From Inside The Sane Asylum...Lady Jane

Conversation Between Dr. Ego Prozac and Jess. B. Rambling

July Full Moon

Jess: Doc, I can't join you to witness the July full moon. A family

matter requires that I do more than nothing for a change. My

cousin, Buck, showed up today and requires attention. 

You remember him; the high strung one. He barged in and

announced that he needed sanctuary for a few days. I said,

"Buck, you're not an illegal immigrant. Why do you need

sanctuary?". 

He tells me that he is quite anxious about the approaching Buck Moon and that I have to help him. I tell him, "It's just another full moon, full of lore as are most full moons".

He thinks it's much more than that. He's convinced he needs to

hide from this full moon because they've named it for him and

there is to be a lunar eclipse as well. I suggested that we find

him a cave, but he said he'd already checked on that. He claims

the nearest one, Blanchard Caves in central Arkansas, doesn't

allow visitors after dark.

I have him sedated for the time being and have ordered

blindfolds from Amazon Prime for the big evening so that he

won't witness the lunar eclipse of the Buck Moon. I don't trust

him to keep his eyes closed.

If we make it through the night, I'm going to let him borrow my

outfit and have convinced the local Jaycees to let him lead the

annual Watermelon Parade the next day. You know the old

adage, "When being run out of town, strut to the head of the line

and act like it's a parade".

PS...In one of his more lucid moments, Buck said he knew why

Dado had to change his name. Said it was because he seldom

had any Zippidy about him.

Doc: Jess... tell Buck not to worry. This dual thing is over

exaggerated. Mercury will be in retrograde so it want be as bad

as he thinks. You see, Mercury is a planet in space and

retrograde is a place in space that Mercury sometimes goes to.

It’s sort of a beta space, like a little embankment or like the out of

bounds area on a sports field. Mercury is still in space, but it’s in

retrograde, so, y’know, kind of on its heels. And since Mercury is

usually a really confident guy (planet), when he is feeling not his

best, it throws all of us off, too. It’s like Mercury is constipated or

has jock itch and we can’t look to him as our alpha, so we go

bananas. Then we catch ourselves being crazy and we go,

“Whup – Mercury must be in retrograde.” That is what “Mercury

in retrograde” means. I’m pretty sure.

I consulted Lady Jane, that psychic lady out on Hwy 80. You

know the one. You went in there one night in one of your rarest

moments. As I recall she ask you your name and you quickly

remarked, “I thought you were a psychic?”

Anyway, she suggested that Buck just tattoo open eyes on his

eyelids. That way it looks like he is awake when he is sleeping.

PS...If all fails, you could just have him change his name. Seemed to work for Dado (aka...Zippidy Do Da).

Two Clown Collaboration 

Inside The Sane Asylum...Do.da.Day

Butt Calling and other odd things...
Did I ever tell you about my good friend Dado? Didn’t think so...it’s a made up name of course. His real name is Doda, like in do.da.day, but all his friends just call him Dado. A man of his caliber should not be called Doda day. He is the resident photographer for The Sane Asylum and I feature some of his photography from time to time. Well, Dado called me the other day and told me one of his hysterical experiences. It started something like this...

“Doc...have you ever heard of Butt Calling?”

“Why no Dado? Why do you ask?”

“Well the other day, I took my relaxing materials and headed out in the backyard to catch a nap. After self medication of my relaxing materials, I fell asleep in the lounger. When I woke up there were paramedics all around me hooking up lines and pounding on my chest. I was trying to tell them that nothing was wrong with me and I had just talked to my doctors office this morning, when a tube was being forced into my mouth. Since being nice and pleasant was not working, I commenced to give them hell and a good cursing. The police arrived and said I was not being cooperative and to settle down or they would taser me. To make a very long story short...they finally decided that when I sat down in my chair my phone Butt Called my doctors office, and when they did not get a response, 911 was called and EMS was dispatched...Doc, I have a favor to ask...Can I borrow some bail money?”

