Archive for July, 2012

Manager vs. Negotiator

Posted on July 30, 2012. Filed under: KBR, Piss Ants | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , |

12th in the series The Great Cluster Fu…  A treatise on questionable journalism and pre-litigation practices

Your words for the day:

  • negotiator (1) = one who converses, bargains, or discusses with another in an attempt to reach an agreement (yourdictionary.com)
  • negotiator (2) = one who concludes a business transaction (yourdictionary.com)
  • manager = an individual who is in charge of a certain group of tasks (BusinessDictionary.com)

In the 5th installment of this series (The Truth Hurts), I posed three questions:  (1) Who the hell is he (Doyle Raiznor) representing, (2) who the hell is he trying to convince in the absence of a court room and jury, and (3) how much money does he expect to clear from this yellow journalism venture.  As to the client, Sparky mentions “several State National Guard Units” so that is probably Raiznor’s class-action gold mine.  That indirectly answers question number 3, in that the more claimants in a successful suit  THE GREATER THE LITIGATOR’S CUT.  That leaves just question number 2…

Who the hell is he trying to convince in the absence of a court room and jury?  In the words of the deceased scientist in Isaac Asimov’s classic, “I,Robot” (a Will Smith movie adaptation):  That, detective, is the right question.”

In the ordered setting of the judicial forum, claimant’s attorney presents his side of the argument, and the defendant’s attorney provides his side of the argument, each attempting to poke holes in the other’s claims.  That forum is presided over by a judge (a referee) in the presence of a jury which will vote on its perceptions of the opposing arguments.  For Raiznor, there’s the rub.

That ordered setting will glaringly show that, because of acts of war (you know, all that crap that can. and does, happen when you are trying to do a good job while other people are trying to kill you) and the contractual exceptions granted KBR by its client, the US of A., the claimants have no case at all.  Worse, plaintiff’s attorney has a short period of time to convince jurors who, like their clients, have had their lives abruptly impacted by government mandate.  UN-like their clients,  the jurors did not sign a contract beforehand permitting this unannounced inconvenience; they might not be receptive to “somebody-owes-me” arguments.  What’s a salty litigator to do:

 Well, there’s always jury tampering, but messing with jurors during a trial is considered unethical…   and…   in some circles…   HIGHLY ILLEGAL.  Super Dan’s retirement fund may be screaming for refreshment, but he is neither that greedy nor that stupid.  Besides, Danny Boy has been to the mountain-top and has experienced an epiphany:  If I can’t get to the impaneled jury, maybe I can taint the potential jury pool against KBR.

Since the exit of the Bush-Chaney administration and the back-off from KBR by Halliburton, negative criticism of KBR by the media has subsided considerably (no evening news hot-buttons).  Clearly The Press (with the big P) could not be counted on for pre-emptive bad-mouthing of his mark.  Gotta take matters into his own hands.

That fake deposition being touted by Sparky’s site looks for all the world like a draft of a possible strategy in attacking KBR’s defense in court.  For that purpose, it is totally legitimate.  But, Super Dan’s decision to use it in a reputation-smearing campaign against a possible court opponent clearly qualifies as unethical.  Those subpoenaed testimonies (reformatted, biased “explanations”  patched in,  packaged in  the tabloid presentation of a fictionalized “expose“) and a fake “news” site filled only with Doyle Raiznor anti-KBR propaganda have been posted on-line for months and years.  The purpose:  INSTILL THE PERCEPTION THAT KBR  CAN’T POSSIBLY BE RIGHT ABOUT ANYTHING.   The target audience:  THE POTENTIAL JURY POOL (that be the public) FOR ANY CIVIL SUITS AGAINST KBR.

And that brings us to the importance of manager versus negotiator.  One title implies “tight control” and the other, “free-wheeling  and dealing.”

Next up:  Hot-button offense

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Sparky Misfires

Posted on July 20, 2012. Filed under: KBR, Piss Ants | Tags: , , , , , , , , , |

11th in the series The Great Cluster Fu…   A treatise on questionable journalism and pre-litigation practices

Your words for the day:

  • agenda = somebody’s particular motive or bias
  • sleight  = cunning, trickery

When you are rabid about a single agenda, details and facts get overlooked.  I mentioned that Sparky is either illiterate or just doesn’t read what she puts up.  Case in point:  Mary Wade’s title.  It is right there on KBR documents that have gotten the internet spotlight.  Doyle Raiznor cites that title as “Senior Contract Negotiator” while Sparky one-ups him with her “Chief Contract Negotiator.”  Fact is, neither of those is, nor ever was, her title.

