Pent Up

By Carson Speight in PerSpeightives 0 Comment

And they came up and took hold of his feet and worshipped him.

Observe these woman who have just visited their Lord’s tomb. They came forlorn and bewildered. No doubt they traversed the paths and hills agonizing that they’d soon see his torn body, as motionless and dead as it was at sunset two nights before. Alas, they arrive to see no body. Nobody that is, but a celestial one, who tells them the very dead man is not dead.

Goosebumps. All their preconceived notions about what “dead” was are shattered. They run to tell about it, but are halted by the non-dead man himself.

Think of when you’ve wanted to do something so badly for so long but couldn’t. Was it to celebrate a victory, after countless 2nds, 5ths, and lasts? Or to reunite with someone dear in a country faraway? Or to one day get that date with the boy or girl you’ve crushed on for years when every day you doubted its possibility?

Imagine these women who suspected their best friend was also their savior, was also the king of the universe, but couldn’t know it for sure, and couldn’t outwardly esteem him as such, for in his life he was a mortal. Then in this moment they see him and his fixed, non-dead body and recognize that everything they wanted to be true about him was, and if that was true, there was no other appropriate response than to fall down and worship him. All they had ever pent up because of customs and doubts they now poured out.

What if we, too, were withholding the emotion and activity that we were made to pour out? What if we released the river in us and let joy flow? Or shall we fortify the dam and let rise the longing?

News

By Carson Speight in Just Poems, Homes 0 Comment

Again the news hits
Fire consumes beauty, memories, homes, the earth splits
Water falls, rises, decays, the winds shift
Keepsakes blown away and hope drifts
Keeping watch for the forecast of clould lifts.

Again the news flashes
Littles dropped by a pop in their classes
Runners downed in the sound of steel clashes
Faithful trashed from the blast now just ashes
Keeping watch for restoring the masses.

Again the news drops
Tests reveal fate is sealed can’t be stopped
Spread is wide like a locust on crops
Mass more massive than any drug that could top
Grief-torn here we all mourn keeping watch.

Then recall the old news that’s not breaking
That’s been thousands of years in the making
That’s good news to all who are aching
To the fallen who feel God-forsaken
To a dark world a son must awaken
Come great light all your children are waiting.

The Glorious Raleigh Christmas Parade in Pictures

By Carson Speight in OddSirvations 0 Comment

Well it must be just over a month before Christmas, for the Raleigh Christmas parade is upon us. Every year, I take my family to experience the joy of driving into downtown Raleigh, making up a parking spot, standing in the freezing cold, and watching many ordinary things go by. But, some things I find quite amusing, which I’ve tried to capture here.

So without further ado, here’s the 2018 Christmas Parade highlights in pictures:

Nothing says Christmas like a car with a bow on it. Welcome in the Yule Tide.

It only took a few minutes for the first poop can. I like that this is a three-man job; definitely too much for two men to bear.

Finally what we’ve all been waiting for – the old tractor dudes. I’m concerned about the lack of young men riding tractors. Step up, Gen Z.

Looks like Vader has already gotten into the Christmas cookies this year.

Who doesn’t love a good camel? It just doesn’t seem right though that one is walking down a street in Raleigh. I don’t think they’re parading grey squirrels through the Mojave.

Adults on tricycles for the win. I’m sure it was exhilarating to be 2 again.

I’m really glad we’re the Oak City; it makes for a nice name. Much better for business names than something less punchy, like Alder Buckthorn.

There can be no other possible use for this truck than pulling a Christmas float.

No one has ever disappointed with a chicken suit.

Clown volunteership seems to be really down. I can’t possibly imagine why.

Come on, Waste Industries, I expect a much trashier float than that.

Mr. Snoopy and Mr. Peanut are basically the same dude, with the grand exception that Mr. Snoopy has the decency to don something more than just a top hat.

When you don’t have a girl to ride with you, just put a dummy’s head in the back and that will be completely normal.

Cookie monster suffers massive heart attack at Hillsborough and Boylan.

Between the smoke from Chargrill and the exhaust of these old classics, I am nearly dead.

“How should we dress the ponies?” someone asked.

To Make a Monster

By Carson Speight in Just Poems, Homes 0 Comment

‘Twas a cool, dark night two weeks ago I chose to make a monster.
Apparently the horror shows are the ones I like to sponsor.
I could’ve slept, and been at peace, but I gathered tools instead.
And started crafting this foul beast, the moment before bed.

A tiny ask for a small song, of course that would be fine
I extended it the following night, to two songs, twice the time.
The next night just a little prayer after the lullabyes.
And then a holy story right before he closed his eyes.

Then I looked at him in horror and wondered what I’d done
He’d taken to snarls and growls over the sucking of his thumb
Now his eyes wouldn’t shut, he had 12 on his head
I said “Good night” and horns grew out and tore his sheets to shreds.

