s n a p p e r h e a d

Patience Fortitude and Resignation

          This is about multiple metaphors, containing metaphorical words, images, and a fictional story so rife with metaphor that it deserves a meta-metaphoric Consumer Warning: Meta-Fives Ahead.

         . . . “Simon says, ‘Mother may I’.”

What an odd statement to make, Pat. I want to be bemused, but I’m too concerned at your encroachment on carelessness. Think your words before speaking them! Spoken words can never be taken back. Language is too important a tool to play with.

          It was clearly not a question. Not sure why you feel the need to berate her, Tudy. And cutting at me with your eyes does nothing but further encourage me to point out that you know she hates that nickname. Call her Patience, or Patty, or even Tense. When you use that androgynous term you’re intending harm. Calling her femininity into question. Besides, she was only playing with you. Yes, with language, too—but mostly just with you.

          The goddess of spring who was of three minds, of a single universal nature, everywhere at this moment in the northern hemisphere and in flux outside every window (as well as remembered to have cyclically existed before windows and even before human consciousness) was especially enjoying this—this conversation with herself.

Ôstara was potential. She was chaos. She was the entirety of the environment. She loved the certainty. The inevitability. The birth. The growth. She loved every moment of her existence. And even looked forward to her solstice-respite. But she cherished her one supreme power the most—which the triple-goddess always tried to use very, very, sparingly: the power to call anything into question. Because when Ôstara called something into question, the ripple effect was world-wide. Monumental.

You’re already in concession-mode, Rez. Accepting that she wasn’t actually flippant (or careless) because it was just play-talk and not a real query. I’m not entertained. By either of you. She is too cavalier and you are too laissez-faire.

Constantly the guard-dog, Fortitude—never a smile that makes it all the way to the eyes, forever the guile that takes shit everyday to the flies.

Wow, you must have kept that chestnut in cold-storage for centuries! I certainly didn’t miss it. But. I also can’t say I understand what you mean by it. Never did.

Patience understands it. Completely. I suspect.

A corollary of negatives. The ‘guile that takes shit to the flies’ would be a desire to deceive strong enough to overpower the aversion to handle fecal matter. A ‘smile that makes it to the eyes’ is a sign of sincerity. Rez’s-sayin’ you’re just doin’ what ya always do. Pretendin’ concern, practicin’ deception, makin’ yourself feel good by tearin’ us down.

Ouch-ahh. You will always be unable to fool yourself, Forty. And you are me and we are all together.

I am the eggman.

I am the walrus.

You both think yourselves sooo funny. Weary and nearly senile to the left of me, naïvely inexperienced to the right, here I am: stuck in the middle with you.

Touché.

mmpff

It is the appropriate point in this era for another shake-up or even another mass die-off, I think. Suggestions or criticisms are welcome. Not questions.

Last year we began a significant Homo Sapien culling and it is still blooming. I would like to wait and see where that domino falls before we start another. Unless we are open to re-visiting the nefarious...

No. We are not interested in re-visiting your pet peeve. But a double whammy IS in order. While humans, full of hubris, struggle to protect their weakest and most ignorant, I want to remind them of our power.

I’m good with whatever. But. Unless I get-ta frame th’ next question . . . I veto. AND. Before you get all indignant, understand this: I’m prepared to 1816 us. Fair warning! Don’t call me out on this. Don’t cajole. Don't even passively criticize. If you do, I’ll cancel us and see you guys on the southern hemisphere's next equinox. Statement. Of. Fact.

Two hundred and five years ago, in 1816, Ôstara called her own existence into question. Consequently, she never arrived in the northern hemisphere in March of that year and, subsequently, she was not present to abdicate her throne in June. Summer never arrived. Winter retained its presence for over a year.

in some way related:

ÔSTARA's Mailbox

The Schlatter's (Osgood and Gore)

New Storms

FRAMING

the acrid smell of that Chuck E Cheese sign

comes rushing back when I melt vinyl Hampton Inn wallpaper

to remind my mind of lost time with her

(like granite pedestals and grey skies) however, that's not what

this empty pain forces into focus

no — it's that wobbly fan trying to run

after she finally got it balanced on the police shields

seven image excerpts by Portland artist Austin Granger at austingranger.com

Laundromat Pantograph

Obviously Animals Got Harmed

3500—10B

similart:

neosporin

s p o t h e r e h t o p s

adore myths

Good Times {my last temp job}

...GGooood...Ttiiimes... Not-too-many-years-ago some co-workers decided it was fun to sigh good times, accompanied by a large condescending exhale of breath, in such an exaggerated manner that their audience understood they were being sardonically sarcastic. It caught on with a certain type of asshat. Some would groan the words multiple times a day. It definitely grated. But I never even outwardly rolled my eyes. Nothing.