Senior Contracts Manager.  Yep!  That’s it.  Printed right there on those older documents from 2003.  That is still her title today.  (Just a heads-up to that dynamic duo, Spark-Igor and Franken-Raiznor:  Your long wait is over…   THE TELEPHONE HAS BEEN INVENTED!  Just in case you are concerned with accuracy…   a.k.a., the truth.)

But, accuracy was never the goal of either Spark-Igor or Franken-Raiznor.  Their goal has been to take the ordinary (KBR) and turn it into a monster-like, ravenous, corrupt thing that lives only to devour class-action hordes of litigation clients.  Effect is what they are after.  Sleight of word — subtle, and not so subtle, shadings of meaning — is the scalpel (or hammer) of choice. 

More from Sparky’s intro page monologue:

(1) “In the ongoing legal battle being waged by several State National Guard Units, (2) this video is pretty typical of what I’ve seen of KBR testimony  (3) about the role they played in exposing US and British soldiers, US and local civilians to deadly hexavalent chromium at Qarmat Ali.”

That’s a complete quote of that sentence.  These are my points:

(1)  Ongoing legal battle.  Let’s see how this “battle” goes:  Farmer Brown, the class-action litigator, takes his milking stool into the lobby of KBR’s legal department.  He presents his list of demands, most notably — in alphabetical order  — cash, dinero, dollars, euros, gold, Hong Kong dollars, lira…  he is not picky.  Other than that, not much else.  In response to KBR’s quizzical look and disbelieving, “Why?” he replied, “I just want some of that money you got.”  He was quickly shown the door.  But, that did not stop him from making several trips back with the same milking stool, same demand and the same result.  Farmer Brown thinks, “This is turning into a real battle.”   (2)  Typical video vs. KBR testimony.  The TESTIMONY of current KBR employees, taken by itself, reveals that all of them did their jobs (the one’s they were hired to do) as straightforwardly as possible.  Since their employment continued at least through the taking of depositions, “exemplary” might be a word used by their supervisors.  The TYPICAL VIDEO Sparky vigorously touts is an after-market, FICTICIOUS offering by Doyle Raiznor that is a blatant effort to rewrite what each has said to accommodate Raiznor’s off-beat strategy — the claim that what actually happened in the combat theater had its roots in Houston, Texas, before the Qarmat Ali cleanup effort.  Hopefully, he could convince enough jurors that an event precipitated by, and occurring in, a hot combat war zone half-way around the world, really took place in the corrupt board rooms of capitalism.  You know, in the US of A.  (3)  The role that KBR played in the exposure to hexavalent chromium.  To borrow Doyle Raiznor’s quote, I really didn’t have to do any research to answer this one:  It wasn’t KBR’s war.  It wasn’t KBR’s real estate.  It wasn’t KBR’s water plant.  It wasn’t KBR’s toxic spill site.  It wasn’t KBR’s initiative to refurbish the ruin.  It wasn’t KBR’s decision to use US and British soldiers to protect civilians doing the reclamation.  It wasn’t KBR’s decision to have the work done down-range from hot combat operations.  So, I would say, just as a matter of idle speculation you understand, THAT KBR PLAYED NO ROLE IN EXPOSING ANYONE TO THE TOXIN.  And, for your blood-thirsty bent, Sparky, I would suggest you pay attention to the real news every now and then.  Maybe you missed it (being so busy with witch-hunting and all) but, the monster that made all of that happen was dug out of a spider-hole and got to be the guest of honor at an old-fashioned neck-tie party.  And you didn’t get prime rights to the video.  Tsk, tsk.

Personally, I think KBR has a good claim against the US of A because it sent in a bunch of whining week-end-warriors apparently not considered good enough for real combat duties:  We’re sorry, KBR, but, our A-Team is out giving Saddam what-for; we don’t want you to hire dedicated mercenaries as guards, so we’ll give you our finest B-Team — The National Lampoon Guard.  Obviously, the joke’s on KBR, but, only Sparky and Doyle are laughing.

Next up:  Manager vs. Negotiator

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Sparky: A Legend In Her Own Mind

Posted on July 14, 2012. Filed under: KBR, Piss Ants | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , |

10th in the series The Great Cluster Fu…  A treatise on questionable journalism and pre-litigation practices.