So I did a book, a prayer, a song, and ended with a story
But of course it wasn’t good enough, and sadly it got gory.
The monster grabbed me with his claws and kept me in the bunk.
It held me there and I was scared that sleep was out of luck.

The next night was a wily show of hopeless magic tricks
A pep talk then some poetry and soporific skits.
As options waned I reasoned I should tranquilize the beast.
Drowsy pills and vitamins I fed it like a feast.

Now I’m wise on exactly how a man can make a monster
Take all your good intentions of the sleep that you will foster
Then take a new request each night as if it will placate
Instead it breeds a bedtime beast, and then it’s all too late.

Loud cars, metal credit cards, and more of my favorite things

By Carson Speight in OddSirvations 0 Comment

Loud car loathing

Guys who drive loud cars obviously want attention. They like to rev their engine with pride as if they engineered the damn thing.

Do you want me to be impressed that you have a driver’s license and were able to secure financing? Congratulations. This is something the apes still haven’t mastered. If I were traveling with cookies I would toss one right into your rumbling cupholder.

The key to true defiance is to not look at loud car guy. Nothing gives him more pleasure than people turning their heads and him reading their lips saying “Good golly Miss Molly that is so friggin’ loud.” That’s what people like me say, people who drive cars where the loudest thing is an old serpentine belt screaming like live bats in a cauldron. Yeah buddy, don’t act like you’re not impressed.

Metal credit cards

I’m seeing more and more metal credit cards. Boy, what a way to make a spending statement. Look at all the losers and their plastic payment options. When I pay I leave a clink on the table. Don’t you see? I can afford metal. Humans had to mine to find material for my card. I am now a baller the likes of which my social circle has never seen.

My favorite things

Kids are obsessed with superlatives, and it’s largely how they connect with grownups. I’m constantly interrogated regarding what my favorite things are. “Daddy, what’s your favorite movie? What do you think the coolest planet is? What’s the best pine cone?” And this isn’t an opinion, there is most certainly a right answer. Inevitably I’ll say something ridiculous like the best pine cone is a white tree pine cone. “That’s OK, Daddy, but don’t you like the spruce pine cone? Isn’t the spruce pine cone your favorite?” “Yes son, the spruce pine cone is my favorite.” “Yeah, Dad, mine too.” They just want to connect.

Jackets, the Rich, and Breath Savers

By Carson Speight in OddSirvations 1 Comment

The man’s key to comfort

As we age, we think more about comfort. In fact before any activity, like squirrels with their frenzied, pre-winter nut gathering, we prepare and get everything in order to ensure max comfort. How can we watch a kids soccer game without folding chairs, a canopy and a battery-powered hand fan that disperses mists of water? How can we board a plane without earplugs, our iPad and a body-conforming neck pillow? We cannot.

I’ve found that part of becoming an older man is constantly considering the potential temperature of my skin. This is why for the older man the jacket becomes the default apparel. We must wear it everywhere, because we just don’t know if the building is going to have polar A/C, or we’ll somehow find ourselves in shade with a skin-tingling breeze that’s just a little too refreshing. With the jacket, we’re prepared. Because if we find things to indeed be broiling hot, we shed the layer like Superman and forge ahead, feeling completely temperate and ready to live out our heroic lives.

The once rich

Remember when being a millionaire was amazing? The thought of achieving such financial glory was practically unthinkable. But you don’t hear about millionaires anymore. Lots of people can even get there with a lifetime of disciplined saving. So we hear about billionaires, and then we think, “yes, now that person has done something.”

I’m not even impressed with people’s millions anymore. “So-and-so is worth $15 million.” Are they even trying? You’ll never own a pro team at that rate. If you don’t have billions you just aren’t so incredible. One day, we’ll have our world’s first trillionaire, and the millionaires will be serving them at the Arby’s drive-thru. (Trillionaires will be so rich they’ll be bored with the finest foods and just want to hop down the road to a place that has the meats.)

By the way, it seems like all the ultra-rich people are philanthropists. That’s good, of course. It’s great that the rich would use their gift of resources for the greater good. But plenty of people got rich because they were greedy and stepped over others to get where they got. So just because they gave away some money and we labeled them a philanthropist doesn’t mean they’re Mother Teresa. What is it about “philanthropist” that makes everything hunky-dory? Just throw “philanthropist” into a bio and it changes everything. “Mr. Smith is a business tycoon, hostile takeover expert, sweatshop owner, and philanthropist.” Gosh that Mr. Smith is swell.

Saving your breath

Have you ever bought a roll of Breath Savers? Better still, have you ever bought like a 5-pack of Breath Savers rolls? You can’t be any more obvious that you have a problem. No one loves mints so much to buy such a ridiculous amount. And there are countless brands of mints, but you’ve gone for the one that essentially tells everyone your head stinks. You can pull out Tic-Tacs or Icebreakers at a party, but will anything prevent friends like a pocket withdrawal of Breath Savers? Might as well proclaim, “Don’t mind me, I’ll be much less offensive to converse with in about one minute.” Breath Savers need packaging that makes the whole wrapper turn blank when you take them out into the daylight. This will even give you the satisfaction of offering mints to others without giving them the impression their heads stink too.