In late 2019 (before Covid19) I was hired as an administrative clerk with the 2020 US Census Bureau in Burlington, Vermont. At first, there were only 6-8 of us. It was nice meeting new people. It was helpful to learn local lore. Then Gloria started working there.

Gloria was pleasant to talk to, in her 70s, and seemed to especially enjoy detailing all of her various mental and physical afflictions and ailments. Although she needed wrist-crutches to walk, she always had a smile on her face and a kind word to share. One thing Gloria did not talk about was that she was excessively obese and a consequence of that was—she did not bathe adequately. Her solution was to heavily douse the parts of herself she could reach in mind-numbingly strong lotion-deodorizer and hobble to work. Picture the gluttony guy, from the movie Se7en, combined with the sloth guy's smell (don't forget the thousands of little cardboard pine air fresheners).

One of my Asperger's traits happens to be an extreme sensitivity to odor. It's rarely an issue anymore. Sure my friends have to lose their habit of wearing cologne or perfume if they want to sit with me indoors. But except for the occasional requirement to move my airplane or theater seat when someone like Gloria is nearby—I rarely have any anger issue. That's my emotional response: if a terribly strong smell arrives, which I can't escape from, anger is locked and loaded. Important note: "angry smells" do not make me angry. I need a trigger. [Metaphor: a epileptic may be prone to seizures, but needs a flashing light.]

I moved my desk so I could sit as distant from Gloria as possible. We talked from a distance. I breathed thru my mouth when anger smells made me start to feel "snarky". This lasted a month until a new internal "team" was scheduled to be formed. Six of us, including Gloria and I, were supposed to train together and then sit together and work on the same project.

Immediately, I sat down in private with the new team's manager, explained where my individual Asperger's fit into the broader spectrum, and told him I needed to be de-selected from his new team. I learned he was nose-blind, had never wondered why no one sat next to Gloria, and that he was set in his ways (a polite way to describe an outdated old coot who thought reading aloud was teaching; kicking the can down the road was managing; and considered outdated to be a pejorative.) Nose-blind decided I was either exaggerating or lying and his fix was to keep a few desks between Gloria and me.

The supervisor selected to oversee Nose-blind's new team was my trigger. His name was Fuck. Nose-blind was also clueless as fuck to the irritating, cringe-awful, personality of Fuck. In our first days of training (as I listened for hours to Fuck and Nose-blind take turns reading from the manual, trapped in the training room with glorious sloth-gluttony) it became clear that Nose-blind had not mentioned to Fuck that he should avoid flashing his strobe light in my eyes when I'm forced to sit near Gloria.

This is how I made it almost a full week: I never sat with the team and I constantly reminded Fuck to stop hovering/irritating/talking/lying/manipulating and bragging about himself (although he never stopped, he did focus it less in my direction).

Then . . . as a combination of feces-urine-sweat mixed with Pinesol-flavored powdered roses and yeast-infection, linked up with the humidity in my sinus cavity . . . Fuck decided it was time to kneel on the floor so we could be eye-to-eye and petulanty insist that I do it the way he told me to do it! Not because it's logical or correct or in the manual (it's not) but because . . . I'm your supervisor. And I exploded.

I brought the entire room of twenty phone-calls and conversations to a halt with my "why are you being such a fucking asshole" question. I asked him several times, in a gradually increasing volume, until Nose-blind escorted me into the conference room. (Fuck never stopped chattering into the manual about how I was wrong and he was right.)

Nose-blind was soon accompanied by the arm (Assistant Regional Manager). The arm was in her mid-20's, on some form of mood-speed, said like, like, a few too many times, like in every sentence, and framed her questions in a way that made one thing very clear: Nose-blind never gave her a head's up about the precarious conjunction of Gloria, Veach's Asperger's, and Fuck's fuckatude. So as I caught the arm up to speed, I answered her questions-clumsily-phrased-as-statements and learned she thought Fuck was fantastic at his job and that Nose-blind's idea to keep "kicking the can down the road" was the correct course of action. Every time I used the phrase, Nose-blind got more agitated. (Consequently, I found ways to repeat it.) You say you've no intention of kicking the can down the road, but we are sitting in the same place we sat weeks ago when I explained my Asperger's the first time. This is exactly what kicking the can down the road looks like.) I apologized for my angry outburst. They told me to take lunch, cool off, and return to work. Instead, I left and went home.

From home, I compiled and e-mailed a memorandum detailing everything in professional, legal verbiage. I used many phrases like: or words to that effect, and, on or about the time/date, and, requested accommodation for my disability. The following day I called Nose-blind about the memo and asked about being reassigned. He acted indignant, put-out and whined, "Veach, it's only been one day!"

