Category Archives: my writings

On the Importance of Timing

I hesitated posting this today, because I already posted just two days ago, but I felt the timing was significant. 😉

Copyright © 2013 H.K. Longmore

Others have said it, and they’ve said it well
But an accusation that mine ain’t swell
(What is wrong with his timing? Everything.)
In jest, perhaps, is the reason I fling
Words out in iambic pentameter
As I ponder timing’s role, dear reader.

When the timing’s right, it is the reason
Your motorized vehicle runs at all,
Why your chainsaw prepares for cold seasons;
We call some graceful dancers at a ball.

When it’s off, some jokes fall without a laugh,
Some musicians will have to hide their gaffe;
But set it right and accidents avoid,
Catch your tongue before slips described by Freud
Escape your lips to cause social mishaps,
Stop a spill before it lands in your lap.

By your good timing, crimes in progress stop
Whether by interference or a cop.
Good timing is required for conception,
Fast friends form from well-timed introductions.

Apply right timing and head over heels
Can calm until you hear wedding bells peal,
But if you delay or the timing’s wrong
It may be that all you’ll hear is “So long”.

So it would appear my words at me yell
To fix my timing, if what’s wrong he’d tell.

Conextrainformafusion

Conextrainformafusion – /kən-ek-strə-in-fər-mā-fyü-zhən/ – noun
Confusion resulting from saying too much and having the extraneous information misunderstood.
Etymology: portmanteau of confusion, extraneous, and information.
First use: 2013

I thought I’d coin a word today.
But instead of simple thought post,
Presenting with rhythm and rhyme
Is how I’ll coin, with some word play.

He who wins is he who says most
Is not a truism for our time
Unless imparting confusion
By the excess information
Is the goal to which we aspire.

Your intentions misunderstood,
Your priorities now in mire.
See these results if see you could
Whether by light of moon or sun.

Here is the word, write it in clay
Say it proudly, say it with boast;
But don’t say it in unison:
Conextrainformafusion.

Soon comprehension will disperse
By the length of my little verse
And now perhaps I’ve caused again
Conextrainformafusion.

Copyright © 2013 H.K. Longmore

Commitment

Copyright © 2013 H.K. LongmoreHiking down snow-covered Rocky Sea Pass

Sometimes my tongue
Commits to things
My mind and lungs,
My heart the king

Know it commits
Sincerely true,
Yet it omits
Its fault, their rue:
No follow through.

It fain would do
What it has said;
Its mates have read
Consequence due.

Why My Next Vehicle Should Be a Street-legal Tank

A Photo Essay

Honda Civic Ex, TrunklessAt the end of January, 2004, I was rear-ended while waiting at the light on Bangerter and 7000 South by a driver who had fallen asleep at the wheel.  The driver fled the scene on foot as his car was badly damaged as well, but he was apprehended.  He did not have insurance.  My first car lost its trunk, and I lost it.  I was unconscious for at least 8 minutes as a result of this collision.

Rolled BuickOn 12 October, 2005, my dad picked me up from the airport returning from a business trip to Japan.  Southbound on Bangerter Highway, we were rear-ended while in motion by a driver trying to pass a third vehicle.  The driver made an attempt to make his vehicle fit into the space already occupied by ours, which propelled us across the median.  When we came up the other side, a torque moment was created due to the net weight difference between the passenger side and the driver side.  We rolled across the northbound lanes, at least three times. Some say it was less, but the first time was when my window broke, the second time was when I looked down out my broken window and saw the asphalt thinking, “If the car keeps rolling I’m going to die!”, and once more to land upright.  The position and orientation of the car made it look as though we had merely pulled off the road, but for the car.  The other driver fled in his car.  They had to use the jaws of life to get my dad out.  The mark of the jaws of life?  No doors.
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Shaken, but Not Stirred

image

I was stopped at the light this morning, southbound on 2200 West, going to turn left to eastbound 5400 South. The light turned green, I saw the intersection was clear, and proceeded to turn left. Two lanes out, I saw an SUV headed towards me, not trying to stop. The speed limit on 5400 is 45 mph. I honked, but saw that the driver wasn’t stopping, so I decided to get out of Dodge as fast as I could. Only it wasn’t fast enough.
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Centrifuge

© 2013 H.K. Longmore

Outside world in turmoil
Inside I simmer and boil
“The centre cannot hold”
One says, grave-cold.

