP.

The instant PAIN in your neck.

The ANGER.

Now, remember looking at your car and seeing the damage. Remember the SADNESS.

Remember the AMBULANCE.

Remember seeing the WRECKAGE being towed away.

Ok, with me still? Grand.

Imagine being in a car with no doors, roof, windshield, or floorboards...or seat belts.

Imagine driving this car at thirty miles-per-hour, when someone pulls out in front of you.

You slam on your breaks, but the car not only skids, but it fish-tails. You tense your arms and try to shield yourself from the impact, but alas...

JOLT.

Because you don't have seat belts, you don't STOP.

Your body keeps moving, and eventually you hit the ground. Safety gear or no, you still feel PAIN. You are still alive

The ANGER you feel toward the driver of that car is palpable. Drivers of cars never seem to notice the motorcyclists, until it is too late.

The police officers try to convince you to get on the AMBULANCE...that the medics will help you. Believe me, they will try, and they just might make you feel better for a while. But the pain will come back.

Finally, you look at the WRECKAGE of your bike. Irreparable damage. the pieces of your motorcycle are scattered in the roadway, occasionally being driven over by passersby.

Now you don't have a mode of transportation. You can neither go forward nor back, except...on your own two feet.

And now you know what it feels like to be in a motorcycle accident.

Along those same lines, a parable:

High-Sided

He was conflicted...

He hadn't been on the bike in about a week. He felt like a ride.

But, something kept pulling at him, something pressing, upon which he could not put his finger.

Perhaps, it was the cool weather...it was December, after all, and even though this is Texas, it still was rather cold.

He put on his riding jacket and boots...and walked out to the bike.

"No, I'm just gonna drive."

He walks to the truck, and backs out of the driveway. As he is departing, he glances at his bike...and hesitates.

Before he realizes what he is doing, he pulls back into the driveway and parks the truck. He climbs out, and walks over to the bike and mounts up. The strange feeling is still present, but this is going to be a fun party and he wants to enjoy every moment of the night.

Let's Ride!

Turning onto the main thoroughfare, he accelerates to, oh about thirty miles-per-hour.

Then, as if yanked by some invisible rope, the mustang darts across three lanes and completely blocks his route.

He clutches (54321!) while hammering the front break, and easing the back.

There is no hope for evasive maneuvering. He is going to impact.

As he is about to impact, the image of his girlfriend comes to his mind.

Oh, shit. This is it...

JOLT. The bike comes to a sudden STOP.

But, our rider still goes. He grips the handlebars and the inertia force of his pulling on the bars, actually lifts the rear wheel of the bike off the ground, before smashing back down. He doesn't let go, and comes back down on the ground, getting his leg caught under the high side of the bike, as it topples. He feels the PAIN in his leg and his hands.

He is filled with ANGER at the other driver.

He is filled with SADNESS that his bike is destroyed. But he is alive.

The AMBULANCE comes and tells him what he needs to do. "Go to the hospital!"

All he can see is the WRECKAGE, being rolled over and over again by passersby.

I've felt the jolt...felt everything stop. I feel the pain, anger, and sadness.

I do need help, but nothing seems to help...and I'm left with the wreckage.

A Fool's Errand

Welcome.

I do not expect you to read this, for all I required was a place to write...and an audience is neither a requirement, nor a request. However, seeing that you have stumbled upon this journal, permit me, as a gesture of decency, to welcome you.

Let's begin.