The next day: "Veach it's only been two days!" So I told him, "Weeks ago, when I requested you not re-assign me, that was a clear and reasonable request for an accommodation for my disability. When I did that, I fully complied with EEO guidelines. Now, I expect you to un-reassign me in accordance with those same Equal Employment Opportunity Anti-Discrimination Against the Disabled Guidelines." I also told him that if I didn't hear from him before the weekend, I would make a formal complaint to the EEO office in Boston. I ended our conversation with, "It may take months for them to investigate, but I suspect—in the end—they'll award me back pay, and, their investigation might be uncomfortable for you and for every highly paid manager (which I said with sardonic emphasis so, to his ear, it sounded like "Man-ager") who thinks kicking the can down the road is the proper course of action."

The regional manager informed me the next day I'd be re-reassigned to admin/clerk duties, and (so-as-to-avoid Fuck-n-Grace) asked if I could work weekday evenings and full 12-hour days on weekends?

...Good Times...

That was my schedule until covid19 quarantine closed the office. Then I caught it. When they reopened, I decided not to return. I was afraid the symptoms might be worse if I were re-infected or, if I was still contagious but asymptomatic, that I might unknowingly infect others.

After all this unfolded, I became aware of an odd correlation:

When I talked with people on the phone, informing them I'd been infected by covid19, everyone who'd gone through life with a conservative mindset asked initial questions framed with skepticism and doubt: Did you get tested? How do you know it wasn't just the flu, if you haven't been tested? You didn't have a serious cough? Couldn't have been Covid then, because I've heard it infects the lungs and everyone gets a cough.

While everyone who'd gone through life with a liberal mindset asked initial questions framed with concern and recovery wishes: How are you feeling? What were your symptoms? Any lingering side-effects? How long were you bed-ridden? What are your work plans? How's your wife?

My observations are, obviously, anecdotal. But they can be succinctly described:

Liberals lovingly

Lavish levelheadedness

Listening, learning.

Careless contemptful

Conservatives constantly

Cause consternation.

Embrace empathy

Encourage, espouse, extol!

Eschew egotists.

Related side-note: When I started work, I learned Vermont's total population had been slightly less than 626,000 (in 2010's census). Recently, I learned the 2020 census identified a slight increase of about 1,250 people (two of whom were my wife and I). The US death toll from Covid19 will surpass the entire population of Vermont this summer (two months from now).

Get a vaccine and wear a mask! The reason you are such a fucking asshole is you lack empathy. It's your fault and it's killing people you egotistical, careless, contemptful, Nose-blind, Fuck.

additional Asperger's:

nonexistent fellowship of the neurodiverse

hyper-focus / eye-contact

attention to (stickers) detail

Match collage-art (from 2020) with applicable caption
unhighlighted answers are hidden belowlighted

1E 2K 3H 4B 5I 6L 7A 8C 9G 10D 11F 12J

similar:

titles for hexagons

thumbnail wordsmith gems

Memory Tool [Intermediate Edition]

Basic memory tool usage—explained in Tingle Power - Memory Tool—is a good first-step before trying this intermediate challenge. Deciphering this image relies heavily on the senility Alzheimer's dementia (sAd) Music Playlist (listening to the songs on the playlist is optional)

Begin on the boat dock ⬆

For the playlist, click this image:

The song titles are highlighted in the flow-story. Mr Oop's guidance, and the '62 logo' in the upper left corner, are not part of the story:

