Eight Years Ago Today: Of ghoulies and ghosties

By Tom Lowe

[Originally appeared on October 30, 2012.]

From ghoulies and ghosties
And long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!

Are Children Too Smart for Their Own Good…

Or Just Too Smart for Adults?

By Paul Clark (aka motomynd)

In using the word children, instead of kids – I was raised with the saying “baby goats are kids” or something like that – I’ve already put the age thing out there, so let me just say it: I’m 65, whatever. And I’m trying to homeschool my six-year-old son. Yes: 6, not a typo, whatever. And it isn’t going well. The method, as schools demand it, and as I originally envisioned it, has basically been blown to hell, but the results from the as yet undefined Plan B sort of seem to be happening. Which is a blow to the system I know and have long resented yet still believed in.

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 5. The Team

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It took Blake until the end of September to line up his team.
    Peter Santos was his first pick. Santos was an 18-year-old computer expert who started making six figures at age 10 writing gaming programs, only to see all of his money wiped out by his father’s bad investments. He quit writing programs until he could control his own money. But then love and a 5-year jail sentence put a hold on his dreams.

Highways and Byways: Flight

By Maik Strosahl

—inspired by the song “Fly from Here”
by the English rock band Yes


Those days of flight
still come to me in slumber,
two souls unbound by gravity,
two wings joined by hands
through the mists and
breaking free into clear blue
eyes shining with wonder
as to what we would see,
where would we go together?

Goines On: 60 by ’60

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Out of the smudgy dark of a sleepless hour of Goines’ night emerged the memory that he had graduated from high school in 1960, and in a relatively lucid moment he realized that the year 2020 offered a unique opportunity to pun “60 by ’60.”
    Yes, 60 years – so many! – had gone by since he was 17 years old and eager to undertake the future....And now, in the life that remained, still these occasional moments of cunning pleasure.

Copyright © 2020 by Moristotle

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 4. The Operation

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Captain Lenders was notified of Blake’s transfer and Blake spent the rest of the day at the Federal Building having his picture and fingerprints taken for his new identification. He filled out one form after another, guided through the maze by June, as Mrs. Warner now wanted him to call her. The whole process took three hours, after which June gave him her card and told him to go to any A.P.S. gate off Airways Boulevard across from the airport and they would contact a driver to escort him to the building he and his team would work in.

All Over the Place: Nine Ways to View a Bully

By Michael H. Brownstein

1
It is our nature to stop and view the lightning.

2
Stones, too, can be named.

3
The biggest mouth belongs to a fish.

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By Moristotle

It recently came to our attention that some of our followers’ subscriptions to Moristotle & Co. have been interrupted, in addition to our own! That is, they (and we) stopped receiving email notifications of Moristotle & Co.’s posts. And, ironically, anyone who follows us only by way of the notifications won’t see this post either ...unless they have gone to the “Subscribe to Moristotle & Co. via FeedBurner” field at the top of the sidebar and submitted their email address (we have done so ourselves). If you know of anyone who needs to learn this, please be so kind as to tell them.

Acting Citizen: Hope eternally springs

By James Knudsen

2020, or is it Twenty-twenty? 20/20? Anyway, it’s been an absolute excrement-extravaganza. However, contrarian that I am, I would rather shine a light than hurl curses into the darkness. For all the tragedy, suffering, and pandering political advertising this year has brought, I want to believe that some positive things have emerged.
    I still can’t get my brain to work the way the brain of someone who still supports President Trump works, so the silver linings I identify apply to those on the left side of the political spectrum. And, given that these apply, for the most part, to people who identify as Democrats and, more specifically, the Democratic Party, I must acknowledge that any lessons learned will likely be forgotten after a few campaign cycles, and the nation will be trying, desperately, to vote President Glenn Beck out of office. Still, hope springs eternal—

Goines On: Free offer for Trump supporters

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During a spell of malaise two weeks before the U.S. election, Goines found himself bemused by the surfeit of yard and roadside campaign posters. While he was developing an intense dislike for campaigning – all the lies, the vicious attacks, the distraction from trying to save life on Earth from the coming climate cataclysm – he did feel encouraged by the energy that people were injecting into the activity. Why couldn’t he inject a little into it?
    Okay, then. Goines thought of a variation for the Trump/Pence signs he was seeing. He logged onto his computer, found a useful example of the sign from among the plethora on offer on the internet, downloaded it, and opened it in Photoshop. Voilà! In a few minutes he had it.