Image by: Dado...Cuba trip 2013

Inside The Sane Asylum...Parish roads

*I am getting close to my home. Sabine Parish that sits sandwiched between the Louisiana and Texas state line. The Parish where I learned to love and learn and cherish and understand freedom.***

It’s morning in Louisiana. I’m driving. I tend to ramble when I’m driving, especially in this part of the world. Parish Road 21 takes me through green. Green everywhere. Large live oaks that have stories to tell. Rusty tin barns. Corn fields with perfect rows, that disappear into the green of the forest.

American flags are hanging from most mailboxes, horse trailers, workshops, treehouses, and semi-truck garages. Wet clothes  hanging on a fence. An ole dog laying in the shade. 

There are plenty of curves ahead, winding through the landscape. They take me past Faith Chapel Church, Providence Primitive Baptist Church, New Chapel Baptist, First Assembly of God, and a heap of other three-room meeting houses with well-kept cemeteries. And behind the cemetery’s, more green fields, and behind the green fields, cows and beyond the cows, the green of pine forest.

There’s the Perry Antique Store—which used to be a gas station one hundred years ago. It sits on approximately thirteen million acres of flat earth. Old men sit on its porch, chewing the fat. Watching traffic.

There are ancient mobile homes with brand new Fords parked out front. There are brand new mobile homes with ancient Fords. I pass red-dirt-road offshoots that lead to God-Knows-Where. Horses in front yards. Cattle in backyards. Weathered brick chimneys, standing in empty fields. Telephone poles with fading signs that read: “Elect Edwards for governor, for a brighter Louisiana.”

I pass small towns, small communities. Ebarb, Piney Shores, Zwolle. Converse is about as big as a minute, but they have a nice baseball field. Baseball is serious business in Converse.

I pass bumpy creek bridges—I have to slow down to drive across. There’s a crumbling red house covered in green vines—probably older than the late great Kathryn Tucker Windham. Bass boats sit by the highway with for-sale signs. Farm-implement graveyards stretch clear to China.

There is a man, burning trash in his front lawn. There are manmade bass and bream ponds. Overgrown yards with rusty swing sets and children’s playhouses, with wood rot. Rusty mailboxes with flags...I’m getting close to home..

Today we will talk about independence, freedoms, melting pots, mending fences, family...some arrived on different oceans, on smaller boats, from different ports, to a place where nobody wanted them.  Years latter, their children are physicians, shrimpers, grocery store clerks, farmers and all that is in between. It is possible, if you want it.

As Americans, we export and inspire a notion of freedom and openness, the dream that we sell as a promise. Sometimes, we make a mess of it. We forget what it is we are dreaming, and what we are selling as an ideal. It's all still an experiment, but we need to do better. I think we will. I have that hope. That's what is on my mind today... Doc

Entry Note To Self...God only knows

Journal Entry: 7/13/18
God only knows
Warning, adult content

After my walk this morning, I was craving some Ice Cream. I settled on yogurt, God only knows why.

I ended up at this little yogurt joint named The Frozen Frog. God only knows why the name. And God only knows how many flavors they have. Real cute little names. Lilly Pad Lollipop, Toad Road Caramel, you get the picture. I love orange flavors but not the artificial ones.

It brings back anxious moments of when I had my tonsils removed. The laughing gas the doctor gave me had this artificial orange taste. I didn’t like the taste of it then but I couldn’t say anything. One, I had my mouth open like the lips turned back on Winnie the donkey, and two, well the gas just made me not give a shit...I guess.

I didn’t remember much after it was all over, but I do remember the doctor’s words as we left his office, “For three days he can only eat ice cream.”

Of course my Mom stopped and bought a three day supply of ice cream on the way home. I had to stay in the car due to fifty feet of gauze packed in my mouth and I just wanted to sit there and try to remember what just happened. I also remember her words to this day, “I bought your favorite.”

You guessed it...ORANGE.

Then it all came back to me. The orange that taste horrible, not really giving a shit and there was this other thing that pisses me off till this day.

While I was in “The Chair”, the nurse was listening to this little transitor radio. I know many of you do not even know what those were. They are so old the spell check did not even recognize “transistor”. See how it spelled it wrong above?