Your words for the day:

  • cryptid = rumored — but unproven — to be real
  • kangaroo court = a pretend trial delivering a pre-determined judgement
  • megalomania = unbridled greed for power / a psychiatric disorder
  • shit = I’ll not be so condescending as to define it, but, I can observe that it emanates from Sparky’s mouth

Right off, let’s jump on those last two words.  Says Sparky’s website:  “I strive to live my life in such a way that when my feet hit the floor in the morning corrupt defense contractors shudder and say, “OH SHIT  …SHE’S AWAKE”  Ms.Sparky(TM)

My humble observations: 

  1. I guess the search for that cryptid (an unbiased reporter-blogger) continues.
  2. She has extremely large feet.  If her feet are not the reputed size of the Hulk’s dogs (size 87, per Wikipedia) how could  anyone down the street from her padded cell bedroom hear her escape dismount her nightly restraining device bed?  (It would be one of those shoes my Muse hit me with in the previous post.)
  3. If she really thinks that multi-billion dollar contractors actually tremble just because she is looking for an unused can of spray paint to vandalize their reputations, this babe has serious power-complex issues (megalomania) complicated by delusions of grandeur (check out that trademark on her blogger title).
  4. You read it:  “shit” came straight out of her mouth.
  5. What’s with this fetish for “corrupt” defense contractors?  Are corrupt lawyers, bankers, politicians, et alia, really cool with her?  Or, is her hatred of certain defense contractors politically motivated?  Maybe she is still sulking over the loss of her favorite cadavers…   candidates!…   her favorite candidates from elections that go back nearly a decade.  That would be my guess…  humble though it be.

Let’s get to the way Ms. Sparky(TM) has chosen to display the opening page of her collaboration with Doyle Raiznor, et al.  It is reminiscent, to me, of televised publicity stunts by terrorists or revolutionaries in banana republics (yes, that is meant to be derogatory) — saber-rattling in lieu of floor stomping so those in power will tremble and say, “OH SHIT …SHE’S AWAKE!”…   or something equally as dreadfully foreboding.  Those disenfranchised outs, who desperately want to be franchised ins so they can deal properly with anyone who disagrees with them, typically like to have a back drop displaying their slogans and righteous objectives while reading off a list of “crimes” against workers of the world by government leaders and all those other people who are just plain smarter than they.  “Boy, when we get the power, you will all get a “fair” trial just before we execute you.”   …the kangaroo court thing.

Sparky, who is apparently an amateur geneticist, sort of married all those techniques.  She has that scroll-like banner dropped vertically along one side of the screen and a picture of someone (who happens to be an awful lot smarter than she has ever dreamed of being) displayed as an effigy of evil.  Surprisingly, Sparky has not been so vain as to wear a turban or such, or dress in rough, rebel regalia, or have a shot of herself standing in front of the banner-poster-picture holding a long list of grievances — while robed in rough, rebel regalia.  Nor does she actually behead/or execute someone on camera.  Does this mean that she can talk the talk, but can’t walk the walk?  (I hate sports clichés, but, that little puppy just begged to get out for a walk.)  For non-sports enthusiasts,  is she just a blowhard?

On the banner, she alludes to wrong doings (no specifics), states her horror at what the money-hungry litigator has been feeding her about Qarmat Ali and it’s evil-doers, then reveals her streak of sadism mixed with a tinge of homicidal tendencies:  she thinks “someone or several someones* should be sent to prison” for high crimes (which carry the death penalty)** BASED SOLELY ON HER CACHE OF DARKLY TWISTED PREJUDICES.

And, Sparky either can’t read or just doesn’t bother to read what she is posting on her malcontent’s wall.  If an item has a negative feel toward her private hatreds, it goes up.  Even tweak it if the mood strikes.  Old Super Dan (the dandy litigator) changed Mary Wade’s title to better fit his little fantasy tale;  Bigfoot Sparky jumped in and changed Super Dan’s change.  I can thank both of you charlatans for illustrating graphically just exactly what you are up to.

Next up:  Sparky misfires

 * This example of bad grammar is all hers.

**Well, if that is how we are playing, Sparky, I’ve got a few candidates myself for the dungeon and guillotine.  Crimes?  Not really.  Just journalistic pandering and unethical litigator practices.  You know, stuff that irritates the crap out of ME.  Are you and Doyle busy next weekend?  Meet me at the front door to the Bastille.  It’s in France.  Down from the Rue morgue.  Just your kind of place.

