The Evil, Evil Sock Monkey...
(To be read quickly, as if out of breath & anxious...)

Day after day, HE stares at me... he spies me... unwavering... stoic. That unyielding countenance of his... that unbending smirk... that silent mockery.

Does my Being never leave his constant stare? Does my movement not escape him, and his unblinking gaze?? Does he watch o'er me, even as I sleep?

Ahh, sleep... I do indeed take repose, but yet with one eye open... casting about to catch his silent shadow against the unspeaking, unbending walls...

... laying awake for hours without end, and void of peaceful dreams, I listen for him... Him... HIM!!

"And now, have I not told you that what you mistake for madness
is but over-acuteness of the senses? Now I say there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound -- such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too... it was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates a soldier into courage. But even yet, I refrained & kept still... I scarcely breathed...."

Truly, I tell you, friend -- the Sock Monkey castigates me! He seeks to wear me down & whittle away my peace by the ungodly screaming of his perpetual silence!! Oh! How he seeks to destroy me!!!!

Is that which I speak, blasphemy? How can it be so when all that I have related to you about the Sock Monkey be faithful & true?

"Speak not to me of blasphemy, man! I'd strike the sun if it insulted me!... Look ye, Starbuck... All visible objects are but as pasteboard masks. Some inscrutable, yet reasoning Thing puts forth the molding of their features. The White Whale tasks me.. he HEAPS me! Yet, he is but a mask. Tis the thing behind the mask I chiefly hate... the malignant thing that has plagued & frightened man since time began... the thing that mauls & mutilates our race -- not killing us outright, but letting us live-on with half a heart, and half a lung!"

I swear to thee, that last nite, in darkness of midnite -- or was it the darkness of my soul? -- I did creep upon that Sock Monkey, and caught him whilst he looked away, toward a sound in the opposite corner of the room... Hahahahah! Oh! I did fool that evil, cotton-filled primate by cleverly tossing a small stone against the opposing wall, to distract his perpetual vigil against me!! Twas then that I struck -- quickly and lethally, as a coiled cobra! Struggling mightily, I rendered him helpless, and cast him asunder... never to again disturb me with his evil quietness...

And, yet, now, several hours later... I do swear that I can hear him... I can feel his buttoned-pupils upon me once more... I can sense his ceaseless ridicule and boundless insults against me!! I listen again... and though my ears fail to detect any sound whatever, I DO hear him.. feel him... dread him...

How can this be so?? Did I not rid myself of him but a scarce few hours ago?? What is it that I hear so loudly as if to presently drive me mad??

"... but the noise steadily increased! Oh, God! What could I do? I foamed! I raved! I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been square-sitting, and grated it upon the boards... but the noise arose over all, and continuously increased! It grew louder, & Louder, & LOUDER!!...

... But, anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bare their hypocritical smiles no longer -- I felt that I must scream or die!! And now, again -- hark! Louder... Louder!! LOUDER!!

Villains!! Disemble no more!! I admit the deed!! Tear up the planks!!! Here! HERE!!... It is the beating of his hideous heart...!!!!"

(with apologies to Edgar Allan Poe & Herman Melville).

My Trip to Chongqing Province, China...

I knew when our little group arrived outside of the village of Changshou, that we were now a world away from the familiar modern comforts that we had left behind at Pudong International Airport, in Shanghai. Though we had only travelled four days, the distance in lifestyle, scenery, and culture seemed as if we had taken a step backward in time, far greater than the 86 hours it took for us to arrive here. As our hearty band of 8 wide-eyed Americans & 4 Brits stepped off of the Ferry at Changshou, I could barely make out the village ahead thru the cold mist. It was here that we were promised to meet up with Mister Xinghua -- he was to be our Guide back down the Chang Jiang River (the Yangtze River), and thru the spectacular Three Gorges. With a rather awkward bow, I bid the gracious ferry captain a heartfelt 'do-jeh' (thank you). "Mm ha hay", he replied (you're welcome). The wonderfully ornate red & gold Dragon of his Ferry would soon disappear in the gathering fog, and slither away forever. I fumbled for my Kodak Instant camera, and snapped a photo before he embarked from shore. I took a deep breath, made sure of the backpack about my shoulders, and pressed on to re-join our little group.

