T’was Christmas Day at the Waffle House; a Time for such Connections, Discoveries, and Eventual Ponderings (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 222)

I went to the Waffle House (WH) for brunch on X-mas Day and ended up sitting at the highbar. Normally, I read while caffeinating and ingesting my scattered, smothered, diced, peppered, and capped, along with my meat choice du jour, but on this day I happened to make a joke with a couple as they sat down next to me, and that easily lead to our conversation over the next hour.

Though the conversation rotated between the three of us, I spoke more often and more directly with the man because he was seated adjacent to me, while his wife sat on the other side of him. I cannot say for sure, but it seemed to me like we were all in the same general age range.

They had heard an indirect comment that I had made with a good friend who happens to be a WH staff member, which intrigued them to ask me about my vocation. (Under normal circumstances, I tend to guard that info from casual public knowledge for multiple reasons.) After I had explained that I was a veterinarian, the other man responded that pre-vet had been his first love, his first focus in school, but that after he had been seriously advised on how hard it was to get in and then through such a program, he had given up on it and gone in another direction. I believe that direction was a business degree, but I cannot state so definitely. We talked for a little while after that about being animal lovers, and then, about some of the challenges currently bombarding independent veterinarians and the whole spectrum of veterinary medicine.

Our conversation moved on naturally and comfortably towards the principle of retaining independence in our lives, living in less populated areas while still appreciating Atlanta for what it does offer, and a passionate love for all outdoor activities, including mountain biking, hiking, and backpacking.

At some point mutually agreed upon about also appreciating the outside in warmer weather, it came up that this couple, was headed down to their beach house, which they had personally built on some island in the vicinity of Gulf Shores and/or Orange beach. From the way they described it, it sounded glorious and heavenly in regard to my beach preferences. I was happy for them and felt that they deserved to be so successful to be able to afford and enjoy such a piece of property.

Soon, the conversation turned around a switchback once more and together we stumbled into the wilderness area of the Cohutta (GA), home of Jacks River Trail, the Conasauga River Trail, and Bear Creek MTN Bike Trail, amongst other treasures. Our knowledge rivaled one another about the entire area, but his definitely bested mine a bit. We talked about the trails, hiking and biking, the crashes, getting lost miles off of the map, unknowingly stumbling into the Mountaintown floodplain basin, and the bigass Poplar tree that serves as a sentinel for those riding on the Bear Creek Trail.

Eventually, my new friend(s) revealed that he actually owned a cabin in the Cohutta in an area that I am familiar with and truthfully very fond of. And then, he revealed that he also owned a second cabin that stood in a different, more remote and secluded region of that wilderness area. The second cabin is harder to get to than the first and its location does not even allow him access to an electrical connection, but nonetheless, it is still a second cabin and land that he happens to own in one of the most beautiful and feral areas of Georgia. He more than graciously offered to let me use either of the cabins and before parting, we exchanged numbers and emails. They seem like very genuine, extremely cool people, who just get it. We even discussed maybe getting together to force ourselves to ride our mountain bikes again. I like the idea. I like their spirit. I loved the conversation and the happenstance of spontaneously meeting people like that in one improbable moment or strand of theoretical time, space, and reality. T’was Christmas Day and a time for such connections, discoveries, and eventual ponderings.

I would be lying though, if I didn’t also say that I did experience a smidgen of irony and jealousy in this communion and our shared tale of choices and the consequences those choices had brought about. A lifetime ago, my newfound friend turned away from veterinary school because it was too hard and difficult to gain admittance and then to survive the tribulation associated with earning such a degree, but it would appear his financial gains related to such a decision, have far, far surpassed anything that comes even remotely close to my own. I can barely take a vacation and I am essentially homeless, while he (and his wife) owns a primary house with considerable acreage, a beach house, and at least two other cabins in a pristine Wilderness Area.

I accept the choices and the associated consequences related to such that I have made. I also do not wish ill will upon these new friends of mine. I am happy for them. If I had to hedge a bet, I would guess the world is better with them in it. But I wonder, I really do wonder, about our world and the reward system of business that people have fostered and caused to thrive.

