where do fools come from?.?.?.

I was born moments after Jimmy Carter officially ordered his staff to discontinue flushing the White House toilets in anticipation of Ronald Reagan’s impending arrival in Washington, DC. This was a longstanding tradition at 1600 Penn Ave, and no indicator of malice toward the incoming administration. Eight years later it was Ronald’s turn to issue the traditional orders halting the flushing of WH toilets to tweak his friend George, who, four years after that would do the same to an acquaintance of his named Bill. Unfortunately for White House tradition, Bill got stoned and forgot to issue the ceremonial orders. Toilets were flushed, remnants lost, and a tradition destroyed. Damn junkies.

Bill didn’t totally abandon the tradition of playing a prank on the president-elect. However, it is not true he had all ‘W’ keys removed from White House Keyboards. He simply had them turned upside down and the next administration never did figure out why all the keyboards had two M’s and no W’s. If they did, it was after the lease had been been signed & Bill was free to return to his lovely, charming, and caring wife. I’m not sure, but I think they lived happily ever after.

While this has nothing whatsoever to do with my background or biography, there is more to the story of presidential pranks. Supposedly, when Barack received the front door & mail keys from George II, he found out George had totally misunderstood the tradition. It was later leaked via unnamed sources that George II told Barack that he’d spent eight years leaving floaters in all the White House toilets, assuming “that’s just how things are done in Washington.”

That’s a story for another day. My own life has been somewhat more circumspect than leaving shit floating around the bowl for the next guy to deal with. While various presidents participated in secret White House toilet traditions, I wandered the country trying to find a place to fit in never quite sure what it was I wanted to fit in to. I spent most of my youth wondering why everyone but me seemed to have some idea of what was going on; I assumed someone would clue me in when the time was right. It never happened, but hope springs eternal. Eventually, I realized nobody actually knew what was going on, but some played pretend better than others.

After high school, I’d exhausted all the free education available and moved on to study advanced basket weaving at one of those large state land grant universities on borrowed money. The ROI was low, but the degree tremendously useless, unless you needed to weave a basket, in which case the value cannot be understated. Most of university was spent trying to explain to various professors & administrators why a few broken rules here and there did not warrant the amount of fuss everyone was making and wouldn’t we all be happier if we just live and let live?

Sometime during this time period I started writing more regularly outside of school assignments, but the records were lost or destroyed when an ex-girlfriend went crazy as a rat in a tin shit-house. Seems she could no longer limit herself to cheating on me with people, and began using inanimate objects. Man… that was a mess.

It wouldn’t be until much later that I realized getting an arts degree from an engineering school was the perfect metaphor for both mainstream education in America as well as my existence in general. As for education in America, I’m sure it exists, but it has the same relative value that a 4th toe would have for a three toed sloth. As for existence, well, what isn’t it? With that in mind, while grad school and debt-for-life sounded enjoyable, life headed in another direction entirely.

I lost a number of years roaming the country, learning things like how to properly raise purple maize, the meaning of omphaloskepsis, and various derivations of outdated 19th century addict slang. I also learned the difference between ambling & moseying but lost it in a bet with some guy I met at a support group meeting for ex members of the British Union for the Abolition of Vivisection. He laughed as he moseyed off, or perhaps as he ambled. I don’t know which but the experience was worth it; had I won the bet his leather jacket would have been mine, though still 2 sizes too small.

And so here we are today. I still write, unlike Arthur Digby Sellers, and occasionally find mirth in unexpected places. Something like a million stories stand between birth and death, and just like everyone else, I have no idea where in the process I am. When all else fails, I fall back on Twains’ advice and everything usually comes out close to okay.

7 Responses to “where do fools come from?.?.?.”

  1. Scent of my heart Says:

    I really like to add you to my blog-roll! I honestly enjoy your words, the few pieces that I’ve read gave me few new things to think about! So what name do I write you as there? Caribbean Fool?The fool’s back pocket?

    • Wow, I totally must have missed this comment. My bad. Go for it, maybe use The Fool’s Back Pocket but feel free to do as ye list, as our more responsible citizens would tell you. Sorry again for missing this.


  2. i somehow became unsubscribed from your blog:( I knew I hadnt seen any new posts lately and I had not heard from you either. So I was thrilled to receive your wonderful comment on my poem “wintersweet”. i love when someone interprets them for themselves and finds other/diff meanings. i encourage you to share them with me anytime! 🙂 as far as sharing the link with your friend… OF COURSE! i would be honored to have you pass it along 🙂

    • Awesome! Yeah, I have been trying to find more time to write (damn people always wanting to ‘do things’ in the ‘real world’ lol. Anyhow, good to hear from you and it is always enjoyable to swap poetry. Feel free to swing through anytime,


  3. Caribbean Fool / Brown Sweaters
    Opposite ends of the spectrums
    Heat vs cold
    Abandon vs tradition

    Is that why I’m interested?

    • Hope so, but let us not do dualism, it is too vulgar and not fit for true poets like ourselves. Hmmm, you tell me; are you interested? Hope so. Take care & keep away from dualism!


  4. I prefer Lucky Strikes to Camels but I do still have my one Rasta Beaded necklace. Nice blog. Cool story.

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