From the shore, we had a 20 minute hike down a well worn stone path, to Changshou. After six hours on the cold waters of the Chang Jiang, with little to eat besides the last nibbles of a Hershey's chocolate bar, the sudden smell of fresh vegetables boiling in large, open-air stone pots, was a welcome ambassador. We looked very out of place with our down-filled Western coats, as we made our way past the modest dwellings. Chauncey, who hailed from Devon, England -- clearly the maverick of our group -- steered our little procession toward a gathering of several Chinese men, caught up in a street side game of Mahjong. We watched them, unnoticed for several minutes, before one of the men took his eyes from the board, and glanced us the familiar nod of greeting that we had by now become accustomed to receiving. The weather was quite cold, but the people were always warm.

Leaving the others behind, I allowed my hunger to overcome me, and made my way past some very old, 1950's vintage trucks. I found myself standing outside of a rather marvellous garden, and watching a hunched-up elderly man, rooting thru the rich soil. He had greens cooking in a stone wok, and several small pots of boiling water, with various slices of meats and vegetables in them. The aroma was intoxicating.

The little man, no doubt sore & stiff from bending and kneeling in his crouched position, took a slight spill as he fell to one side. It was then that he noticed me, as he looked up to see who's hand was offering him a pull back-up again. As surprised as he was to see me, an American, standing in his garden, I was even more taken aback when he spoke to me in quite good English.

"Thank you," he said thru an embarassed smile. "I think that is the fourth time this morning that my knees have given out from under me." "You're welcome... mm ha hay," I replied, suddenly aware of my poor attempt at a Chinese dialect. "I'm here with a group of tourists from America & Britain," I said, as I gestured with my arm toward the gang down the street. "We've come to take a boat tour down the Yangtze, and the Three Gorges."
"Yes, I know," replied the gentle man. "I am Mister Xinghua, your Guide." He was not at all what I expected. Poor clothing, wet soil soaking thru the worn fabric about his knees and elbows. For now, he was a far cry from the elaborately dressed Guide who would later pose for us after our voyage down the Chang Jiang River was at last complete: An immaculate, bright red & white garment draping his sloping body, topped with a hat of black velvet & red rope, and always that warm, wide grin of his. Then, he would be every bit the wise, old Sage. But for the present, he was but a simple, unassuming man, hands dirty with black soil. He grasped my arm like a grandfather taking hold of his grandson, as if he knew that I was about to turn, and call out to my friends to come and join us. "Your comrades can wait. The river will wait. For now, sit. We must harvest these carrots and onions while the meat boils. The meat will not wait."

I slid off my backpack, and joined my new-found friend in the dirt. "Before the harvest can be obtained, the field must first be plowed," he said. "We must tend our garden." He pointed to several outcroppings of weeds, growing about the garden. "These ones -- the yellow green ones -- dig underneath deeply, and pull upward with a circular twist. They will come away easily, root and all." He showed me the technique, and watched amusingly as I made my attempt. "Not all Americans are from Kansas," I joked. He let out a hearty laugh. "And not all Chinese like peas!," he chuckled, as he pointed out the quadrant of his garden where an abundance of peas lay un-picked. We both nodded in agreement. A garden Detente' had been reached.

For several minutes, we knelt there, uprooting weeds, and filling-in rich, dark soil around those stalks of vegetables which were not yet ready to be pulled. "Time is what is needed -- and patience -- always patience," he whispered, as he nurtured each plant. I agreed with him, nodding silently.

After the weeding was finished, we turned to the task at hand -- gathering the fresh onions & carrots which were to compose that evening's feast, along with the deliciously cooked, tender meat. I watched his worn hands skillfully uproot each vegetable -- his hands were quite nimble for a man of his advanced age. Uncertain of which ones to pull out, my haul was a mere handful or two. Mister Xinghua had collected 3 very large bowls of the fresh bounty.

