Tag Archives: renegade

Black Sheep

Black sheep: (n) a member of a family or group regarded as a disgrace

Dictionary B

For there to be the existence of a black sheep, Mary’s little lamb had to make a decision, at some point, to go urban.

In a society which publicly proclaims the value of righteousness, we privately revere the renegade.

We are obsessed with those who are possessed.

We like villains.

We like criminals.

Girls like bad boys because they think these notorious numbskulls have some sexual edge which cannot be acquired by those who favor a razor.

So even though we may say someone is “the black sheep of the family,” we are also curious if this darkened kindred will be at the next family reunion–because if they aren’t, then we’re pretty sure it will be a dull party.

  • What is so intriguing about walking on the wild side?
  • What fascinates us about the rebel?
  • Why do each one of us want to be considered pure of heart, yet a little dark around the liver?

It’s because black sheep are so used to not being included that they’ve developed survival skills that make them handy in difficult situations.

Case in point: I never learned a damn thing by attending a seminar. Everything I’ve acquired in life came from trying to recoup some sense … from my latest mishap. 

Donate ButtonThank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix 

 

Bandit

Bandit: (n) a robber or outlaw belonging to a gangDictionary B

“Bandit” is normally a word that would appear in the narrative of a novelist who has already used the terms “crook, hoodlum, robber and renegade” and finally resorts to “bandit.”

But “bandit” is an important word, even if I didn’t have to write about it.

Very simply, a bandit is someone who steals from you.

I can honestly apply the term to many Hollywood producers who have certainly been bandits by robbing me of precious hours of time with their inane offerings.

I have also run across bandits in the clergy–who have sucked my life out with some sort of sermon or homily, going down a gospel trail to end up at the cave of misunderstanding.

Let us not forget the politicians, who are bandits not only in their misuse of money, but also by crapping on the honor of representing “we, the people.”

But what really struck me as I looked at this word is how often I might be a bandit.

  • How many times have I quietly taken something that was not mine because no one was looking?
  • How many times have I robbed the needful respect and dignity of other human beings so as to make myself look superior?
  • Can I count the occasions when I have purposefully dominated the conversation for fear that someone else might actually gain a breath of appreciation?

Bandits steal.

Perhaps one of the worst attributes of terrorism is the fact that they disengage us from our sense of well-being and turn us into defensive weaklings, hiding behind our fear.

Bandits are robbers–and as robbers, they are crooked.

And from their crookedness they try to scare us away … from straightening the paths.

 

Donate Button

Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix

*******************

NEW BOOK RELEASE BY JONATHAN RICHARD CRING

WITHIN

A meeting place for folks who know they’re human

 $3.99 plus $2.00 S&H

$3.99 plus $2.00 Shipping & Handling

$3.99 plus $2.00 Shipping & Handling

Buy Now Button

 

Ancestor

dictionary with letter A

Ancestor: (n) — a person, typically one more remote than a grandparent, from whom one is descended.

I certainly am glad that all my ancestors decided to have sex, so they would set in motion the possibility of my existence.

After all, it’s pretty miraculous. After working twelve-hour days in the fields, planting, cultivating and harvesting, they were exhausted after sunset, and must have had pretty good libidos to have worked up the energy to culminate the day with hanky-panky.

So for that I am grateful.

I know there are people who are very sentimental about their lineage and pay good money to acquire information on their family tree. But honestly, if I had known my ancestors, I would be very disappointed because they probably wouldn’t like me.

  • Their work ethic was stronger than mine–mainly because they had to survive. And I talk about words like “success.”
  • They died much younger than me from exhaustion and lack of healthy choices and medical care. During that shortened life span, they probably suffered more pain due to overexertion.
  • They had bigotries and prejudices which I would have found annoying or ignorant, which they might have misinterpreted as rude behavior.
  • Their spirituality was peppered with superstition instead of salted with knowledge and faith.
  • They controlled their lives through morality, which was regionally defined, and also locally monitored and enforced.
  • They weren’t in favor of new-fangled gadgets, often resisting them until such discoveries were forced on them by city councils or national laws.
  • My ancestors revered ignorance as a badge of honor and the symbol of their faithfulness to a God they truly did not understand.

There was much good about them. Their hard-headed, strong-willed and determined natures made it possible for them to survive the wilderness, which I now call a freeway.

But the disregard for the progress of history and the rights of people would have rendered me a radical and a renegade in their midst.

I believe it’s possible to be grateful and at the same time, fully aware that I was born in the right time and the right place to do the right thing–so that my descendants will not have to look back and giggle too much … at my stupidity. 

Donate Button

Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix

Anarchy

dictionary with letter A

Anarchy: (n) a state of disorder due to the absence or nonrecognition of authority.

Is there really order if the people or the powers that be in control have created emotional anarchy in those around them?

In other words, if people aren’t discovering freedom or contentment, is there any order? Or is the general disorder of being insensitive to humanity leaving the door open for necessary dissent?

And if that’s too difficult to understand, let me simplify it: if it ain’t workin’, why work it?

A certain amount of anarchy is necessary to create change.

As long as we are satisfied, lining up in straight columns to follow the existing standards, what chance is there for an inkling of insight to wiggle its way into the conversation?

  • Where is there injustice?
  • Where are there platitudes without purpose?
  • Where is there practice without reason?
  • Where do commandments get proclaimed without commanding us to improve our lives?

