Top 10 Reasons to Seek & Give More Rejection

Damn! This sounds like good advice!

john berman, the third


5 Reasons to Seek More Rejection

Your ego needs a kick in the head.  (Mine needs two)

The ego, or persona, is not you.  It is the projection that you have of yourself – like an avatar.  Who you are is just flesh and spirit – the same as everyone else.  But we all forget this.  We get caught up in our social standing, title, position within our family, our chosen sports or hobbies and we say that that is us.  For example, I am an executive, father of two, cyclist, musician, etc.  Those are things I do and roles I may play.  But when I am facing a grizzly bear, I am none of those things.  I am flesh and spirit (and I am peeing in my pants).  When you push yourself into situations that may bring rejection, you are bringing yourself back to your essence, your true self. …

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The Revelation… What now?


Once you confirm elections are rigged

And all media is a show

What do you do with this

Stuff that you now know

The only conclusion that comes to bear

Is to look around the room

And take care of your family

In the face of the coming doom

Do you send kids off to college?

And saddle them with debt?

To chase down a degree

That later they will regret?

Or do you try to put Pandora

Right back in her box

And plug your eyes and ears

While the truth continually knocks?

This world has been falling

Every day since we took the bite

And there is just one Savior

Standing in the Right

How much longer can it go?

I have no idea

Re-reading Revelations makes more sense

Than shopping at Ikea.

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The Show Must… Go. On.

Buy my art

How do you put “Go on” in your title and not have it look like “GOON”!!!

I don’t know either, but I gave it a shot.

And I’ll keep shooting.  Why blog this?  Drivel?  Aren’t there enough words out the to read before coming to this handful?  Of words.

The problem is.  I am a Creator.  It’s the thing I’m here to do.  To fully express myself I must Create something.  I must surprise myself how well things turned out.  And then start over.

The other problem is I’m lazy.  Like a cat.  Like a lion.  They sleep 13 hours a day.  And do WHATEVER they want for the other 11 hours…

I won’t pursue that Lion thread.  But I am a Leo.  And proud of it.  Obviously.  Can we move on?

Anyway, I gotta make stuff.  Noise.  Music.  Art.  Poems.  Songs.  Sales?  Yes, I have to make sales.  How do you think I pay for this?

And I make those sales.  I create them out of thin air and with my effort.  Which is why I am in sales.  I am a Creator.  It suits me.

Not everyone is a Creator.  That’s not their role. And that is a problem if misunderstood. And I have misunderstood that.  I sometimes misunderstand things.  It happens a lot. That’s why I learn stuff.  Constantly.  And when I am honest (and I am) I know that will repeat.  If everything goes right.  Otherwise, I have already expired.


Others have different gifts.  Or “curses” as a Creator might think.  Their gifts may be commerce.  Converting Creation into dollars.  So everyone can bring home the bacon.  And fry it up in the pan.

Sometimes us Creators wonder why others take our stuff.  Steal our ideas.  Or pay below market price for our Creation.

It’s because they Create the Market.  It ain’t pretty.  It ain’t Art.  It’s not a Creation.  It’s a Dissection.  They cut up the Creation and price out the pieces.  They are Destroyers.

Sounds horrible, right?  That’s because you are a Creator.  If you are a Destroyer, you are skimming this blog to see if you can make a buck out of this article – or from me, the Creator.  (Please email me for prices!)

That’s OK, Destroyer, you set the market.  You allow me to make an exchange.

We look at Bankster’s as terrible trolls.  And at Celebrity Talent as superstars.

However, the former allows the latter to cash in.  At the extreme, one can’t breathe without the other.  For a second.  Tabloid heaven!

Everything else is in the middle.  Creators and Destroyers have always needed each other.

A new tree grows on the death of dead trees.

(Pardon the double negative.  I know those trees are already dead.)

The Destroyer will always be here.  Always.  And without him no new tree would grow. There would be no stuff to create with.  You need stuff to make other stuff.  A tree needs dirt.  Which is made out of the tree’s grandpa.  Why do we even give them separate names?  Have you ever seen a tree in a forest – living it’s wonderful tree life – without his ancestors right there under his feet?  Inseparable.