"You are like these plants. Still green, raw. But with time, and patience -- always patience -- the day will come when you, too, will yield a full bounty. Before then, only one thing is required," he said, as he dug up one last onion. "What is required?", I asked, lost in watching his skillful hands.

Mister Xinghua looked up at me, & again grasped my arm in a grandfatherly fashion. Then, pulling himself close to my ear, he whispered quietly: "You must tend your garden."

His words echoed in my thoughts as I awoke from the dream. I looked about my room, half hoping to be outside of a modest shack, wrist-deep in black dirt; or to smell the savory aroma of fresh meat & hand-picked vegetables boiling in small pots, beside a steaming wok.

No, they were all gone -- indeed, they had never even been there. But though it was all a fantasy, I could still hear a soft, grandfatherly voice whispering from deep inside my Being -- gently advising me to do what urgently needed to be done:

"You must tend your garden."

Chimps, Good. Gorillas, Bad...

(Note: It is 2:58 a.m. I just now woke up from a very sound sleep, with this ENTIRE blog already written in my head, outta nowhere. I'm writing it out while I still remember it).

Everything I needed to learn in Life, can be learned by watching the original 'Planet Of The Apes' movie. In no particular order of importance:

1. On a long trip, hope that things go well, but be ready for problems to occur. Plan ahead! (Spaceship crashes onto Ape Planet, but the astronauts only have a few provisions to sustain them?).

2. Frontal Lobotomy's are never a good thing. (Well, duh).

3. Sometimes, it's better to keep your mouth shut. (Don't let the Apes know that you can talk. For consequences, refer to Rule #2).

4. When you do speak, make it memorable. ("Take your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty Ape!").

5. It's always good to have smart friends. (Cornelius & Zira).

6. Never judge a person's intelligence or worth, by the clothes they wear. (Taylor spent most of the movie in torn, dirty rags).

7. Sometimes, it's good to vent! ("It's a madhouse!! A madhouse!!!").

8. In general, any woman named 'Nova' will be attractive. (Well, duh).

9. Women who ride horses are good to find. (See Rule #8).

10. A warm, relaxing shower is good! Being sprayed down by a high pressure water hose... not so good! (Taylor captive in the cage).

11. Use common sense. (If a place is called 'The Forbidden Zone', it's called that for a good reason).

12. The Government knows more than they are willing to tell you. (Dr. Zaius knew all along about Man's previous superiority, and the real reason for The Forbidden Zone).

13. Things aren't always as they appear, & not all changes are good ones. (An ocean-side ride on horseback along a secluded beach, with a fully loaded rifle, all the time in the world, no particular place to go, and a woman named Nova... good! Discovering that you're really in New York City... not so good!).

14. Chimps, good. Gorillas, bad. (Well, duh).

Life's The Same, And Moving In Stereo...

I don't want to alarm anyone... but, yes -- I hear voices in my head... and they are singing. OK, maybe a word of explanation here -- lest I get a(nother) visit from the kindly men in the white lab coats, & the next thing I know, I'm sitting in the back of a padded van, mumbling: "But the sleeves on this jacket are waaay too long".

I don't know about you, but when I dream (which is pretty much every nite), I wake up in the morning with a song instantly sticking in my head. Yes, it would seem that I dream in Stereo. I really should keep a log of all of the songs that I wake up to.

This morning, (I must admit) I woke up to the chorus from the Britney Spears song, "Sometimes". Yes, no matter how hard I try not to, I still find myself grudgingly singing: "...Sometimes I run. Sometimes I hide. Sometimes I'm scared of you. But all I really want is to hold you tight, treat you right, be with you dayyy and nite. Baby, all I need is time." And, YES... in case you were wondering, on that last 'Baby, all I need is time' lyric, I'm doing that throaty thing that Britney does when she sings that line. OK, you broke me down. Are you happy now? :-)

I really need to stop mixxing Apple Jacks and Frosted Flakes in my 'bowl before bed'. Kids... do not try this at home.

