Curate

Curate: (v) to take charge, organize or select content for presentation or publication

You don’t have to wait for spring cleaning.

Any good sunny afternoon will do.

Drive down a residential street and you will find things that people have pushed, shoved and even carried from their houses, sitting next to the road—as trash, ready to be toted away.

Some of it has earned its relegation to the Kingdom of Trash. But other items are just portions of the household that aren’t used anymore—discarded as junk.

You can pick up some treasures. I have found myself doing that.

I curate.

It doesn’t make me a curator, but in this throw-away generation, I find myself cruising the neighborhoods of Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram and the like, finding huge piles of values and ideas that used to be regarded as beautiful, or at least workable, sitting in the Out Box, declared spam.

Civility used to be applauded. But now it seems anemic in the presence of the onslaught of aggressive accusation.

You can go anywhere on Facebook and find a trashed version of the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you—and find that it still polishes up quite nicely.

One by one, we have taken institutions and ideas that have lasted for millennia and made sure they were gone from memory—by next Tuesday.

Things like sympathy, empathy, poetry, sentiment, reflection, journaling.

Even record albums and CDs are disappearing.

Books look like dinosaurs marching to the mark-down bins.

Part of this is being done in ignorance, but most of it is the influence of negativity, wishing to wipe out sensitivity by deeming it weak and stupid.

I suppose you can join the crowd and stack your shit for flushing.

Or you might want to take a second to wonder if simply enjoying something for its feeling–which has existed since Eden and now is considered passé on Instagram—would be worth tucking it away like an old sweater that is ready to give warmth on the next very chilly morning.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Crocodile

Crocodile: (n) a reptile of the genus Crocodylus, found in sluggish waters and swamps of the tropics

They know.

We know.

Everybody knows.

I was invited to a party one night in Jacksonville, Florida.

It was a rich family that had a beautiful bungalow out next to the ocean. I don’t know how I rated this invitation.

Let’s just assume I was in my lucky mode.

When I arrived, I got out of my car and was chatting to a friend when the owner of the bungalow came out and said, “You might want to come inside.”

Being young and full of a fair mixture of piss and vinegar, I questioned, “Why is that?”

He quickly explained that there were crocodiles in the area. He didn’t even get the words out of his mouth before we looked up, and there, probably twenty yards away, was one of the six-foot monstrosities, inching along the grass toward the marsh.

Now let me tell you what I felt.

My immediate human instinct was, “We are never to meet.”

Crocodiles and human beings were never meant to cohabitate.

Suddenly, the croc turned and looked in my direction—at least it appeared he did—and I could tell that he felt exactly the same way. He looked at me, as a human, the same way I looked at him as a crocodile. “What the hell??”

So even though I stepped lively toward the bungalow to join the party, he just as quickly headed off to the marsh to link with whatever friends he might have had.

You see, nature is not screwed up.

The crocodile is certainly stronger than me, and probably, in a one-on-one fight, would win. But there is something in his evolution that tells him to get the hell away from me.

Crocodiles don’t like people any more than people want to be eaten by crocodiles.

It’s just like we know that it’s not right for us to pollute the skies.

The skies should have very few things in them: clouds, sun, stars, other planets… Maybe heaven.

But not black billowing smoke from tailpipes on automobiles and smokestacks on factories.

We know this.

We know that when we have trash in our car, we’re not supposed to throw it out onto the grass. It would be wonderful if the grass could speak and say, ‘What in the hell are you doing?”

But all the grass can do is be embarrassed that we’ve cluttered up its space.

We know stuff. We do.

Just as the crocodile has an instinct to stay away from human beings, there is an instinct in us—to treat nature properly, with great respect.

I’m not going to go out and kill crocodiles because I’m afraid they’re going to eat me. Basically, when a crocodile sees me, he thinks to himself, “What the shit? When did THEY move into the neighborhood?”

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

 


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Contraception

Contraception: (n) the deliberate prevention of conception or impregnation by any of various drugs, techniques, or devices; birth control

The purpose of contraception is to prevent babies.

The other two options—coming up with no form of preventing babies, or killing babies—are not quite as appealing.

If you’re going to love babies, children or your offspring, you must be adept at preventing them.

An unwanted baby cries louder.

An unwanted baby seems to have more problems with teething.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

An unwanted baby interferes with your life.

An unwanted baby seems to be maliciously determined to make you angry.

An unwanted baby doesn’t know it’s unwanted and feels it should be treated like the king or queen of the world.

Throughout history, there have been many attempts to figure out ways to prevent children, so that the status of being unwanted will not turn them into depressed, angry adolescents.