But they must be separated.  Otherwise Home Depot can’t price 40 pounds of tops soil. And you couldn’t Create your garden without some nice juicy top soil.  How much is that?

So, I will now retire and bring this overdue blog to rest.  Or maybe it’s rest is long overdue.

I’m gonna keep making stuff.  Out of thin air.  I ain’t gonna bitch about the troll Bankster’s.  They are my ATM.  They are the yin to my yang.  They are greedy MF-ers, but… they like my art.  They give me money for it.  And I get to Create more stuff.

Goodnight.  Play fair.  It’s a game.  The pieces go back in the box.  Neatly.  No swearing.

[I Destroyed several words in the editing of this blog]  [Forgive me Creators]

[Destroyed & Created a few more words]

Gonna hit publish… now.



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The Path is No Path

The Path

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September 23, 2015 · 2:37 am

Vacation, Ahhhhh……….

2441 Sandfiddler

Vacation * I love the word
Conjuring up * A life deferred
Until the return * Which I hope is never
To pull that off * Takes all the clever
And cunning ways * That I can muster
Concentrated * Into a single cluster
To say goodbye * To the separation
Between work and play * Takes preparation
And preparation * Looks just like work
Which is the stuff * I’m trying to shirk
And want to put off * For another day
Or the one thereafter * If there’s any way…

I often think * Of a life reversed
Instead of this one * Which feels so cursed
A life where play * Precedes all the work
Until I’m so old * That I’ve gone berserk
With the dementia * That old age brings
That leads to forgetting * All kinds of things
That I was supposed to * Do when I’m older
Like all the work * I promised to shoulder
After a life of play * I promised to work
Knowing full well * That it would lurk
Until my golden * Years have arrived
That is if I managed * To survive…

From all of the planes * That I would jump out
The wine and the food * That would give me the gout
Jetting off * To surf a tsunami
Learning Mandarin * And origami
Playing kazoo * For a million fans
Swinging like Tarzan * From rubber bands
Feeding the homeless * Every last one
The work it can wait * Til these things get done
For if there’s wine in the bottle * It should get drunk
The interesting thoughts * They should get thunk
Before anyone returns * Back to their desk
To finish up * Their PowerPoint deck

Those things are better * Saved for life ever after
When facing forever * Up in the rafters
We will need something * To fill up the time
This life here is short * Up there we will find
The clock has no hands * The time will not pass
With all this boredom * We will find that alas
That PowerPoint deck * Won’t look quite as boring
Completing that thing * Could become quite alluring
That’s what I told * My boss when returning
From a week at the beach * His eyes they were burning
I said, “Take a vacation * Go ahead and take two
We can save all this work * For when there’s nothing to do”

He clutched at his heart * And fell to the floor
That’s when I realized * My work was no more
Which is all that I wanted * Truly a gift
That PowerPoint deck * Would never be missed
I stopped by HR * And gave them a wink
Gave my two cents * Here’s what I think
Each life is priceless * So that I’ve heard
I gave them a bargain * My value deferred
My infinite value * I’ll discount the price
Truly a bargain * You’ll find it quite nice
When I pass on * You can stop paying
They looked quite bewildered * At what I was saying

I said,”Believe yours ears * Know that it’s true
This is the bargain * I offer to you
I won’t drink your coffee * I won’t breath your air
You should be relieved * This is quite fair
As for those paychecks * Just keep them coming
I won’t tell a soul * The scam you are running
Paying folks who are priceless * A humbling wage
Trapped in a cubicle * Resembling a cage
I’ll just keep quiet * It’s our little secret”
HR went silent * I think I heard crickets
I think we are clear * I’ll see in two weeks
But if there’s no paycheck * Things could get bleak…

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Time Lapse thru West Palm

Time lapse bike ride thru downtown West Palm Beach to Starbucks.  Original music “Cult Your”