I think anarchy is one of those words created by people who love to maintain the status quo, making anyone who disagrees look like a renegade.

Actually, there’s no such thing as anarchy. There is legitimate change and illegitimate stupidity.

If we need it, it is not anarchy. If it is counter-productive to the human race, then it’s just dumb.

By this definition I would call myself an anarchist when it comes to organized religion.

I am an anarchist about the two-party system in our country.

I think the electoral college itself is anarchy.

I think the way men and women have allowed themselves to be segregated is anarchy manufactured by religion, politics and entertainment in order to plump up each existing demographic.

George Washington was an anarchist.

Abraham Lincoln certainly promoted anarchy.

Franklin Roosevelt’s work programs, were pure anarchy.

The gospel of Jesus Christ is anarchy born of spirit.

Nothing is going to happen in this country until anarchy has a chance to speak up without being cut off at the legs for being radical.

It’s time to review what we call “holy”… and see if it actually is making people whole.

Donate Button

Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix

Accomplice

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Accomplice: (n.) a person who helps another person commit a crime.

I have a piercing memory of the word “accomplice.”  In this recollection, I see the crimson cheeks of an angry principal at a high school, huffing at me, insisting that I was a criminal and that I had turned my ten-year-old little brother into an accomplice to my law-breaking.

At the time I believed that he was overwrought, but I was still intimidated by the dramatics.

You see, what happened was that I was supposed to get into the high school to set up some equipment for a performance. When I arrived, the janitor had not showed up. Being sixteen years of age, I patiently waited four minutes and then began to figure out the best way to enter the school without breaking glass or brick.

Someone had told me there was a window down near the back staircase where the boiler room was located which was always open, although it was extremely small and difficult to enter. Fortunately for me, I had brought my little brother who was more than willing to be on an adventure with his cooler older sibling.

I had no trouble finding the window and as promised, it was open. But there was no way in any kind of physical world of my awareness that I would be able to get MY frame through the tiny hole.

On the other hand, my little brother fit perfectly.

Here was the problem: the inside of the room where my little brother would be entering was dark, so it was impossible to determine how FAR it was from the window to the floor beneath. This did not deter me. After all, what good is a ten-year-old brother if not for experimentation?

So I lowered him through the window, holding his hand and reaching down as far as I could to suspend him. He whined up at me, “I still don’t feel the floor…”

My thought was, how much further could it BE? So I yelled back, “Hang on!”

And then I let go of his hand and he dropped.

Now, this younger brother was not a good athlete. He hit the floor hard, fell back and bumped his head on a nearby metal something-or-other. (After all, it was dark. Who could know?) He was dazed but was able to get to his feet, stumble up the stairs and open the door for me to enter.

But I didn’t consider that when the janitor DID arrive, he would be curious about how I entered the school without his key. I attempted a creative lie on the spot, but honestly, needed more time.

So I found myself standing in front of a screaming educator who wanted to impress on me that I was a renegade and a rascal and had involved my brother, making him an accomplice in this hideous crime.

Even though I did not believe it was nearly as serious as the principal insisted, I have since refused to participate in such capers and have never, to my knowledge, made anyone else an accomplice to my misdeeds.

That is, unless you want to count my wife–and the four mischievous sons we conjured.

Abbey Road

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter AAbbey Road: a road in northwestern London in England, west of Regents Park, the site of recording studios that are associated with the Beatles and other pop music figures.

John, Paul, Ringo and George were so upsetting to my parents that even though they were not religious people, both of them were convinced that the fab four collectively were the anti-Christ, even though my mom and dad were not all that pro-Christ themselves.

The "funeral procession" on the cove...

The “funeral procession” on the cover of Abbey Road (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I don’t know whether we’ll see another phenomenon like the Beatles in the next one hundred years. It was kind of the perfect storm of cultural upheaval. They had the look of anarchy with their long hair and pointed boots. They had the music of anarchy, which included blues chords taken directly out of the Mississippi Delta from the Negra culture. They had the habits of anarchy in the sense that they appeared to be clean-cut young men until you got close to them and found out that they were rather renegade. And they had the philosophy of anarchy because they didn’t believe that Jesus was as popular as they were.

I was not allowed to listen to the British invasion in my home as a youngster, but rather, had to escape over to Paul Morgenstern’s house to hear the wicked tunes on his radio. I was so obsessed with both the melodies and the general rebellion of being away from home and frolicking to the tunes that I took my clumsy, white, doughboy body and danced in their living room–until Paul’s mother walked in one day and caught me, and wasn’t sure whether to scream, giggle or run out the back door into the outhouse and hide.

I wasn’t invited back much after that. I kept up with the Beatles’ career by going to friends’ houses for overnight stays, where I would gluttonize on the hits, hoping that in the days of musical starvation to follow, I would be able to sustain myself.

My parents have since passed away, leaving behind adequate gravestones to mark their presence. Meanwhile, the Beatles failed to end the world, but instead, granted it a few moments of pleasure from their recording perch up there on Abbey Road.

It gives me pause today when I see people wrangling and wrestling over cultural phenomena–to stop for a moment and not participate simply because I am age-worthy.

It is rather doubtful that the world will end with a great rock and roll song. My guess would be the closing gavel at a political convention.