Au contraire, I dare
To contradict mon frère:
All things centrifuge contained
Against the wall splayed

Save one—the Center.
In deep cold winter
Or hot dry summer,
Dancing to different drummer

Clothed in silken broadcloth,
Or in ashen sackcloth
Impervious to external enticing
The only Sure Advice.

Thus when skin crawls
With portent of gall,
Or by desire seduced
Will to restrain reduced,

To the Center hold.
Splay not, be bold,
Add to your mettle:
Utilize the Force Centripetal!

Hiking in Pioneer Park, St. George

I have gained new insight into Matthew 7:14: “Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.
People hiking a narrow passage
Take this narrows. If this were the way that leads to life, in the first place it is hard to find. If we had not been with someone who already knew it was there, we would not have seen it; nor is it likely that we would have found it if we had been looking for it.

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Moderation in All Things

When eating real licorice, such as RJ’s Licorice (imported from New Zealand), one must remember to eat it in moderation if one hopes to get any sleep at night, or else have some of “the one that coats”–yes, the pink stuff–on hand.

Web Stats and the Stalker in Me

I finally shared a link to a blog post on my running blog yesterday, and I got a decent number of hits.  According to WordPress’ stats, there were 30+ views, and 12 visitors.  I was pretty excited that at least ten people were interested enough to check it out, out of all my 230+ FB friends.  Then I wanted to know more.  Who viewed it?  What pages did they visit?  Back when I had my website hosted with a shell account, I could access the Apache web log and see IP addresses, referring urls, user agents.  I wrote a script to convert IP addresses to hostnames where possible, filtering out my own IP addresses, and enjoyed analyzing the results.

Usually there would be a bunch of lookups by various search engines, some of which respected my robots.txt, some that didn’t (they weren’t major search engines, so I didn’t really care about blocking them).  And every now and again I’d get entries that were clearly someone that was interested in either me or what I had to say (perhaps stalking me?).  Those were the fun ones.  Who is the domain name registered to, or if the IP address could not be converted to a hostname, what entity is the address assigned to?  Occasionally I was able to get enough information that if needed, I could have built the beginnings of a court case about someone stalking me.

Sadly, the web stats offered by WordPress just aren’t as comprehensive.  Maybe they have an option to pay to be able to view the access logs, seeing how they like to charge for just about everything else.  (What? seriously? you want me to pay how much per year just to be able to edit CSS?  Okay, fine.  Maybe I will.)  But whatever the case is, you, my readers, are safe for now.  I doubt I’ll be paying to read access logs anytime soon; the stalker in me will simply have to go back in the closet.

“But of bliss and glad life…”

Last night I was pondering recent happenings in my life, which included what could have been déjà vu if only it weren’t clearly a separate and distinct occurrence.  I came to a conclusion that should be fairly obvious, but it took two data points, and several years transpired before I acquired the second.  When I am passing by or walking away from someone, feeling hurt or slighted but doing my best to bury the pain, and in my mind I tell them where they can go or I visualize the synapses of my brain firing such that all my phalanges form a fist but for one finger, it is a sure sign that my relationship with that person, whatever that relationship may be, is in peril.  And thus applies this quote:

“But of bliss and glad life there is little to be said, before it ends; as works fair and wonderful, while still they endure for eyes to see, are their own record, and only when they are in peril or broken for ever do they pass into song.” – JRR Tolkien, The Silmarillion

Which is great from the perspective of me being able to write some potentially great poetry.  But if I could choose between the relationship being “in peril or broken forever” versus never writing a good poem about that relationship or that person, I’d choose the latter.

A corollary to this conclusion is that at such times, I should probably just let myself feel the pain and stop trying to numb it by the commands I mentally issue to the other person.  Otherwise I start a downward spiral that, if not quickly corrected, spills over into other relationships.

Lies of Future Intent

Lies cannot be reasoned with. No matter how much logic you apply, a lie will just expand to fill all available space. No, in order to combat a lie, you must not reason with it; you must expose it. This is exceedingly difficult for lies about future intent.
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Hey buddy, can you spare some change?

There’s that famous saying about changing those things you can and accepting those things you can’t.  What it doesn’t detail is what to do to help yourself accept those things you can’t change.  Or perhaps, those things that you could change, and want desperately to, but are bound by duty or by honor to accept.  This latter case is especially difficult compared to those things you just can’t change.  So what does one do?  I leave it as an open question for my readers (all zero of you 😉 ).

Today I have found I am grateful that I never did put that old racquetball away; taking it out of my car and slamming it against the cinder block wall at the back of the building was the vent in my teapot.