Is it worth Knowing

You can't stop yourself from having one of those "moments." The moment that you try to put your life into perspective. You evaluate your place, your position, your progress up to now.

I couldn't sleep last night. Maybe it was sleeping in from the sick day I had to take or my restless legs or pondering the "moment."

I still feel sickly today at the office.

It's cold and I am weak and speaking quietly. Here's a poem to reflect on:

It's so cold

in this office.

They keep it refrigerated

to slow the process

of decaying flesh

and make the ominous odor

of the stinking dead

less noticeable.

Some are too many

some just not enough

maybe we are in slow motion

and the only ones conscious

are we asking the world

to feel sorry for us?

Considering the content to be so dark, I only want to brighten your day. Take light knowing I'm exercising an artistic freedom at the moment.

Feeling What I Should

After careful consideration last night, I accepted how small we are in comparison to the universe. The following is the first of many poetic thoughts reflecting those feelings.

Look at us
a speck of dust
on the surface of a planet
with a core pressure
3.6 millions times
what we withstand.

A molecule,
of a grain of sand
blowing in the wind
pitched around
across a desert
thousands of miles long.

For Sprites Only

Everything worth loving
I will love.

Everything worth doing
I will do.


You are beautiful
You are beautiful
You are beautiful.

Pickles Has Passed

A sad event occurred last week, and due to my busy schedule, I have not had the opportunity to write about it until now. I know that there are worse things happening these days like people losing their jobs and the threat of nuclear holocaust from Iran and North Korea, but I have to acknowledge my little buddy going to the other side.
I had an extremely busy day Thursday of last week. I had only a moment to slip inside my house to grab lunch. Much to my surprise Pickles was not chirping as he normally does when I open the door. I found him laid out in his cage laboriously breathing. He was nearing the death rattle, a sure sign he was near the end.
I had no choice but to go back to work.
Sure enough, when I returned home that night, he was gone. His furry little body lie stiff on his wood chips.
I buried him in a shoebox with his food bowl, a chew toy, and these two jingle balls he liked. I said a couple of words, mainly apologizing for being a bad owner, a prayer, and covered him up.
See, I had originally bought him during a time of extreme loneliness and depression. He was quite the cure for company and just an extra dose of energy in the house.
I had actually used Pickles as a metaphoric guinea pig for trying to build relationships after my last one had crashed.
I think he actually improved my ability.
Thank you, Pickles.
You helped me through a time when I really needed you.
I am much stronger now and think I can face things on my own.

Tiny Inspiration

I am not an inspirational speaker nor an author of a self-help book.

I will never make a million dollars.

I sometimes think I am slowly going deaf and blind.

I sometimes worry myself half to death about life.

These are facts.

Facts that may not always be the best reflection of me.

But facts that I accept.

So, let me say this:

If you think that I will lie down for you for even one second you are gravely mistaken.

I am strong.

I am strong in a way that you will never be able to understand.

There is always a storm brewing somewhere on the sunniest of days.

I always feel it coming.

Is your hair standing on end?

DudeandBrah; Just for Fun

I will open by saying that any great business venture never achieved success strictly by a name. But please, once you hear the name you will change your tune.
Dudeandbrah.
Here's my pitch:
Are you tired of drinking your grandparents' brew that they grew up with? Do you feel like a nobody because you go to the bar and have to settle for a beer that just doesn't suit you? Do you feel homogenized by drinking a beer-flavored water like Bud Light all while being told that it is your demographic's beer of choice?
Of course you are.
You want something that speaks to you.
You want a beer that the moment its name leaves your lips everyone around you knows what kind of dude you are.
You're a dudeandbrah, dude.
Reach for the beer that's brewed for you, brah.
I'm sorry, but the name is enough to sell me.
I' m looking for a heady brew that's not big on the hoppy, grainy after taste. I want a rich color with a caramel froth. I want you to get to the bottom with not taking off the top. More when I go into the experimental production phase.

This+That Does not Equal the Jah...Mon.

Initially, it sounded like a good idea.
And I could certainly see how it could be:
A drink special for the ladies, a relaxed atmosphere, and a DJ spinning reggae and dancehall music.
But inevitably, all non-honest-effort endeavors go wrong and do so noticeably within the first five minutes (This is not a professional opinion).
The DJ was Wine It and according to the Jamaican-clad flier the night was Wine It Wednesday. This led me to believe that there was in fact, a wine special on this night as well as the ladies' night special.
No. Just a hastily made flier.
Wine It, as I am told, is a traditional spelling of something.
WI was late. Well, not really late, but had to go back home for his records. He is a DJ and all, and his profession necessitates them. The spinning didn't start until after 10. Coming on late in the music biz is very important to any diva wannabe. It wasn't necessarily his fault. In his defense our lion of Zion had a splinter in his paw. And you can't spin with a spleeeenter.
Can you?
The music, you ask?
Pretty good, actually.
There were some tracks where the vocalist seemed to be dealing with some type of tracheal affliction. Maybe even polyps on the vocal chords, but their instrumental accompaniment was still good.
From time to time there was an interjection of, "Jah!" or "Yeah!" or "Huh, huh!" in addition to finger pointing straight up. Still don't know what the finger means. Maybe he giving the listeners the finger in the style of what a Reggae DJ would...
The guy must be cool. He looked like Buddy Holly wearing an Eminem costume. He is a character. He is unique.
I know, I know, I know.
Why so negative, Casey?
I'm not all piss and vinegar. I promise you that.
Here comes the merit.
A reggae night with a drink special in a low key bar is an awesome idea. The thought of it happening in Owensboro excited me. And if the situation improves; I will come back. But you have got to feel it. You have got to be confident of what you are doing. You got to sell it and you've got to be sure of what you're selling. Put butts in the seats and keep them there. Don't nonchalantly spin with headphones tucked on your shoulder like you're listening to the NBA game behind you on the screen.
Be in it.
Be a part of what you are doing.
Own what you are doing.
Owensboro needs you just as much as you need Owensboro and just as much as the boro needs a satirical writer. Kudos, Bacchus for trying. Keep growing and showing US what you can do.