So, to my Catholic brothers and sisters, I will explain that the era when no contraception was being taught, and having an additional child meant merely placing another potato on the dinner platter, is long gone.

Children are expensive and very opinionated, and if they’re not wanted, they begin to resemble the clutter of trash. But by the same token, once they’ve been placed in their mother’s body and life begins to flow through them, they are not disposable.

We should constantly be working on contraception for both men and women. It provides the option of preventing children from being born who become angry and dangerous because they never felt that they were desired.


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Collect

Collect: (v) to bring or gather things

I collect.

I grab my basket and step into life, picking up things that suit my fancy, meet my needs or stir my soul.

From democracy I collect the value of personal freedom.

I collect a wisp of meditation from the Buddhists.

I collect tenderness, mercy and endurance from my sisters.

I collect devotion to country from communist China.

I realize the danger of eating too much pork from my Muslim brethren.

I collect the value of play from the children encircling me.

I collect my thoughts by rejecting my prejudices.

I collect the true history of my life by quieting the ideas I wish to promote.

I collect fruits and vegetables at a good price at Aldi.

I collect the power of the Golden Rule from my friend, Jesus.

I collect a searching, inquiring and probing mind from my atheist friends.

I collect a respect of science from God.

And I collect a respect for God from science.

I collect things that other people think are meaningless so I can have a personal treasure in my heart.

I collect a respect for things old, current and even those things which sniff of the future.

I stand in awe of Earth as I collect my trash and throw it in the garbage instead of allowing it to go “blowin’ in the wind.”

I collect my anger and force it into a small box, where it doesn’t think it is bigger than it actually is.

I collect those little boxes of anger and open them up in my private times to address the concerns.

I collect passion for my dreams.

And I collect dreams to welcome passion.

I am a collector.

Not much of what I collect has a dollar value.

Yet all of what I collect is valuable.

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Cohabit

Cohabit: (v) to live together

Even though, like any “Frosty poet,” I enjoy a good walk in the woods, there is something that interfaces with me as I feel pine needles under my soles: all the creatures of nature are a little bit frightened of me as a human being because I’m a horrible roommate.

I don’t honor my space. Sometimes I’m late on the rent. I cook up things and leave dishes behind.

And I spread my trash everywhere, assuming that it will be taken care of by either other beings, or time and chance.

So there is a look in the eye of the racoon and a squint from the squirrel that tells me they have no intention of relinquishing their right to the ecosystem. They will fight like hell if I attack their nest or if I suggest they should be ousted from their dens.

There is a palpable defiance mingled with a pleading in their glance.

“Come on, you dumb shit. Can’t you just get along? Can’t you co-habitate with us? Do we have to growl, bite, and escape all of your plans to eliminate our species?”

Nature is kind of pissed with human beings. Why?

  • We decide to blame God, even though there’s a natural order which was put in place billions of years before any of us urped up our first mother’s milk.
  • We are so pretentious.
  • We are so easily offended.
  • We are the Mother-Earth-children of all brattiness.

Because the truth is, we aren’t satisfied with scrunching salmon and terrifying tigers. We start doing it to each other–using a color code. Sometimes it’s based upon evaluating genitalia.

But because we can’t cohabit the Earth with the turtle, we suddenly find ourselves very intolerant of those of our own race–who like to take things a little slower.

 

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Boiling

Boiling: (v) to bring a liquid to the temperature at which it bubblesDictionary B

It’s not that we forget old sayings, nor that they’re proven to be untrue, but rather, that their validity annoys us so much that we punish them and cast them into obscurity.

“A watched pot never boils.”

This is an adage.

I would venture to say that the average person under the age of thirty would not only be unfamiliar with this premise, but also baffled as to the logic of its meaning.

Why, you may ask?

Because we have convinced ourselves that waiting for things to happen–becoming impatient with the length of time involved and finally frustrated–is normal human behavior.

I don’t know why we can’t take the truths discovered by one generation and carry them into the next, while dispelling the superstition and silliness–but apparently if someone over the age of forty thought it, we just throw it in the trash.

Human beings suck at waiting.

If we’re told there will be a ten minute delay, after forty-two seconds, we are convinced we have been waiting a half-hour.

The only way to wait for anything is not to wait for it.

So if you put a pot of water on the stove to boil, it knows its job. Leave the room and let it boil.

The happiest you will ever be is when you realize that you’re not as capable as you think you are.

Then you can work with your frailty toward a realistic solution instead of insisting that the damn pot is taking longer this time.

 

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