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 3. The Proposal

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Blake decided there wasn’t anything he needed to do at the office that couldn’t be done on his computer at home, so as he turned onto I-240 he called dispatch to inform them he was 10-10 and heading home.
    The meaning of the word “home” had changed twice for Blake after he and Beth started out in a big, 3-bedroom house off Poplar in East Memphis. That had been a nice house and easy for both of them to get to work from – three blocks from the bank where Beth worked in the finance department, and, after Blake made sergeant and no longer had to answer roll calls, all he needed to do in the mornings was call dispatch.

Highways and Byways: A Poem for Roy Dean

By Maik Strosahl

“You know, you may be right, Roy Dean.
I watched that. In fact, that was a damn
bit of poetry, that was.”
—From the movie Pastime



He’s been there,
had his cup of coffee,
put two pitches by The Man.
His next was sent soaring
to a great roar in St. Louis,
and no sooner,
his cup dry,
he was sent back to the farm,
thirsting for another taste.

Penny for Her Thoughts: Life with Hair

By Penelope Griffiths

So let me start by saying I am not a vain woman! However, I do have standards, but the last seven months have taught me that they’re not that high!
    I have had many hairstyles and hair lengths through my life. As a child my mother would cut my hair “bowl” shape. From small child to teen, I was mid brown colour but going blondish through the summer. At several points through my early days my mother would perm my hair; I had an “afro” before they became fashionable!

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 2. June Warner

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Blake walked out into the warm sun and took a deep breath of air. He couldn’t understand how a person could be trapped in a job smelling that shit all day. He hit the button on his ignition key and heard the click of the doors unlocking on his Jeep.
    Back at the office, Blake placed calls to the captains in Germantown and Bartlett. He didn’t get to speak to either one of them but left a message for them to call him back. He kept busy the next few days with normal paperwork and cleaning up reports before he retired. The time passed faster than he had expected. A week had gone by without his hearing from either of the captains.

All Over the Place: The New Christianity

By Michael H. Brownstein











Everyone tried to take the staple out
after the list of lies became weeds –
the first a mistake,
the second an error in judgment,
but the third, fourth, hundredth, twenty
thousandth – a brick thrown through a window,
glass shattering into a void of intelligence.

Three Years Ago Today: Diddling

Edited by Moristotle

[Selected correspondence originally published on October 17, 2017.]

[Items of correspondence are not attributed; they remain anonymous. They have been chosen for their inherent interest as journalism, story, or provocative opinion, which may or may not be shared by the editor or other members of the staff of Moristotle & Co.]

Harvey Weinstein’s being thrown out of the Motion Picture Academy is like they’re overdoing it because nothing was done about Donald Trump. At least Weinstein was good at his job. “Right and Left React to Harvey Weinstein Reports” [Anna Dubenko, NY Times, October 13]. Excerpt:

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 1. June Killer

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[Editor’s Note: A list of the novel’s Core Characters, along with its Prologue, appeared yesterday, following the announcment of the book publication of the final novel in the BODY COUNT series.]

Blake Harris turned 50 years old that May. He would complete his thirty years with the Memphis Police Department in four months and was looking forward to fishing and drinking beer all day. That was before a murder case crossed his desk that would change his life forever.

Final BODY COUNT novel in edRogers’ series now available

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By Moristotle

BODY COUNT: High-Heels was published this week on Amazon. It is the sequel to BODY COUNT: Killers, and BODY COUNT: Roatán. The series follows the exploits of a team of men and women dedicated to the task of uncovering and bringing down serial killers. All three titles are available in both electronic and paperback format.

