7 thoughts on ““Radio Daze”

    • I firmly believe we all are – or can be should we so choose – versatile and amazing: and even more importantly capable of telling such terrific stories about ourselves, our worlds and our hopes and dreams and our tragedies and follies – our lives. Each of us is a repository of the universe’s observations and truths seen through our temporary eyes. Sometimes I tried to talk and listen at the same time – and what amazes me is in a few instances that impossible bumblebee actually flies! Go fly, sweet Yasmin.s Bring back more impossible tales to amaze us!

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    • I no of a few people who, when flying in their imagination,, worry they have no pilot’s license. You, young lady, are a certified Instructor Pilot! Radio Daze – came unbidden in but a few seconds it took to scribble and then a couple of minutes to tinker with The Title. I did not write it: the universe is/was author, and I merely its agent.

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  1. I had to go back and see what I wrote: radio Doze in the copy with Daze in the title….I really was half-asleep when I sat up and started scribbling furiously in the notebook…and then came fully awake and smiled like a sun-speckled young boy with banana bashed hands and mouth and face and it was so good to taste and easy to swallow and I just wrote without a thought or care. I am so glad that little bit of actually done-fine doggerel did you happy. It still does me. When I was in college and had the lead in a bi-racial marriage beraking up play “The Gingham Dog,” I invited my mother to the first night’s performance: she came with a ga-lpal of some 30 years, and later mom said to me: “But, J, that wasn’t acting. I have seen you do that all your life.” Mom, I replied: that is acting to true it is real. I just put me in that guy’s life and let the author’s belief become mine for a time. She shook her head side-to-side as if to say – I know better than to try to argue with you. It was like the time almost 10 years later when she told me she no longer could tell when I was lying to her: Simple, I told her: check the posture and the eyes – upright and leaning slightly forward and eye-contact locked in: I’m fibbing big-time. She just shrugged and said: better not tell your Dad how that is done. Wouldn’t work on him, Mom. You got him fully wrapped. And they both knew that. Coming home to go fish with pop and do mom’s heavy-duty cleaning chores once-monthly at least when they were well into their 50s and early f60s, I see them rocking in two matched chairs holding hands just so lightly, keeping perfect time, and chattering away like teenagers I almost wanted to keep driving: but they saw me every time and did not stop rocking, touching or talking. So I slipped in the front door, took a shower, brought in my laundry and my fishing gear and made a sandwich and grabbed a milk and went out the front door to say hi to the Siamese and the cur yellow dog who were best pals of mine.


  2. Lost the thread so I will reply here: That last line of Radio Daze: “Some say not much lost” intrigues me still. I wonder who/why I wrote that. The poems, the phrases, sometimes just show up unannounced and make themselves at home.


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