Defective: (adj) having a defect or flaw; faulty

 Ever since I fell in my house a couple of months ago, I have sprouted a defect which makes me suspect.

I really don’t want to talk about it.

It makes me feel weak.

It makes me too vulnerable.

But falling in my house and not being able to get up without assistance from the fire department was not only humiliating but left me feeling insipid and beholding.

The actual experience was inspirational.

But something can be totally inspirational and still leave you wishing and hoping that it never happens again.

For instance, I would love to be raised from the dead but would not welcome the circumstances to roll around again.

I’ve gotten strange over the past few days.

When I close my eyes, I don’t feel like I’m in my house. And because I’ve traveled so much, my mind is transporting me to other locations, and if there’s a television show in the background, I actually envision a completely different décor.

Oddest of all was a dream I had last night, where I envisioned myself into the living space of Justin and Angel, in China—where I’ve never been before. But I would have sworn I was there, living it up with them.

It would all seem rather bizarre if it weren’t for the imagination that exists in me as a writer—for I am constantly conjuring scenes in my mind to coincide with a story I’m hatching.

But I have to admit, this particular rendition is unusual—right down to the coloration of bed covers and the texture of vinyl shades.

If you hear of me passing on to the Great Beyond, you might mark in your mind that some of these things may not have been mere coincidence—but rather, a warning of a defect leaving me defective.

If, on the other hand, there doesn’t seem to be any lasting difficulty, you can state what you have often stated:



Dance: (v) to move one’s feet or body, or both, rhythmically in a pattern of steps, especially to the accompaniment of music.

There are just some things that demand more than sitting and watching.

I don’t like to sit and watch people eat. Matter of fact, I find it to be notorious.

I don’t like to sit and watch a sports event for too long. After a while, my imagination and my waistline grow together.

I never liked to sit and watch two people making love. I don’t get it. Making love may be the supreme example of the term, “user friendly.”

I don’t like to sit and watch church. If you really are in a mood to worship and you think there are matters that are praise-worthy, why would your choice be solemnity?

I don’t enjoy sitting and watching the sunrise. It was never meant to be a visual show, but rather, an invitation to get off one’s ass and start the day.

And I don’t like to sit and watch music. I used to hate to go with friends who wanted to watch someone play a piano or guitar or sit and listen to a singer.

Music was created to be moving

  • Move the heart with emotion.
  • Move the soul with inspiration.
  • Move the mind with ideas.
  • And move the body with beat.

Thus the dance.

The Bible is full of examples where people became overcome with emotion, music, spirit and thanksgiving—and started to dance.

And that is Middle Eastern style of dance, which is a lot of whirling and twirling. Yes, Temple, at one time, was an aerobic workout.

Dancing is when we confirm to those around us that we can still be moved by a melody, a beat and the possibility of excitement generated through a song.



Curtain: (n) a hanging piece of fabric

I can’t think of an occasion when the word “addicted” can be used in a positive way.

Yet I will tell you, there are certain things to which I am addicted.

One of those revolves around a curtain.

I couldn’t have been more than twelve years old the first time I stood backstage at a theater, right next to the beautiful velvet curtain that swept its way across the stage to close the production or open up to new story possibilities, encouraging the audience to use its imagination.

No matter where you are, there’s always that small space where the dressing rooms and the gathering areas empty out onto holy ground, where the actors, singers and musicians stand and wait to enter the stage and share their best.

I remember at age twelve, putting together a song with three other guys to sing at the school talent show. We had searched all over Columbus, Ohio for just the right ties. We all went to the same barber shop to get our hair cut two days earlier. My singing buddies had come to my house to dress and prepare for the evening. We had rehearsed our song over and over again, trying to fine-tune the musical excellence to the greatest extent of our pre-adolescent acuity.

There we were.

The small-town audience sat waiting, as we stood nervously backstage.

I remember being so close to that beautiful red velvet curtain that I laid my head over, resting it on the soft fabric. It was comforting.

Yes, it was at that point I knew I was addicted.

I wanted to spend the rest of my life backstage somewhere, waiting for the curtain to open so I could come and share the better parts of myself, hoping that the audience could find the better parts of their hearts.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C


by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Absinth:  (n.) 1. the shrub wormwood 2. a potent, green aniseedflavored liqueur that turns milky when water is added. Prepared from wormwood, it is now largely banned because of its toxicity.

All right, my imagination went nuts. Here’s what I see: a rather smarmy middle-aged gentleman, dressed in an unkempt, off-white linen suit, with beads of sweat sprouting around his brow, sitting in a large chair with once-lush velvet cushions, now a bit threadbare, presenting a chalice of drink in the direction of our hero, with a tiny, wicked smile on his lips, speaking in a broken accent: “Here. Drink. It’s dee-lee-cious.”

Our hero pauses, knowing certainly that this offering of refreshment is laced with some sort of poison–probably from wormwood. But to keep the upper hand, he takes the cup and downs it with one humongous gulp. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and says in his best Midwestern, American accent, “Best I ever tasted.”

Our villain begins to laugh and cackle, giggling uncontrollably. “It is poison,” he says, sporting a bit of drool at the corners of his mouth. “And only I have the antidote.” He holds up a small vial which looks like it would contain really expensive eye drops.

At this point, any variety of plot twists could occur. A wrestling match for the antidote. Or perhaps our hero masterfully regurgitates the contents of his stomach, explaining that figuring our wicked friend would conjure a devious plan, he had surgically had his stomach lined with polyurethane to protect him from all poisons.

I don’t know. I decided a long time ago that it was much more fun to be a little wacky than being straight-laced and narrow-minded. Honestly, I don’t know why anyone would want to drink anything extracted from wormwood. Of course it’s going to be poison. Sometimes the name says it all.

But there are those people who call themselves adventurers, who are not excited enough about the prospect of breathing normally, moving around and enjoying pizza–so they want some danger in their lives.

I am not one of them.

But I am willing to go to the movies to view their antics.

(What did you think of the polyurethane-lined stomach??)