Well, on the T Radio, Unchained Melody was playing. One of the greatest songs of all time and wouldn’t you know it...every time I here it play, to this day, I taste orange...

The Orange flavor still does not sit just right, so I avoid it and go for the coconut flavors. I don’t listen to the real radio that much, so I can control my music. But there are some days, to this day, I still don’t give a shit...God only knows why...Doc

Image by: Christopher Bryson

Inside The Sane Asylum...Saturn retrograde

The June Full Moon Conversation between Dr. Ego and Jess Ben Rambling 

Doc: “Well Jess, here we are again pondering away our lives looking for the full moon.

Jess: Yep, I can’t believe I stopped doing nothing to come listen to your philosophy about the full Moon again.

Doc: Well Jess, the June full moon is a very important one. It is dominated by a powerful conjunction to Saturn retrograde. During the next two weeks you are likely to feel more serious than usual and experience sadness, guilt, fear, restriction or inhibition. They even say it affects your memory and you can’t afford to loose anymore memory Jess.

Jess: Did I tell you I went to see the doctor about my memory loss?

Doc: No you didn’t mention that. What did he tell you.

Jess: Well when I told him I was experiencing memory loss, he said  I would have to pay in advance.

Doc: I can’t remember the last time I forgot something.

Jess: Doc, do you know the more you say the less I remember?

Doc:  Jess, I think a clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory. And there is another thing for you to think about...doing nothing is actually doing something...

Jess: Have you ever heard the saying, never put off till tomorrow what you can ignore entirely?

Doc: I don’t remember that one but why remember quotes when you can make them up? Jess, do you ever wonder why "abbreviation" is such a long word?

Jess: Doc, sometimes I think I might be crazy.

Doc: Why is that Jess?

Jess: I sometimes feel I am schizophrenic. Am I crazy?

Doc: Probably, we are all crazy, but you have an advantage over most.

Jess: How’s that?

Doc: You know it...and besides, this full moon thing is working against you.

Jess: Well Doc, I think you just made all that s**t up...just now.

Doc: Jess, I think this waxing gibbous is getting to you.

Beach Chair Therapy...

I am obliged to perform what I consider my duty. I must guard this mighty fortress, CASTILLO DE SAN MARCOS.

The military stores were seized this morning by the order of the governor. A Company of volunteer soldiers marched to the barracks and took possession of me, and demanded peaceable possession of the keys of the fort and magazine. I demanded them to show me their authority. An aide-de-camp of the governor showed me his letter of instructions authorizing him to seize the property, and directing him to use what force might be necessary.

Upon reflection I decided that the only alternative for me was to deliver the keys, under protest, and demand a receipt for the property. One thing certain, with the exception of the guns composing the armament of the water battery, the property seized is of no great value.

The gentleman acting under the governor’s instructions has promised to receipt to me for the stores along with another rum and coke...

So it is this day under my umbrella, enjoying that rum and coke. After all, it’s therapy...Doc

From Inside The Sane Asylum...over yonder

Over yonder a ways...

I spent a lot of my professional time working up north. That would be anything north of Louisiana. When I introduced myself to anyone, they always said “you talk funny.”

Well I suppose I do. My language evolved from the influence of a lot of country sayings. For example, “Y’all” is always used when you are referring to more than one person and “all y’all” is used when you want to give a stern warning to y’all. Like when you say, “ Now all y’all can just take a flying leap up....”. I’m trying to clean up my cursing, so you can fill in the blanks.

In my part of the world, you never knew where anyone actually lived. When you ask anyone where they lived they would just point and say, “over yonder a ways.” So, to go visit anyone the directions to their house would go something like this...” Well, you go over yonder a ways, cross over the tracks, take the dirt road to the left and drive to you get to the dogs laying in the road and you will see the house on the left...just pass the dogs.”

Another favorite of mine was, “I reckon I’m fixing to.” Means you just might get up and do something when you get a round to it. If you suggest that someone do something, they more than likely with tell you, “I might could do that. Let me think bout it.”