 

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The Great Cluster Fu…

Posted on July 9, 2012. Filed under: Journalism, KBR, MIM4.5a, Piss Ants | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , |

9th in the series THE GREAT CLUSTER FUSION.  Shazam! What did you think that title would be?   …Oh!  Yeah.  I can see that, but, I’m trying to maintain a certain level of decorum here.  However, if it pleases you, hold on to your version.  I know I will.

“GREAT CAESAR’S GHOST!  WHAT KIND OF BIZZARO COMIC PRODUCTION IS THIS?”  Our guest analyst, folks.  The irrepressible Perry White of the Daily Planet, a major news player in Metropolis, ….  ???  (Nobody ever mentioned what state, did they??)  Anyway, it’s an unauthorized gig on his part since we didn’t get permission from whoever holds his publicity rights.  But, they’ll get over it.  Just tell their litigators I’m an individual who carries his net worth around in his pocket…   the one without a hole in it, usually… 

… Betcha I become invisible in record time.  It’s not like I’m some multi-billion dollar corporation getting a lot of unjustified and persistent bad publicity, say…   like…   KBR.  Bad publicity and unfounded  accusations either perpetuated by, or generated by, persons and factions with axes to grind…   say, a losing political party trying to get back on track, voters who backed a losing horse and couldn’t get a winning number even after numerous recounts (and the vast majority of them can’t get a winning lottery number in anything else, either), journalists afflicted with Pulitzer fever cashing in on the perceived ambient populace mood, and litigators who aren’t so high-minded — they’re just blatantly going for the gold (ore, not medal).

What turned Editor White apoplectic (I know!  That’s his standard coping mechanism.  Use it myself most of the time.) was the unbelievable cluster fu…  (WAIT!  We decided to go with “fusion” didn’t we?  … Right!) the unbelievable cluster fusion I have been working toward dissecting since I started this blog back in February.  (Yeah, Sparky (TM), I have to admit you have been on my mind a lot.)  When I first saw Sparky(TM)’s display (the so-called “shocking deposition of current and former KBR employees”), I was appalled at such an unethical use (you know, take it out of chambers and turn it into a reputation-smearing campaign way ahead of any court room litigation)  of court-mandated discovery testimony. 

The more I looked at it, the more things just didn’t add up.  The current KBR employees were straightforward, offering testimony that revealed, in essence, only routine and standard business practices and  absolutely nothing derogatory.  The ONLY derogatory “information” came from the voice-over ADDED AFTER THE FACT by that goofy-looking gold prospector, the silent film-era dialogue boards ADDED AFTER THE FACT between obviously edited video segments, and the hear-say “testimony” of two former (and you gotta ask, “Why are they former?”) KBR employees.  Neither of those is-this-my-15-minutes-of-fame? contestants were privy to any of the events they were “rebutting.”  It is as though they were carefully coached by Danny Boy who seems to have provided one of them with the material being testified to.

About then,  my Muse hit me over the head with the biggest clod-hopper boot I’ve ever seen (more later about that).  I said, “Duh?” and she pointed me to the insignia on the toe:  Sparky(TM).  Suddenly, I was hit with an idea (I don’t think my Muse threw another unfortunate steer at me):  This Sparky(TM) display is loaded with everything I hate about the news/information media:  Sensationalism, rumor, inaccuracies, unfounded accusations, reputation smearing, soap opera approach to real life stuff, AND THE UNSPOKEN PERSONAL INSULT THAT I AND THE REST OF THE CITIZENS OF THIS COUNTRY ARE SO STUPID AND SELF-INDULGENT THAT WE WILL BUY ANYTHING THEY SIMPLY TELL US TO BUY.   So, why don’t I just turn my bad attitude and irritation loose on this crap?  Hmmmmmmmmm!  (That’s a tribute to a police officer with whom I worked for several years.  If he should ever read this, he will know exactly what that means.) 

Next up:  On a roll.  No time to think.  But it’ll be something unkind about Sparky(TM)

Tags:  Mary L. Wade, KBR, Doyle Raizner, Ms. Sparky, Pismires, Qarmat Ali

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Digressions: MIM4.5a – A Very Special Lady

Posted on July 8, 2012. Filed under: General Interest, MIM4.5a | Tags: , , , , |

Your word for the dayetch = to leave a clear and distinct impression

Water, one drop at a time, striking a rock in the same place over an extended period, will etch a pattern into it.  The water, though soft, is persistent; the rock, though hard, must acquiesce.