I imagined once I was accepted into veterinary school, I would be the one making a little extra money, the one having a little extra family time, the one with maybe an extra house or two, both modest of course. I never imagined or conceived in my wildest dreams, that financial reward could work inversely upon someone who competed and survived in a challenging professional atmosphere, and who also just wanted to put his vocational expertise and responsibility foremost over revenue and salary. I never imagined that was a real possibility for the longest time.

I wonder if I was presented with the real option of switching places with my newfound friends what I might do. I have to admit that I’m very tired of suffering for trying to honorable, noble, and skillful in my profession. Those houses and getaways are quite alluring to me. I also wonder if they might switch places with me? Would that first love of interest and desired accomplishment hold over the material assets and accumulations that resulted from less of a challenge, if he knew, knew, he could attain the title of Doctor of Veterinary Medicine and the associated responsibility of such?

Jeff Cribb , Doctor of Veterinary Medicine and Lover of the Great Outdoors


Love vs Sex 173 (Part 2 of 2 – His version)

Night, in the Tent

(a parody of love and other sorts)

I smile knowing a Fairy is
as a Fairy does
a fulminate midsummer’s night dream
finds its roots
buried not in town,
but deep within fire, stone, wood, wind,
asleep, awake, in between
it matters not
a Fairy muse of mischief

an odiferous bombardment
of exuberant and abundant patchouli…
undulating and lingering
clouds of apricot, barley, wheat,
Stanford, Tadcaster, Yorkshire of North…
Insatiable fluttering Fairy pheromones
pungent and eagerly poised
a sightless though titillatingly sweet
pollinating dance in the dark

knees, scepter, tongue, neck and back
making themselves known
in spasm and exhaustion
for their contortionist offerings
yielded in the only tribute
capable of turning verbose meandering pillow talk
into the spun golden threads
of peaceful silence
Her mouth so shut and sweet
an exchange of the utmost worth
for all of my aches and throbs and throes
an auditory paradise of a finally faded off Fairy

the waxing and waning rhythmic resonance
of sonorous cacophony
rolling and tumbling jaggedly
upon itself
a distant encroaching Fairy thunder
manifesting all about me
trapping me in the bellowing midst
of the inescapable close confines
of our nylon nest
rousingly punctuating its proclamation
of restless perturbedness and perpetual startlement
for all of the woodland creatures
near and far
an erratic and ineludible staccatic roar

I hear her unzipping the tent,
stumbling out into the dark night.
slow, irregular, and unsteady foot thuds
hit the nearby ground
in the tiptoeing stealth and steadiness
of a inebriated pirouetting elephant.
another unzipping
the cascading trickle of micturition
when her flow finally wanes
she ebbs back awkwardly into the canopied ocean from whence she recently arose.
sliding, crawling, burrowing, closer and closer
crushing my ankle
squashing my genitals
head butting my chin, my cheek, my brow
finally approaching my lips with a kiss…
honeysuckle dripping with the dew of early dawn
her aim only slobbers a nubbin of my nose
before bubbly voice ablaze chimes the bells of four AM
gleefully inquires if we might
in the here and now
discuss the meaning of the universe
along with transcendental metaphysics
and various other interesting and sundry things.



Inevitable Extractions of Certain Selfs and the Occasional Crazy Ass Dream of Awakening – 2

(Read 1 first)

Her emerging awareness initially centered on the fact that she was standing. It seemed all of her efforts were focused on the specific task of keeping her body balanced and supported in that basic position. She swayed back and forth slightly for a moment and then the dizziness withdrew and vanished. Her orientation suffered compromise somewhat longer, dabbling in surreal dimensions and degrees of depths, before simplifying to the limit of its perceivable tolerance. Identity came next in the line of her perception and she suddenly knew she was somebody, somebody with a history and a life…..an existence, but oddly, she couldn’t remember that somebody’s name. Nor could she remember her age or any specific memories. She could not even remember what she had been doing immediately before she had awoken in her current state. It felt almost like someone had pulled her out of some dreadful sleepwalking nightmare to save her from that torment, but that in doing so, they had sacrificed her memory and brought about her amnesia.