The other morning, I woke up to "Stray Cat Strut": "Black & orange stray cats sittin on a fence. Ain't got enough dough to pay the rent. I'm flat broke, but I don't care. I strut right by with my tail in the air..." As I recall, that turned out to be a really good day. Upbeat all day long.

One morning this past week, I woke up with Springsteen's "Bobby Jean" in my head, but just one line from it: "...Good luck. Goooood byyyyye! Bobby Jean!". You know that any day I wake up singing something from The Boss, it's gonna be a hella good day.

And, trust me on this one, dear readers -- if you ever wake up with ABBA's song, "Fernando", stuck in your brain.... just call-in sick, and pull the covers back over your head. 'Nuff said.

Gawd, I'm sure any Freudians out there are gonna have a field day with that one.

But, really, I AM quite sane. No, honestly, I am! I have no control over what blasted song I wake up singing, right?? I'll get better, dear readers, I promise...

... Baby, all I need is time. <--- typed with a throaty voice. Hmmm... maybe this is another day where it would be hella smart to call in sick? Where is my iPod? :-)

StreamOfConsciousnessBlog450AM...

listening to the bangles singing manic monday instantly puts me in a great mood, probably because susanna hoffs is such a babe, with those big eyes, looking side to side, like in walk like an egyptian, which reminds me of egypt, which reminds me of rommel... rommel? man, that is twisted, too much military channel, really need to watch more pbs, call in your pledge, pledge cleans dust really well, like the boy in the well, well, well... dawn welles was maryann on gilligan's island, tight blue shorts... omg, must think of something else, maybe orson welles, great voice, dressed in black, and that perfect wisdom beard, wish i could grow one, but doesnt look good, too sparse, like the terrain, which i kinda enjoy, dont like being crowded, elevators are too cramped, but kinda fun to watch everyone in there trying not to watch anyone else, we all look at our shoes, or the lights, or pretend like we are lost in a gaze, gaze, gazelle... even the word looks like a gazelle if the g are the hind legs, and the rest of the letters are the body, and the two l's are the horns... wow where did that come from? pretty bad when i start to morph words into cartoon animals, animals, animal crackers, gawd, would taste soo good right now with cold milk, always eat them by biting the heads off first, then the legs, then the tails, some kind of ritual, like by natives of the pacific islands, with grass skirts, & nice legs, and im back again to maryann! stupid gilligan's island reruns! stuck in my head, skip-perrrr! hey there little buddy, leo the lion eating corned beef from the can and imagining gilligan turning into a meal, why couldnt they ever get off of that stupid island, its not like they didnt have any wood and all the time in the world and all the sap needed to make glue, i mean the professor could make radios from a freakin coconut shell, mmmm coconut cream pie, and im back to maryann again... grrrrr... must think of something else, anything else, stream of consciousness, yes, thats it, a stream, like a river, a cold mountain river, reminds me that im thirsty for something cold, and this diet coke is too watery from the melted ice, and its warm, doesnt taste good at all, wish i had a taco, now that would taste good right now, with some hot sauce, mmm spicey, gotta luv that, mmm spicey... all these mmm's remind me of homer simpson, drooling over a donut, mmm do-nut, doh! dough, doe, a deer, a female deer, ray a drop of golden sun, me a name i call myself, fah a long long way to run, oh geez now i have that song in my head, very annoying, not like roxanne by the police, everytime i hear it i have to play it over n over n over again, gawd i love that song, roooooooxannne! you don't have to turn on the red light! rooooooxannne!... man that is one catchy tune, maybe i'll play it after im done here, then i'll never get to sleep, sound of silence is on the dmx right now, what a great song, smooth harmony, wish i could sing, cant carry a tune in a bucket, like a bucket of chicken from kfc, even cold chicken tastes good, with lots of salt and a cold drink, and here i am with a warm diet coke, whassup with that? and the sign flashed out its warning... signs, warning, like STOP signs, stopping, an end, hit the brakes, time to STOP, end this blog entry, not that anyone will read this all the way to here, HEY SCROLL DOWN, BETTER BLOGS ARE BELOW! STOP!