Create

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Create: (v) to cause to come into being

You created me.

So the story goes.

What was your intention?

Was I literally the next step in the evolutionary chain?

That would be fine. Yet I have to admit to you, I’m a damn far sight cuter than a chimpanzee. Maybe it was your time for a leap of faith.

The tale also includes that you created me in your image.

Which image?

Since you’re a spirit, there is no physical. So am I created in your spiritual image? (I’m sorry, I don’t think you’ll be able to buff out the dents I’ve generated in that situation.)

So what is your image? Well… I know you create. Duh.

So did you create me to be a creator? Will we compete? I suppose not. You can do the whole galaxy thing—I can make a telescope to see your stars.

So was I created to be creative? Was I evolved to further evolve? Or was I an accident due to some sort of ethereal busted rubber?

It’d be nice to know.

I must be candid with you—your response time is poor. Maybe it’s because the staff you have to work with consists of other humans like myself, easily carried away by their own fantasies, and they forget to be helpful.

I don’t know.

I refuse to be a chimpanzee. I don’t have the hair for it.

I’m reluctant to believe I was an accident.

I am waiting for an assurance agent, not an insurance agent. (See how creative I can be? What did you think of that assurance/insurance thing? A play on words.)

Maybe that’s what I am. Maybe you were making angels and you fucked some of them up and decided to rename them “human.” I can buy that. We’ve all had embarrassing workdays.

Here’s what I’m going to do:

I am going to believe that you created me in your image, which is a creative one, so that I would find a way to create, with the materials provided for me.

I don’t know whether this is right or not—but I do believe it promotes sanity.

It’s a much easier story to follow than me being a ping-pong ball in a fevered match between you and Beelzebub.

 

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Ailey, Alvin

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Ailey, Alvin: (1931-89) U.S. dancer and  choreographer. He founded the Alvin Ailey Dance Theater in 1958 and helped to establish modern dance as an American art form, incorporating ballet, jazz and Afro-Caribbean idioms in his choreography.

Being a writer carries with it a certain amount of arrogance. There is the contention that one has something worthy to be said, and therefore read, and also the annoying predilection to associate everything you hear and see into your own spectrum of thinking.

Yes, it’s truly overbearing.

And when I came across this fine gentleman who was so progressive in the art of dance, because I lacked a lot of personal experience with his work, and fearing that merely taking a journey through Wikipedia to impress you with minor details would be presumptuous, if not comical, I decided to sit down and ask myself what I thought of dance. Realizing that this may be completely irrelevant to you, it is my connection with this journeyman’s craft.

As a lad I didn’t dance at all because my church believed that it was the devil’s two-step. One of the deacons in my congregation insisted that it led to lust. When I explained that at fifteen years of age, merely saying a girl’s name aloud could produce great fantasies and tremblings, he didn’t think I was funny.

So it was after I left home and began working in the music field, and decided to compose a Broadway show that, I began to think about choreography, movement and dance. Matter of fact, for my first production I hired a bunch of freelance musicians and singers to perform–all with an amateur status. Failing to realize that just because someone can sing a tune does not mean their feet will coordinate with each other, on our opening night, one critic deemed our staging and dancing to be “collisionography.”

Later on, I tried choreographing myself. Even though I am built more like a water buffalo than a graceful deer, I pranced around stage, learning my steps, acting as fluid as I possibly could, trying to discover my “center,” which ended up being very large because of my midriff.

But I enjoyed every minute of it.

I was thrilled with the audacity of daring to erupt in front of other people, while projecting emotion and ideas through the gyrations.

So when I look at the work of a man like Alvin Ailey, I realize that even though some folks think such shenanigans are evil, despicable or lascivious, life without movement–often purposeful–is bland and motionless.

Matter of fact, there are times when I have jobs to do and I choreograph every single endeavor to produce desirable results.

We come into this world, squeezing through a tiny opening, landing on our butts, learning to walk, so that hopefully … someday we can dance.

Abdomen

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abdomen: n. the part of the body of a vertebrate containing the digestive organs–the belly. It is bounded by the diaphragm and the pelvis.

I can certainly see why it didn’t catch on. There is something too bizarre about “trust your abdomen.” I think that’s why we ended up with “gut.”

But you see, I’ve always found trust your gut to be VERY poor advice. My abdomen–or if you want to be “street-talkin'” in your ways–gut–is often misleading to my own good. My gut tells me to continue in fantasies and prejudices that were ingrained in me before I had a chance to be more discretionary about what was allowed in my abdomen.

My gut is my predictable. And truthfully, friends, my predictable is not my best. My best mingles what I know with what I need to know with how dumb I am and how willing I am to get smarter. Abdomen logic rarely factors in our own depravity.

I also don’t trust my abdomen–or gut–to lead me in the paths of righteousness concerning good nutrition, health and longevity. For instance, last night my abdomen desired a piece of cake. I haven’t had a piece of cake for a long time, so I was a little surprised when my gut hatched the whim. My abdomen, with its appetite, joined in cooperation with my gut instinct, with ITS great ability to rationalize my faults, and tempted me to not only eat a small sliver of cake but to also pursue a much more humongous hunk of the gunk.

So you see, my gut has too many opinions and too big of an appetite to be trusted or allowed to run much of anything in my pursuit of sanity.

So here’s to the abdomen–with a caveat: make sure that your gut digests all the information available AND that it does not decide exactly what and how much you’re going to eat.

Otherwise, your abdomen will too soon make you belly up.