Interview: Maik Strosahl, poet, encourager...

...trucker?
Interviewed by Moristotle

Maik Strosahl’s exquisite first poem on Moristotle & Co. appeared here a week ago today, and the second was scheduled for today...until I suggested that we have an interview instead, because I just had to get to know more about the poet who wrote “Irises across the Floor.”
    My questions arose from a short bio Maik sent me and from a reading of his first post on a blog he started last month. My questions are in italics.

Three Years Ago Today: Malevolent or incognizant?

Edited by Moristotle

[Selected correspondence originally published on October 13, 2017.]

[Items of correspondence are not attributed; they remain anonymous. They have been chosen for their inherent interest as journalism, story, or provocative opinion, which may or may not be shared by the editor or other members of the staff of Moristotle & Co.]

Trump’s lack of self-awareness is, as ever, awe-inspiring. I hope he will soon be examined by a team of psychiatrists and their consensus report made public: “Trump rips the NFL for disrespecting the flag. Then he jokes about a military flag ceremony” [Patrick Martin, Washington Post, October 12]. Excerpt:

Shakespeare Again [Eight Years Ago in a Couple of Months]

James Knudsen interviewed about writing for Moristotle

Interviewed by Moristotle

[I’m running this first interview of James Knudsen today because of the happy circumstance that he lauded Shakespeare on Saturday, in a comment on a post by Paul Clark titled “Who identifies with fake stories, fake lives?” in which James said:

My own experience is with [theatrical fiction], “...whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as ’twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.”
    I am not nearly as skilled with the pen (quill) as William Shakespeare, and so my pitch to students in my Theatre Appreciation class each semester is, if I, or any other actor of the stage achieves any sort of success, it is when an audience member sees my performance, and quietly thinks, “That’s me. I’m not the only person in the world who thinks, or says, or does that. I am not alone.” To feel not alone, is to be less afraid. To be less afraid, is to live with the sense that there is something greater than ourselves, and we are better creatures for it.

    The original interview was published on December 12, 2012.]

We recently approached James Knudsen about writing a guest article for Moristotle, even possibly doing a regular feature for us. James is a stage actor well-versed in Shakespeare and a teacher of theater craft. Last year at our own high school reunion, which he and his sister attended with their father, who was a teacher of ours and is now an honorary member of our class, James mesmerized us by reciting as his parting gift Hamlet’s uncle Claudius’s attempt to assuage his guilt [Hamlet III, iii].

All Over the Place: How to Really Claim You Rescued a Dog

By Michael H. Brownstein

We rescued another dog yesterday. I don’t mean we went to the animal shelter and rescued a dog from there. That’s not rescuing a dog – that’s rescuing a dog from a rescuer who should know better (they run an animal shelter, after all). What I mean is we went somewhere that was very nice and picturesque – a beautiful lake within a very nice forest – and found an injured dog. The owner freed it from its 24-hour lockdown when we came upon it in its cage. This is where the dog had been staying 24 hours a day with almost no human contact, no treats, living outside – and where we live it does get cold in the winter and very hot in the summer.

Poetry & Portraits: Passover

Drawing by Susan C. Price

Passover
By Eric Meub

[Originally published on January 13, 2018]

A breakfast table mystery: I see
each section – Datebook, Sports, Society –
but not the front page. Mother starts to shrink
when asked about it, busy at the sink.

Who identifies with fake stories, fake lives?

By Paul Clark (aka motomynd)

[Publisher’s Note: Paul Clark’s reflections below were prompted by a conversation that developed after he remarked, “This virus has a wicked sense of humor – the preacher who proclaimed ‘God is greater than Covid-19,’ only to be killed within 30 days by Covid-19, and the ‘virus doubters’ who have been afflicted, like Boris Johnson and Trump. This virus is like that serial killer character you admire, not just killing to kill, but to have impact, to express wit – who was that character, the man who walked safely among hogs instead of being eaten by them?”