But my favorite of all was, “Bless your little

heart.” It always meant, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you are an idiot...

I came from a rich background of culture with strong characters and I am grateful for those experiences...now don’t take this wrong but “bless your pea picking heart.”

I would write more, but I have to put the chickens to roost. Enjoy your evening...Doc

From Inside The Sane Asylum...Front Porch Therapy

Front Porch Therapy

Coconut Water

Each Monday and Thursday afternoon, around five, there is a gathering of this workout group. I don’t know the name of their group, but it reminds me of P.E. Class back in Junior High. The only difference seems to be in purpose?

Back then, it was this Presidential Fitness Program. Not because we were fat but just because someone decided the kids needed to be more fit. Not tougher, but fit. My guess...quicker response time to get you under your desk. As we grew older and larger, we needed to be fit to fold under that small desk when we practiced incoming Russian Nukes. I remember Coach Montgomery saying “you will thank me one day.”

My homeroom class got pretty good at The nuke drill. Ranked right up there with the top performers. I always worried about the slower classes. I was afraid they may not make it in time. I remember how good it felt when it was over. The bell would ring and you could now get back in your little desk. Remember all the initial carvings in the top of the desk? Always looking to make sure your girlfriend wasn’t plussing someone else.

Remember the Red Cross drives in school? Give 10 cents and they gave you this little bend on tin button with the Red Cross symbol. I was always so proud to clip it on the pocket of my shirt. What a dumb ass I was at times. But I was fit. We all got this Presidential Fitness certificate to prove it.

Back to this fitness group that gathers across this little pond I live on. It started just after the first of the year. One of those Resolution Groups. It was quiet large back in January but a few months later there are only a handful remaining. Very fit I must say. Their coach yelling, “get the lead out of your ass, your grandma can run faster than you, you think this funny, this is your life, you will thank me one day!”

Apparently the fitness group has a way to single out the less fit and inflict a little shame. They make them run three laps around the pond, just because they did not get the lead out. Well, my front porch is a little hidden as they make their way around, so for the last few weeks, I offer the shamed ones a glass of coconut water as they round my porch.
Do they take it? Hell yes. They take all they can get. Hell, I have to run them off so they want get in more trouble. Nothing like seeing a smile on an almost fit body.

Thanks Couch Montgomery. You said I would thank you one day ...Doc

Entry Note To Self...a look inward

Journal Entry: 5/18/18

Looking Inward

Every story I see, whether it is an inspiring one, or a limiting one...has a way of keeping me from noticing everything that exists outside of that story.  Then I notice again (after I pick myself up and dust myself off) how much more has been available to experience all along if only I had been able to suspend the "life as usual" mode for a bit. 

I remember a conversation with my dear Humberto we had regarding how our sense of self derives from language. We use language to communicate with other people and to think to ourselves. At around age 2 or 3, children begin talking out loud in a way that’s clearly not intended to communicate to others. They seem to use this self-talk to direct their own behavior. Within a few years, they learn to turn that self-talk inward, and from then on they maintain an internal monologue instead.

We all engage in this inner speech. When we read, we hear our own voice speaking the words. When we work on a problem, we talk out the steps in our head. As we go through the day, we make comments about the people we meet that we’d never dare say out loud. This running monologue inside the head...could it be what constitutes the self?

I find this idea intriguing, because it helps differentiate the interrelated concepts of consciousness, mind, and self. 

Most psychologists agree that all organisms with a nervous system experience at least a minimal level of consciousness. That is, they’re aware of their surroundings and can respond appropriately. Animals with complex nervous systems and highly developed brains, such as mammals, likely have a vivid conscious experience that includes an awareness of the external world and an inner experience of memories and emotions.

It seems quite likely, then, that your dog has a rich mental life. In other words, it has a mind. But dogs don’t speak, so there’s no reason to assume that canines have an inner monologue. Thus, we can say the dog has no self. And that’s why, when a dog looks in a mirror, it sees another dog.