With my inner sanctum closed for business, I permitted only superficial relationships or contacts with others.  No more need for spiritual anesthetics and bandages.  And, then

At my new day job (one that paid) some years ago, I and two colleagues (also new) were in the building lobby when one of the veteran employees came in.  I supposed she was waiting to meet someone, but, after a bit, I spoke to her.  She responded with a smile and a twinkle in her eye.  My colleagues joined in, and, for about 5 minutes, we interrogated our cornered quarry without letup.  But, she was genial, catching every volley and returning each with that twinkle and (…amused?) smile.

That encounter left me with an enduring picture.  This Lady of the Lobby was at ease, and in no way intimidated by our persistence.  Her easy demeanor and steady gaze shouted self-assurance.  That got my attention, but, I think that first drop of MIM landed on me, right there in that lobby, the instant I learned that she was the adventurer that I had always dreamed I would be — a major part of her duties took her to exotic destinations around the world.  The best I could muster in the exotic travel circuit was a stint in Bangkok, Thailand, and the most in commonality I could offer was knowledge of the big traffic circle in the middle of that city.  She was strong of character, and living my dream.  From the get-go, I was going to be an easy target for that slow drip.   

Wonder no further about my frequent references to wines from Georgia (the country, not the state);  it’s because she expressed a liking for them.

In the several years since the lobby event, my interactions with this Lady were very sparse, consisting mostly of “good mornings” and a brief update on where she had traveled, and there was a running joke on my rainmaking “skills.”  For the most part, her movements through my field of awareness were like a vagrant ray of sunshine on a partly cloudy day, appearing when and where it deigned.  When the ray moved on, I never chased it; I knew, without a doubt, it would find me again in its own time and share its warmth, even if it was, typically, for only a couple of minutes once a week.  The best things are worth waiting for.

WOE IS ME!  Social isolation and the avoidance of my traitorous emotions failed to protect me — I became addicted to the certainty of my sun ray’s very brief appearances.  But, business is dynamic; it changes.  Workplace convenience removed my sunshine.  Break out the Ronstadt CD.

I consoled my loss with a little research, which shed a different light on that first lobby encounter.  In the big, corporate scheme of things, those three nosy interrogators were at the bottom of the corporate food chain — field mice, as it were.  I had seen a couple of my pay stubs, so, I already knew that, but, I didn’t know that our “cornered” quarry was, in comparison, a corporate eagle.  A daunting disparity.

That research pointed out just how special this Lady is.  Neither in that lobby nor any conversation she ever had with me, did she talk down to any of us.  SHE RESPECTED US.   The other kicker is, I never knew just what her job duties entailed.  I knew her title, just not how it was applied.  Turns out, she has considerable responsibility for corporate assets, a responsibility that is ever-present and entailed an absolutely killer travel schedule.  And, the part that makes me really proud to have known her?  She doesn’t report to an “office” office.  The best description would be shark tank.  That easy smiling, lady-in-the-lobby-with-a-twinkle-in-the-eye, is a corporate shark handler…   business sharks, legal sharks, government sharks.  Equal opportunity handling.  Judging from her tenure, a damn good one, too.  There is no doubt that she found those three little field mice quite amusing.  My Lady of the Lobby, “special” doesn’t begin to describe you.

Elan.  Strength.  Endurance.  Of such is the motivator that I call MIM.

Through no action from either of us, she is etched into me in that deep recess where I will not allow anyone to be.  Not even myself.  There are emotions in there that can totally overwhelm.  So, I’ll just pull up a chair here, outside that forbidden room…   just in case a random ray of sunshine escapes…   I sure don’t want to miss that.   Hmmmmm…   maybe just a little closer…

Yeah, I know.  I’m a pathetic mess.  But, somehow, I’ve never felt better.

Next up:  Resuming The Great Cluster Fu…

Stand by, Sparky!  Comin’ your way.  Oh, and when you’re done with Doyle’s boots, could you do mine?  Good boot-licks are hard to find.

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Digressions: MIM4.5a – To My Surprise

Posted on July 6, 2012. Filed under: MIM4.5a | Tags: , , , , , , , |

Your word for the dayabdicate = relinquish; hand over

For most of my life, whim and impulse have been the motivators of my undertakings.  No guiding Muse to fire me up, set my direction, and approve or disapprove my achievement…   if you don’t count “self-satisfaction as an entity.