As the World Turns: Just Another Saturday Night South of the Border

By Ed Rogers

Back in 1959, when I was sixteen and newly released from the hospital after being shot through the mid-section with a forty-five, I was with four friends and we were on our way back from Boystown, which is outside of Matamoras, Mexico. About three blocks from the international bridge we had a flat and there was no air in the spare. It was decided that, because of my condition, I would stay with the car along with one other of our friends. The other two headed off with the spare toward the bridge and the 24-hour gas station there that, at one in the morning, was all that was open.

Highways and Byways: Irises across the Floor

By Maik Strosahl

—inspired by the painting
“Towards One” by Lee Krasner



To my mother,
it was a “vahz,”
fine cut crystal,
heavy glass hoisted to the mantel.
To my father,
it was just another
goddamn vase,
and who would miss it
when it broke to carelessness,
shattering and
scattering the blossoms
gathered in the morning sun?

Review: David Attenborough: A Life on Our Planet

Well into the sixth of Earth’s major extinction events, he believes it is still possible for mankind to save itself

By Moristotle

My wife and I watched Sir David Attenborough’s biography of his (and Earth’s) life yesterday afternoon. Attenborough is 94 years old, near the end of his own life. And much of Earth’s life is also near its end, including human life, if we don’t act quickly to halt the Earth’s sixth major extinction event in its last 2.5 billion years. (The fifth occurred about 66 million years ago, following the collision of a large asteroid or comet – 7 to 50 miles in diameter – with the Earth, which led to the extinction of non-avian dinosaurs.)

Dying by Living (a poem)

By Paul Clark (aka motomynd)












When I was young, running wild and maybe a bit too free,
I sometimes wondered what would be the death of me.
Such an uninteresting thought, the sordid slog to forty,
and a burning determination to not even try for fifty.

Would I die by accident,
on a Caribbean calypso-crazed sort of night,
a hapless target of some mysterious incident,
or the victim of an unwanted, pointless fight?

All Over the Place: Edgar Allan Poe and my classroom

By Michael H. Brownstein

We just finished reading Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories. They’re rich in vocabulary and detail. “Morella” really got my class excited. They didn’t understand how the coffin could be empty, but then they went through the story again and discovered the baby began to breathe after the mother died, why we need to explore the lives of others, and how insanity moves within us.

Goines On: Stand by for Halloween

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Goines’ went to sleep Thursday night with some lines of limerick about the end of Trump bouncing around in his head. Once or twice, while peeing, he toyed with the wording, but nothing was clicking.
    He was heartened, then, upon arising on Friday, when Mrs. Goines rushed back into the bedroom with her iPhone raised. “Look at this! Trump has contracted Covid-19!”
    Goines’ first thought was that he could comment on Moristotle’s “Four Years Ago Today” column – another malady:

Four Years Ago Today: Insanity & other maladies

Edited by Moristotle

[Selected correspondence originally published on October 2, 2016.]

We shouldn’t be focusing on and condemning Donald Trump. Sure, he’s a despicable man, out for himself and the public be damned, narcissistic, [racist,] misogynistic, bullying, fraudulent, a conman, inveterate liar, [cheat,] and fantasist. But he also appears to be clinically insane.

Goines On: Drinking the whole Kubuli

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Goines awoke in a sweat. He had just realized – or had he been informed, as in a dream? – that Roger Owens’ caution to readers about “any resemblance to any actual person, living, dead, or anywhere in between” is a sly reference to zombies. Goines saw this only after finishing his reading of the novel the night before.
    A literary friend of Goines who hobnobbed with creative writers such as Owens had told Goines that Owens envisioned the end of the novel even before he began putting it to words. So, naturally, Owens knew exactly what he meant by that “anywhere in between.” What a cunning, playful writer! Goines envied his literary friend’s acquaintance with such a writer. Maybe Goines could be introduced to him?