Language gives us the ability to create a narrative that ties together all the experiences in our life into a coherent whole. We identify this self-story as our core essence. Although our bodies change over time, we experience the self as immutable. And that’s why, when we look in mirror, we see someone we know.

Who knows...really?

Just taking a ride on this spaceship called Earth.

Hope you are enjoying your ride. I know I am.

Be well, enjoy your weekend...

Doc

From Inside The Sane Asylum

Conversation Between Dr. Ego and Jes B. Rambling.

Naked as the eyes on a clown...

Jes: “Doc what are we looking for?”

Doc: “Jes, we are here to see the full moon rising in May.”

Jes: “Last time we did this you gave me a treatise on the importance of objective pronouns and dangling participles.”

Doc: “Well this is just as important. This moon will affect our throat chakra. If we are not careful, it might make what we have to say to others sound offensive and hurtful. This is why it will be essential that before we speak, we think, and before we think, we take time out to balance our throat chakra. We will need to do breathing exercises, yoga, meditation, chanting mantras or humming to open and harmonize this chakra throat thing, so that blockages are cleared and we don’t offend no one.”

Jes: “Can we just belt out a John Prine ballad instead?”

https://youtu.be/PnMNBTc1DQU

That’s the way the world goes round...

Reflections From The World...love bugs

Love Bugs

I see these post all the time with couples adoring each other. Every time I see one the words “love bugs”, races across my thinking....love bugs;

It’s almost May, which means one of the most annoying creatures in Florida is about to plague the state.

No, not legislators. They swarm in March and are largely confined to their natural habitat — the bars, private clubs and dark alleys of Tallahassee where lobbyists cut them checks.

I’m talking about love bugs.

Twice a year, the coupled flies invade Florida. Now is one of those times. So after another week of divisive political news, I thought we could unite around critters I love to loathe.

I wanted to understand why they are here, why they swarm, how they can mess up my car and why they fly around attached to each other.

So I devoted a little time finding out. The first thing I learned is that love bugs aren’t supposed to be here at all. Much like Burmese pythons, lion fish and residents of New Jersey, love bugs invaded Florida. They came from their native lands of Central and South America, presumably in search of theme parks and retirement communities.

Except that love bugs don’t really get to enjoy retirement. They die a few days after they are born. They hatch, mate and then perish — which ain’t a bad, if short, life.

The males hatch first and then swarm feverishly, waiting for the females to arrive … much like guys at a fraternity before the sorority bus shows up.

When the females finally come out, it’s a fight to impress. And when a female finally selects a mate, they’re usually hitched for life.

The randy little rascals immediately start mating, leaving absolutely no time for safe-sex lessons. 

They stay coupled for days. Why? “They’re mating,” explained Dr. Philip Koehler, an entomology professor at the University of Florida.

I’m familiar with mating, Doc. It doesn’t usually last 72 hours.

“They’re very good at it,” he responded.

You go, bugs.

Actually, these little guys don’t have nonstop rumpy pumpy. The males stay attached to prevent another male from coming in and fertilizing the female as well.

See, research shows that the last male love bug to, um, fertilize is the one whose babies get born.

“The male is preventing another male from mating,” explained Dr. Norman C. Leppla, another love-bug expert at UF.

That’s right, UF has two love bug experts. But the two profs don’t spend their lives attached. In fact, both study lots of other things and often fight to let the other serve as the state’s chief love-bug luminary.

“If you’re out of the room, you get elected,” Leppla explained.

Why the disdain for these little guys? Mainly because they make a mess when they and their acidic-larvae hit your car and splatter all over your windshield.

Humans are funny this way. We murder these bugs and then claim we’re the victims. (Hey bug, I knew I just ended your life — as well as the future lives of all your babies — but now I have to go through the trauma of finding a wet paper towel.)

You do want to get them off your car as soon as possible, though. (Damp dry-cleaner sheets work well.) If left to decompose, their larvae and guts turn more acidic and can eat through your clear coat or paint. Think of it as revenge from the grave.