A boat dock is the Main Theme From A Summer Place. The cartoon character, Alley Oop, is standing in a wooden rowboat. On top of Alley Oops's club, baby Simba (from The Lion King) is The Lion Sleeps Tonight. Simba is dreaming of an old locomotive train with a crazy-'loco' look on its face: Loco-Motion. The smoke from the train forms the shape of a nun and the word Dominique. She is singing you rail-y got me (You Really Got Me) on a train track. The King Of The Road walks off the end of the railroad track. The king is flying a kite bearing an outline of a man with the word 'nowhere' is on his chest (Nowhere Man). Windy clouds blow the kite, as well as a Spooky looking parachuting hamster. The parachute's canopy is printed Thank You in mod lettering—the other side of the parachute reads: (Falettinme Feel Mice Elf Again). The shadow of the parachute falls across a prohibited sign and a pile of sugar (No Sugar Tonight/New Mother Nature). A highway sign, attached to the handle of the sugar scoop, reads: Changes. A long arrow on the sign becomes a fitting room sign near Father and Son T-shirts (which bear images of Mufasa and Simba and are riddled with buckshot holes). Behind the shirts stands Jenny Simons holding a shotgun. Jenny—who shit her pants in the show South Park—appears to be scared of a Seagull dive-bombing her. The seagull is Letting Go of a helium balloon's string. The balloon contains a strange face . . . inside it . . . It's a Living Thing! The thing might be afraid its balloon will pop if it hits the nearby point of a road sign indicating: Never Going Back Again. The signpost pierces thru the head of Peg Bundy (from the show Married With Children). On the end of the signpost's point is a large kernel of popcorn with the stem/flag of a musical note (Pop Music). Sitting on the note's stem is a tiny Emotional Rescue puppy. Growing out of the puppy's back is a toy taxi labelled ABA Metro Cab (Abacab). Which is causing something to Shock the Monkey on the roof of the cab. The monkey is holding a pulp magazine in its hand with the title: True Danger. Rafiki stands on the magazine holding Simba overhead, who's saying, "Hold Me Now." An altered see something say something sign, behind Simba, reads: see Something About You. The eye on the sign looks up the dress of a woman holding a 2021 calendar behind her back (Holding Back the Years). The woman is listening to a heartbeat-heart (Rhythm of Love). The rhythm runs down and vibrates a spine with the Orange Crush drink-logo on it. The spine's vertebra transform into the shape of people; the last of which is a woman driving a crazy faced golf-ball (She Drives Me Crazy). The ball is also being shocked from The Power button. A scary seal, emblazoned Crazy, sits on the waves from the button. The seal looks at a line of bloody footprints Walking on Broken Glass. On the far side of the glass, a baby (in a chain-of-life image) is beginning to stand; above the line of aging people are the Italian words Cosa Della Vita. The elderly man in the image is stooping to listen into an old rotary phone—Your Ghost is coming out of the phone's mouthpiece. The ghost is flipping the finger at an old metal Carnival toy. The globe on the top of the toy is the Real World. Behind the earth is the moon, which appears to be on a 37-day Long December page of a 2020 calendar. Standing on the top of the calendar is a weak number one struggling to lift weights (One Week). The weak #1 is thinking dark thoughts about a woman wearing a sleep mask and a PRAISE U shirt (Praise You). The woman is Dreaming and we can see a few indistinct dream images. But, we can clearly see the largest image in her dream, a meditating skeleton, Breathe. The skeleton is inception-dreaming about a prohibited sign over two child skeletons (No Children). Tipping off the top of the prohibited sign, is Asha Bhosle in a cup, wearing a bead necklace which is overflowing the cup (Brimful of Asha). Almost touching the far end of her necklace: a yogi appears to Float On air. The yogi offers pills with a Feel Good Inc label. A Crazy white supremacist with a Q-Anon shirt, MAGA hat, and assault rifle reaches for the pills. Looming behind crazy is a person's body in a Led Zeppelin shirt with a cashmere goat's head (Kashmir). He/she is preparing to hit the Trumpist with bicycle Handlebars. Balanced on one hand-grip is a large bunch of talking member berries from the show South Park, they always reply 'I Remember'. The member berries become a circle of cantaloupes (Cantaloop). One of the cantaloupes is pierced by a point of white from a Liechtenstein POP! canvas (Pop Culture). Appended above the artwork (with the same color scheme) is a Simple Math equation. Balanced on the 1+2=3 is a fermentation Mash Machine and tanks for brewing. Leaning on the equipment is a huge wooden female sheep (Would You?...). A single gravedigger climbs the ewe's back (Lone Digger). Valeria Lukyanova (Human Barbie) poses in a bikini along the handle of the digger's shovel. A blow-up-view of Val's bracelet shows Fox Mulder (from the show X-Files) and his I Want To Believe poster (Believer). Crushing the poster is a massive woman's head made-from hay with the word SOUL in her eyes (Hey Soul Sister). The forehead of the sculpture bears tire-tracks from the final object: a U-HAUL truck (Finally Moving). Painted on the truck's side-panel is Scar, the Bad Guy in The Lion King. As an invisible bonus, someone graffiti-scrawled: I Don't Want This Groove To Ever End in the dust on the top of the truck.

if you don't want this level of complexity to end:

105 art-images and their titles

deep dive into aesthetics (art & poem)

explaining 'untitled portrait of self' [chaps 1-3]

The Ballad of Sancho y Panza (by El Diablitos)

For several years (prior to our Portland-to-Vermont move) my wife was both the lyricist and the lead vocalist for El Diablitos. Her stage name was Pamela Flores. I made a video of their song, The Ballad of Sancho y Panza, from my latest artwork (HEXGRID ⦇19 × 11⦈ ÷ 2 ≈ 105). All music, guitars and engineering are by the band's lead-honcho: Tony Guerrero.