Writing

The human male, a plague on humanity.

As a white male, this is a tragic assessment of my gender. There is no science, behavioral or biological, that can explain away our unforgivable behavior.

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I simple cannot find words that are strong enough to describe my bewilderment at “the why”. What the !@?# is wrong with us? Is it a physical or a chemical thing? “I’m sorry sir, I’m afraid you’ve been diagnosed with a terminal case of Male. Unfortunately, it’s incurable and you’re just going to have to live with being an asshole.”  Think I’m overreacting? Test question:

What is the gender of every School  shooter, Church shooter, Public Event shooter, Highway shooter, Shopping Mall shooter, Military Base shooter.  Who is plowing into crowds with a vehicle, hi-jacking planes, car-jacking cars, stabbing people in crowds and who is also most likely to shoot up a restaurant, rob you, assault you, rape a woman, man or a child. Who is most likely to be banned from living within X number of feet from a school. Who is starting forest fires, abusing animals or most likely to drive stupid? Hint: Males

I genuinely believe that if an “animal” species’ behavior was this one-sided, we’d be exterminating them or at the very least, controlling their numbers or behavior. Actually, I think we do that with bulls. Maybe the problem and solution have been staring right at us the whole time; Balls.

It’s easy to blame guns, society, bad parenting, politics or Bugs Bunny, but at the end of the day, the true problem is patently obvious; he’s walking the streets and waiting at a crime scene near you.

Until we “man-up” and face reality, these tragedies are going keep happening especially when the cause is in charge of fixing the problem.

 

 

 

Writing

With This “Bow”, I Thee Wed…

Why a bow and not a ring? Symbolism. “With this ring, I promise undying love and eternal devotion”. Those are nice words. What do they mean though? Undying love and eternal devotion!? I’m a practical guy. Did either of you make the rings? No. How about the ring’s maintenance? Well, don’t lose it and clean it once in a while, right? That sounds easy enough. Symbolism.

A bow starts as a single piece of string and requires two hands, working together, to make it into a bow. If it begins to come undone, it takes two hands, each pulling gently on a loop to strengthen it once again. One hand can’t maintain a bow alone, but two can. One hand, pulling a loose string, can easily change a beautiful bow back into a single piece of string. Symbolism

Two hands to build it, two hands keep it together. The rings you buy, the bows you make. Symbolism

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Writing

Givers and Takers, That’s Life

The burden of change, weighs heavily upon the shoulders of the benevolent. For those who are kind, must remain nimble as the taker seeks out the generous, if only to relieve them of their gains for the natural law draws all towards the mean.  

The giver gives and the taker takes until all is lost and the giver grieves, standing naked, alone without means. As such is the reality of being charitable. 

    M.S. McCown 

Writing

It’s About Time

What do we know about the concept of time? It’s like Bigfoot, we think we’re sure, but no, not really.

We see time as linear, moving from left to right; yesterday, today and tomorrow. We “feel” it’s passing and measure our lives by the idea of past, present and future.

Yet, what is “time”? I’m sure that there is a technical definition, but at best, it’s just speculation.

We named this phenomenon like we do everything else that frightens us. A name that makes it human and softens the edges. He’s “Father Time”, a wise old man.

We make jokes, idioms and metaphors using time; “time for a change”, “time out”, “time heals all wounds”. Suddenly, it’s not such a scary subject, I mean, we speak of it every day.

Calling “Time” time is like calling “God”, Uncle Bob. Our old and dear friend, always near, always warm and friendly.

Imagine rising above the earth and looking down. Then, imagine time as a ruler that stretches from one end of the earth to the other with each year marked on its surface, say from the “beginning” of “time” until present day.

A billion years reflected on a ruler and there we are, taking up about 1/8 inch of the length. The entire span of human existence compressed into a visual picture. We are but a grain of sand on a vast beach.

Now, back out into space away from the earth and our existence becomes even a smaller percentage on the ruler of the universe. That’s time…

We fight to live a longer life, but in the grand scheme, does it even matter? To a butterfly, life consists of about one month. For us, 77 years. Yet to each species, it’s the same; a lifetime. That’s time…

It is thought that if we could speed up an object beyond some “point” that it could disappear from our eyes and now be in the future. Is time actually linear or does it exist in another way? Maybe time is just happening all at the same “time” but in parallel universes…

One could easily cramp their brain imagining the possibilities and at the end of the day, not even being close; who knows…

I guess its just a waste of time to wonder. For Time, like good Ol’ Uncle Bob, exists on a level far beyond what we are capable of grasping with our young human minds. So for now, since time isn’t of the essence, I think it’s time to visit a Pub and kill some time pondering the mysteries of life.

 

 

 

Writing

Learning English? Good Luck! Grammar, Homophones & Slang

The English language has gone “off the rails”. It’s like a code. My heart goes out to all who are brave enough to try.

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poetry, Writing

It’s “Time” to fit in

America was once a Melting Pot
A stew of many lands
The contents many, but individual
The world reflected in a pan

This Pot contained the customs
Of each culture and it’s beliefs
But no matter how hard you stirred it
The Pots’ ingredients refused to mix

Each person seemed a foreigner
Yet together in this American land
Afraid to accept the culture
Of the person, living right next to them

Even I felt like a foreigner
Though here I was born and raised
So many different cultures
All struggling to find a place

The Melting Pot began boiling
As Time had lost all patience, at Humanities refusal to bend
So Time stepped in with a blender
And then poured the Pots’ contents in

What was once a Pot of colors
Of stubborn people who won’t mix in
Is now a stirred up mixture, of
One beautiful color, living harmoniously, in a pan.
Now no one seems a foreigner, no excuse to not fit in, for we all can exist equally, in this Melting Pot of this land.