Her present identity, whoever she was, chose to assert herself in the moment, reflexively disregarding the plausible distraction of her amnesia. Her awareness began to flow freer and it rushed outward in uneven and unpredictable spurts and gushes. Standing there, she came to realize that she wasn’t looking forward or in front of her, as she had assumed. Her neck was actually bent, her shoulders were slumped forward, and her head was hanging down. What she had thought was a dirty dark gray horizon of the impermeable fog of delirium, was really a stone floor that she now knew she stood upon. Cracks, crevices, grit, and the inherent irregularities ever-present within the surface of such natural stone became obvious to her as the focus of her vision improved.

The ambient lighting remained dim, but this place had never seemed static in any regard, and even as she finished assessing the dimness, she realized that the light was gradually rising. It unhurriedly and unprovokingly rose like a lazy meandering sunrise, carrying no startlement or excitability in its progressive emergence. She found herself compellingly lifting her head and as she did so, her vision followed shifting away from the floor. Was it sunlight concentrated in one little ray, staring at her, slowly unfolding and stretching its wings, feather after exposed feather, turning into ray after ray of more and more soft expanding brilliance? She blinked or at least thought she did, and the light refocused into a candelabra that must have had fifty or a hundred candles anchored to its skeleton. From a single solitary flame that sat upon the candelabras summit, the candles kindled in a downward succession; the flame fell upon, caressed, and ignited each subsequent wick, gracefully flowing from one to the other in unifying harmony, like the conjugative dance of dominos. Though the ceiling and the farther reaches of the room remained persistently cloaked in a seemingly impenetrable darkness, the cumulative flame umbrellaed downward and immediately extracted two figures from that surrounding land of shadowed unknown.

To be continued….

Cribb          2014

Inevitable Extractions of Certain Selfs and the Occasional Crazy Ass Dream of Awakening – 1

Music flowed into the dreams of her unconsciousness even as those dreams seemed to slip away from almost everything else. Was she singing the music to herself, performing the covers with the fused elements of her own injected intimacy, or was someone else singing the crazy ass lullaby? Someone nearby, but outside of her stuporous slumberworld. She couldn’t tell. The lyrics poured into and out of her mind, one way or the other. They flowed sometimes distinctly separate, sometimes obviously overlapping, and sometimes they choked and spat at and strangled one another, each trying to drown out the other voices, until only they remained.

And I don’t want you and I don’t need you

Don’t bother to resist, or I’ll beat you

It’s not your fault that you’re always wrong

The weak ones are there to justify the strong

The beautiful people, the beautiful people

It’s all relative to the size of your steeple

You can’t see the forest for the trees

You can’t smell you own shit on your knees

There’s no time to discriminate

Hate every mother fucker

That’s in your way

I hurt myself today

To see if I still feel

I focus on the pain

The only thing that’s real

The needle tears a hole

The old familiar sting

Try to kill it all away

But I remember everything

You let me violate you, you let me desecrate you

You let me penetrate you, you let me complicate you

Help me…..I broke apart my insides,

help me…..I’ve got no soul to sell

Help me…..the only thing that works for me, help me get away from myself

I want to fuck you like an animal

I want to feel you from the inside

I want to fuck you like an animal

My whole existence is flawed

You get me closer to god

When you were here before

Couldn’t look you in the eye

You’re just like an angel

Your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather

In a beautiful world

I wish I was special

You’re so ficking special

But I’m a creep

I’m a weirdo

What the hell am I doing here?

I don’t belong here

It’s a mystery to me

We have a greed with which we have agreed

You think you have to want more than you need

Until you have it all you won’t be free

Society, you’re a crazy breed

I hope you’re not lonely without me

Hey you, what do you see?

Something beautiful, something free?

Hey you, are you trying to be mean?

If you live with the apes man, it’s hard to be clean

The worms will live in every host

It’s hard to pick which one they eat the most

What have I become     My sweetest friend

Everyone I know goes away     In the end

And you could have it all     My empire of dirt

I will let you down     I will make you hurt

You can have my isolation, you can have the hate that it brings

You can have my absence of faith, you can have my everything

Help me tear down my reason, help me it’s your sex I can smell

Help me you make me perfect, help me become somebody else

I don’t care if it hurts     I wanna have control

I want a perfect body     I want a perfect soul

I want you to notice     When I’m not around

You’re so fucking special     I wish I was special

But I’m a creep     I’m a weirdo     What the hell am I doing here?