An interesting thing about love bugs — also known as plecia nearctica, which is Latin for “Splat!” — is that there are a lot fewer of them in Florida than there used to be.

Decades ago, motorists could barely drive down the Turnpike without stopping every few miles to wipe all the bug guts off their windshields.

But their population has diminished — quite significantly, Leppla said. The scientists aren’t completely sure why, but it may be partly because love bugs don’t have any really impressive survival defenses. In fact, Koehler said, they have only one.

“Have you ever tasted one?” he asked.

Now, Doc, wouldn’t it be weird if I said yes?

“Their main defense is not to taste good or smell good,” he said. “So some birds don’t eat them.”

Apparently we don’t want birds to eat them all anyway. Their larvae feed on decaying vegetation, making them one of the world’s tiniest clean-up crews.

So the bottom line appears to be they’re not all that harmful. There are fewer of them than before. And they actually do some good.

“Believe it or not,” Leppla said, “some of us love love bugs.”

Maybe more than legislators anyway.

“Actually,” Leppla noted, “most of the funding we have to study this came from the Legislature.”

I still like love bugs better.

Image: Christopher Bryson

Love Bugs

Entry Note To Self...Bernice kind of day

Journal Entry: 4/21/18

This DNA thing

I just finished reading this study on DNA and dreams. Seems there is a theory floating around that many of our dreams may be dreams from our ancestors. Passed on to us through our DNA. It makes sense to me on some level. For example, they say my great grandfather, a full blooded Cherokee, had crazy spells from time to time. Perfectly fine most of the time, but on occasions would wake during the night, stand on the bed, and pretend to drive a team of horses. Would stay at it for some time, I am told.

Now I have never had that experience but I do have my crazy spells from time to time. It is of great comfort to know it’s not me, but maybe my crazy ole grandfather. Just in my DNA. I can’t help it.

When I was growing up, there was this family in my small town that lived back in the woods. Bob and Bernice had a gaggle of kids. I’m not sure how many there were. I remember two quiet well. One was called Opossum. When Opossum was small he had a habit of pulling out his eyebrows and eyelashes. He pulled out so many that they never regrew. Slick as a Opossum’s eyebrows, so Opossum he will be know. His brother was named Eugene. A cross eyed boy. I didn’t know until I was almost grown that Eugene fell out of the car his mother was driving and she ran over him, crossing his eyes, fixed to this day.

Fast forward a few years...Bernice’s grandson was arrested trying to rob the local bank. The funny thing about the bank caper, he tried to get in before the bank opened. There were a lot of odd things about that day, but would you believe, that on that same morning Bernice ventured into her backyard to collect fresh eggs and she was attacked and spurred by her old red rooster that took numerous stitches. The day was so bad for Bernice and her family that the whole town had a saying when having a really bad day, I mean really bad, they just said, “I’m having a Bernice kinda day.” Everyone knew exactly what they meant.

Everyone in our little town felt sorry for Bob and Bernice, so what do people do who have little to give to others, who have nothing? You give them everything you no longer have need for. Especially clothes that you outgrow, leftover produce from your garden. Just bag them up and take them all to Bernice. Poor ole soul, she can make use of it all.

I remember my last trip to the door of Bernice’s home with my goodwill sack. I happened to peek inside the door and to my surprise, her front room was stacked with unopened goodwill bags. As I walked back home, I realized the gesture of kindness was only to make us feel good. Bernice had plenty of clothes for her family. I wondered how she must have felt, knowing the whole town was feeling sorry for her?

Well, I say all of this to shed some light on this DNA thing. To this day, I just can’t get rid of things that I no longer have need for. It’s in my DNA. Scripted there like the Bill of Rights. Straight from the DNA of my grandparents, down through my parents, into me.

So to my friends that wake up and find bags of clothes on your front porch, I am not feeling sorry for you, even though many of you are sorry rascal’s, it is just in my DNA. So take the damn bag of clothes. Keep any you like and pass the others own to make you feel good. Who knows, one day it may end up in your DNA.

Partly truth, partly fiction...just like life.

Not half that bad on a good day...Doc