Today, I find myself in possession ofwell, more accurately, possessed by — a motivator that is so close in character to being a real-life, bona fide Muse that I have felt compelled to name her.  That would be MIM4.5a (Don’t try to make sense of that; it is strictly between me and MIM…   at least, it would be between us if she even knew about it.)   It’s sort of like that tattoo in the song “Margaritaville” because, even though she’s a real beauty, I haven’t a clue how she got here (with apologies to Jimmy Buffett). 

Ever lose something and not know that you ever had it?  Really, how do you even become aware of such a thing?  A sudden vacuum?  An absence of the usual?  You only know that a very elusive something is dragging you down, and, you can’t put your finger on it.  Eventually, you suspect the source of the aching, but, in the world of rationality, there is no reason you should be missing it.  Two or three months of Ronstadt’s “Long, Long Time” playing on a loop serves only to accentuate the “loss” while doing absolutely nothing to explain either the why or the nature of Longing’s dark, tide-like surges.

And, then, you start doing things that you only planned to do before...   for a very long time, you have been planning to do them.  Out of malaise, a burgeoning need to do, a need for approval…   but…   whose approval?

In the most remote recess of psyche, there is a cleft, a place where precious few are permitted.  Here, in a region that oscillates between nothingness and sentiency, the quintessential SELF begins.  In a soup of emotions, urges, and purposes, SELF works to assemble its identity, learning quickly that, as a member of a dual-gender life form, it is only half of that equation;  thus, courtship and an active effort to entice another to share this sanctuary.  But, sometimes, it’s a lot easier; the other just barges in and sets up shop.  One becomes smitten, as it were, and abdicates the throne of SELF.  A joyful descent from absolute master to willing servant.  Twice, I have submitted to that access.  Twice that place became a shambles, a pitiful reflection of my emotional condition.  And, after a lengthy recovery period, I said, “Never again.”  Filled it with rubble.  Locked it.  Sealed it.  Stayed the hell away from it.

Became a hermit.  A crabby one, too.  Didn’t need that kind of pain anymore.  Yet, here, in quiet reflection, I view this once abandoned realm, this scene of former abasements.  In wonder, I view the whirlwind bustling about the old place, purposefully tidying, dusting, tossing, refurbishing…    all without consulting me and in total oblivion of my presence.  She doesn’t know she is here, and — given my predilection for solitude — I truly don’t know how or when she got in there.  But, I must say, I like it.

I finally took Ronstadt’s CD off that player loop.  The aching is still here, but it has muted somewhat.  I think I may have figured out how this situation arose…   maybe.  So, indulge me just one more “digression” before we get back to The Great Cluster Fu…

Next up:  MIM4.5a – One drop at a time

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Digressions: Where No Foot Has Trod

Posted on July 2, 2012. Filed under: General Interest, MIM4.5a, Philosophy | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , |

Your word for th daymuse = someone who is a source of inspiration

The old Greeks had them. Muses, I mean.  In earlier posts, I touched on them, even if somewhat irreverently.  For the Ancients, they explained what moved that most remote recess of Self, the mysterious Psyche, to elicit from it the creative urges and even the dark manifestations that we call the  human spirit.

For most of my life, I didn’t have a Muse.  But, I had a love of poetry, so I guess you could say that Erato was my nominal, default Muse.  In verse, I could take “the road less traveled,” and “rise with eagles” to “touch the face of God.”  By finding reflections of my own inexpressible feelings toward this torture we call Life, it gave comfort that I had fellow travelers on a journey I just knew would, somehow, end badly.  But, what the heck…   eat, drink, and be merry…   right?

In spite of the Muses, in spite of the poetry, not all that emanates from the Psyche is definable.  There is the unexplained, a pathos that darkens the soul, a heaviness that ensconces the heart making its every beat a Herculean task.  An aching that surges to unbearable fullness, then ebbs, only to surge again; a vast emptiness that hovers just beyond feeling, where echoes fade like  diaphanous whispers into infinite nothingness. 

A poem I memorized decades just a few years ago often surfaces during my own musings.  The third verse of Each in His Own Tongue by William Herbert Carruth (1859-1924) captures that feeling; at least, it has for me:                     

Like tides on a crescent sea beach, when the moon is new and thin, into our hearts high yearnings come welling and surging in;  come from the mystic ocean, whose rim no foot has trod.  Some call it longing, and others call it God.

Yearning.  Longing.  A deep, aching feeling devoid of anything that could define it.  When all is said and done, is this the total eulogy that Life will intone for each of us?

Next up:  MIM4.5a

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