I don’t belong here

When you want more than you have     You think you need     And when you think more than you want     Your thoughts begin to bleed     I think I need to find a bigger place     ‘Cause when you have more than you think     You need more space     Society, you’re a crazy breed     I hope you’re not lonely without me     Society, crazy indeed     I hope you’re not lonely without me

 The horrible people, the horrible people   It’s as anatomic as the size of your steeple     Capitalism has made it this way, Old fashioned fascism will take it away

I wear this crown of thorns   Upon my liar’s chair   Full of broken thoughts   I cannot repair   Beneath the stains of time  The feelings disappear  You are someone else  I am still right here  What have I become  My sweetest friend  Everyone I know goes away In the end  And you could have it all My empire of dirt I will let you down I will make you hurt

I want to fuck you like an animal I want to feel you from the inside I want to fuck you like an animal My whole existence is flawed You get me closer to god  She’s running out the door She’s running out She run run run… Run… Whatever makes you happy Whatever you want You’re so fucking special I wish I were special But I’m a creep I’m a weirdo What the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here I don’t belonghere  There’s those thinking more or less, less is more But if less is more how’re you keeping score?Means for everypoint youmake yourleveldrops Kindalike you’re startingfrom thetop, youcan’t do thatSociety,you’re acrazybreed Ihopeyou’renotlonely withoutmeSociety, crazyindeedIhopeyou’renotlonelywithoutme There’s notimeto discriminateHateevery motherfuckerThat’sin yourway ThebeautifulpeoplethebeautifulpeopleThebeautifulpeoplethebeautifulpeopleIfIcouldstartagainAmillion
milesaway IwouldkeepmyselfIwouldfindawayHelp meIbrokeapartmyinsideshelpmeI’vegotnosoultosellHelp metheonlythingthatworksformehelpmegetawyafrom myselfI’maCreepI’maCreepI’maweirdoweirdoweirdoweirdoIdon’tcareifithurtsSocietyhavemercyonme
Ihopeyou’renot angryifIdisagreeSocietycrazyindeedIhopeyou’renotlonelywithoutme…withoutme…withoutme…IwillletyoudownI willmakeyouhurt…youcanhavemyisolationyoucanhavethehatethatitbringsyoucanhavemyabscenceoffaithyoucanhavemy everything…My whole existence is flawed…My whole existence is flawed…..My whole existence is flawed…..You can have my isolation…isolation…isolation, you can have the hate…hate…..hate…hate that it brings…….I don’t care…..care…care if it hurts…I don’t belong here……belong…belong…..belong here. I don’t belong here……….hope you’re not lonely without me…without me…..without me…I want you to notice..notice……notice… When I’m not around…

A new question, a flickering question came and went in such a manner that it hardly registered at all; had she stumbled and hit her head? Nothing….none of her senses seemed to be registering or functioning beyond whatever was absolutely necessary to grasp the tiniest fleeting glimpses of consciousness or perhaps, delirium. Was her consciousness sloppily crawling on its knees trying to find a point of traction so that it might rise up just a little and attempt a vertiginous step or leap or stance? Or was it diving and digging and drowning, trying to smoother and submerge itself in some form of the obliterating intoxication of incomprehension and an anesthetized awareness? She wasn’t even sure of her own breath. Should she even remotely try to care or to focus…..or just let it all go…and fall, and fall, and fall, until she could fall no further? Would any effort either way carry even the slightest weight or influence? It didn’t seem like it, not at all….it only seemed like something unpreventable and destined was just going to happen…..something was going to continue to happen…something was going to continue happening to her, and it was all beyond her control……and all she could do was experience whatever it was without any reliable sensation or faculty……..or resistance. She might remember whatever it was one day or she might not, but right now, there was such a deadened detachment that nothing mattered. She just wasn’t here. She didn’t really know what that exactly meant or where the fuck she might actually be. She just knew she wasn’t here and that that was her only known. She could care less than less about the rest, about the here. She wasn’t part of it. But then, why the damn ceaseless, half-baked thoughts?