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I Helped Monsanto Make GMOs


I think I helped Monsanto make more GMO’s
I sold their Tax department software that will go
And save a Billion dollars to the bottom line
Instead of losing money they will do just fine
I should have told the CFO just to quit his job
Stop it with the glyphosate and face the angry mob
Instead I made commission to put food on the plate
We only buy organic, the GMO’s we hate
For what goes into my own mouth I am always on the guard
I guess I’m all for toxins, just not in my backyard
This is a complex matrix we are living in
While working for our virtues we commit a vicious sin
All of us just want to see the end of each day
And feel we did some good to collect our needed pay
Like a snake who eats its tail trying to get a meal
When he is so hungry he cannot even feel
The thing that gives him life will also be his death
While filling up his belly he takes his final breath
To all the cancer patients I must apologize
While feeding my young family your health I compromised

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They Outsourced My Job Today!


They outsourced
My job today
For a fraction of
What they pay
Us human types
To move our neurons
My useful skill
Lacked interferon
That’s a fancy way
To say I wasn’t immune
While dancing away
To the corporate tune
They made a chip
That would fit on a pin
That’s all it took
To do me in
I stand in the back
Of a mile long line
With other guys
Who were doing just fine
Until they weren’t
And were served pink papers
They sent in HR
To pull off the caper
Bought another house
And matched it up
With another spouse
The Wall Street Journal
Called him a hero
He found a new way
To add more zeros
The bottom line
That’s all that counts
To investors with
Fat bank accounts
For the corporate slave
Grinding away
Pushing papers in
A cubicle each day
It’s a scary thought
That spooks and frightens
You lose some sleep
Your butt cheeks tighten
It’s probably time
To take back your neurons
And generate
Your interferon


Filed under career, poetry

Knock Knock


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September 1, 2015 · 12:26 am

The Best Advice Ever

My mother

My mother ruined me. She said I could be anything. I believed her.

I never felt hurried to lock into a career. That made it easier to walk away.

I changed my mind after a taste. Or when I had enough.

I love variety. I hate repetition.

Repetition is the Mother of Skill. That’s not the kind I hate.

I hate the dead-end kind. It tastes like cardboard.

I repeat a task until I acquire the skill. Then I acquire another skill.

Likely in a different field. Or in an adjacent field.

For security, my mother’s advice was horrible.

Security and scarcity are bedfellows.

Freed from scarcity, I felt good.

I left for college. 1982. It was cheap.

I changed majors five times. I graduated with a teaching degree.


I finished in four and a half years. I didn’t want five. Or six.

I wanted out.

I wanted the piece of paper. I didn’t care which major was printed on it.

I moved from Pennsylvania to Florida the minute I graduated.

I had my piece of paper. I applied everywhere. Including the school board.

I had no expectation for a teaching job. I didn’t want more high school.

I wanted rent money.

The school board called for an interview. I went.

A formality. I was breathing. No felonies. Misdemeanors long behind me.

I moved to the next round. That afternoon.

They showed a map. A school on the far side of the sugar cane fields.

It looked like twenty minutes. Forty-five minutes later I was there.

The principal expected me. The knock on the door gave her joy.

The last science teacher quit. She needed a teacher. Monday.

This was not an interview. She was selling hard. Like her rent depended on it.

It paid an extra $2000 tax-free. Travel hardship. Combat pay.

You had me at ‘job’.

Eighteen months later I quit.

Too many Zombies.

Kids I could handle. The rotten ones I kicked out. The rest paid attention.

For eighteen months I learned a skill.

Scratch that.

For twelve months I learned a skill. The rest I combed job listings.

Each year brings new kids. They move on. Teachers stay behind.

I would be held back a grade. Every year. For the rest of my career.

A Zombie.

The carrot for a Zombie is a pension. Zombies need pensions.

Experience had. Skill aquired. I quit.

Mom’s advice was perfect. I can be anything. Not at the same time.

Skill is security. Relationships are security. Experience is security.

Opportunity is infinite.

Best advice ever.

Thanks mom.

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