These silly random thoughts and trickles of consciousness which faded in and out, dizzying and disturbing even her surrendering compliance with involuntary inevitability, were irrelevant and inconsequential to everything. It made no sense. No damn sense. No action or outcome could be generated or achieved from her mind’s narcoleptic rambling….none. None. None. So why? Why?…..Why? …..just stop. Please just fucking stop. I… want it to stop. Please…please…please, just stop it. Stop it…all. Why? Why? Why…..the useless thoughts? No more. No more…I don’t care…..I don’t care…just stop the thoughts…shut up…shut up…stop the stupid fucking thoughts. Please, for god’s sake, please…..stop. No more. No more. No more.

And then, the thoughts stopped.

To be continued…..

The Kingdom of a White Knight and a Dark Lord – 3

All things……all things shimmering…was that what she now saw with her own two eyes or was it just a lucid dream originating from some previously unknown subconscious crevice within her mind as she listened to the continuing conversation that undulated back and forth between those two odd characters? It seemed like they talked about everything…everything, and one subject melded and merged into another, then another…….and another, and another, and another, seemingly without end. Did they know everything or nothing? Was there any point to all of their words and grumbling and laughter? She wasn’t sure how happenstance conversation could come so easily out of nowhere, but it did for them. The topic of their given attentions seemed like it might just pool from the pitter-pattering drops of the rain or sparkle and glimmer with ignition from a randomly radiant tickle of the sun’s illuminating warmth…..or swirl and drift and flutter and drop in the waves of inertia created by the delicate acrobatic maneuvers of a whimsical butterfly. From masochistic and sadistic vegetarians to black holes and supernovas to the Cherokee Nation’s contribution to America’s fight in WWII to the phases of the moon, from the Civil war to the Civil Right movement to drones to mustard gas to the guillotine to hot wax to safe-words, from the Russian Revolution to the Industrial Revolution to British Imperialism and General George S Patton, from love to licentiousness to suicide to murder to crucifixion to hoarding to Alexandria and the Ptolemy’s, from literature to visual and auditory art to silence and cacophony, from aborigines to midgets to Siamese Twins to potheads to crackheads to Tibetan monks and Chris McCandless, from Vishnu to Mohammed to Christ to Bin Laden to Buddha and Beelzebub, from democracy to dogma to demagoguery to D-day to Dresden, from Huxley to GaGa to Rand to Obama to Goldwater to Orwell to McCormack to Murakami to Miley, from Sushi to Saki to Stouts to Whiskey to Bourbon to Shiraz to Pinot to Buttery Nipples, from capitalism to cults to cronyism to courage to collapse to cross-checks, from fear and over-dominance to respect and the gravity of stability to Heaven to Hell to purgatory and all the endless cycles of chosen madness, from those seeking excuses to needless guilt to polygyny to monogamy to trying to be a savior to crying the tears of a clown, from terrorists to suicide to abortion to sexual repression to contraception to rape to circumcision, from the KKK to the Founding Fathers to the Godfather to the formation of Israel to Hiroshima to Robert E Lee to the Boston Tea Party to José Mujica to Ebola and the Statue of Liberty, to skinheads to shit-heads to the Sleeping Sickness to hunting to immigration to masturbation, from snakes to cats to coyotes to roadkill, from women to men to children to friends to life and to death, and on and on and on they went…….but…..but…maybe, it wasn’t really them per se, but more like on and on “it” went? Maybe it wasn’t a choice of the topics of awareness and discussion just between these two crazy kooks, but more like the actual fulmination of the perpetual and eternal bombardment of hyper-awareness in regards to what simply was “it”.

To be continued….

Cribb          2014

The Kingdom of a White Knight and a Dark Lord – 2

Part of her wanted to flee quickly and the direction of her escape was of no concern, but some other part, a deeper less predictable and less understood part, held her still. And in the silence of her stillness, the cadence of the White and Dark banter transformed from something alien and alarming in her assumption to something oddly cradling and comforting in it’s impact upon her. It was almost like her fear had become scared of her stillness…and in her present environment that catalyst had tilted some internal equation away from that fear and much more so in the direction of a cautious, but nonetheless, curious respect. That evolving orientation brought with it a progressive shimmer that swam upon all things, painting them in its flow with a transparency that she had never ever seen before.

To be continued….

Cribb          2014