The Child in the Field

By Carson Speight in Stories (Vertically Challenged) 1 Comment

In a large field there sat still a small child. Looking up, he noticed something in the distance, something he thought remarkable. He had to get up.

The child stretched out his arms and planted them in the earth. Now on his knees, he pressed hard upon his toes and began to wobble upward, swaying like the blades of grass all around him. He hoisted one hand from the ground, staggered, and just before toppling, found his balance.

Relief must’ve tickled his brain and reverberated throughout the remainder of his body, for he exhaled a pronounced, giggling sigh. Now with newfound mettle, he was adamant to hasten his journey and encounter this thing that stirred him.

The first step was giant, and to him felt like lifting an anvil from a bog. As soon as his foot left the ground it returned with a slam. It took his breath away, as if the shock of forward movement was too precious to endure. So he gulped and gimped once more.

This subsequent lunge equaled the thrill of the first, yet carried into a frightful halt, as though two legs weren’t meant to be found so perfectly together. Panic seized the boy’s countenance, and he tumbled forward, a descending timber on a vast plain.

As his open hand struck the ground his breath left him and his eyes closed. Yet full impact evaded him, and he managed to jolt up again and press on.

The steps, from there, were easier. Not all better, of course. For he fell as much as he always had, and the scrapes cut deeper. But to move felt light. Despite the same feeble limbs, they flew like feathers. To move meant something.

To the boy, it may have taken a minute or a year. Nonetheless, he had arrived, panting, aching, and laughing. For he had come upon his vision. While neither a mirage, nor what he expected, it was no less beautiful, and perhaps moreso.

The spent lad plopped down, poked his ruddy knee, and glanced back over his shoulder. Somehow, he had done it, traversed the entire field like a knight upon his horse.

He puffed out his chest, raised his chin, smiled to the sky, and sensed the familiar, steady grip loosen and release his small hand.

Once more, the small child sat still in a large field, and once more, it was time to get up.

Abolition

By Carson Speight in Just Poems, Homes 1 Comment

Go, tell it on the mountain
A secret they don’t know’s about them
Once a whisper became a shout then—
Shackles cracked, lifeblood flowed like a fountain.

Any man anywhere any time
Same fate same share of the crime
Same cell same hell man’s confined
Any pardon for this firing line?

One only sent forth with the keys
One solely meant earth for reprieves
One lonely blip birth barely seen
Yet skies quake and chains shake again.

What’s this, the keymaster’s now bound?
Scandalous, for what guilt has been found?
Nonetheless, the due debt’s come around
Slain scapegoat now the jail’s crumbled down.

Go, tell it on the mountain
Truth laid waste just in case you were doubtin’
Drop the chains no more stains run without them
See you’re His then ad bliss infinitum.

Must Be November—Seeds, Stomach Bugs, and Car Bows

By Carson Speight in OddSirvations 0 Comment

Seeds

The World Series was a compelling watch this year. Stellar pitching, clutch hitting, and a remarkable showcase of human spitting. How these men conjure an endless stream of saliva for four hours baffles me.

Of course, with tobacco no longer en vogue due to its frightening potential of making your face cave in, the boys have turned to seeds. No, throwing in a dip of Wintergreen Kodiac isn’t salubrious, but I’m doubtful consuming a bag glorified salt licks every day makes the heart say “thank you.”

To be sure, ballplayers used to go to their doctors and inquire if dip was hurting them. I’m wondering what the doc says when they ask about their seed-eating habit.

Well, let’s see here, Jose. You’ve sucked on and ingested a bag of sunflower seeds every day for the last six months, and have done this every year since you were 19. Now that you’re 35, you’ve probably eaten over 2,500 bags of sunflower seeds, which means you’ve achieved a lifetime of sodium intake in 16 years. Let’s check your blood pressure and pray salt doesn’t start spraying out of your orifices.

Stomach Bugs

‘Tis the season for stomach bugs. I’m not sure there’s anything more frightening for a young family. One kid starts yakkin’ and within eight minutes your whole crew is aligned at the toilet. Then it’s 48 hours of Gatorade, Lysol and wet wipes.

After your kid has had the bug, the discomfort continues when you have to explain to other parents why your child is no longer quarantined.

“Oh, I heard your little girl had the stomach bug. Is she feeling better?”

“Oh yeah, she got it all out of her system. Doc says it’s no longer contagious. Principal welcomed her back to school. And we have a sworn affidavit from the CDC that she’s safe to touch your kid.”

Car Bows

It must be less than 40 days to Christmas because every car on TV has a big red bow on it. Is is just me or has this campaign been going for 20 years? Who is still positively responding to this ad and getting excited about dropping 60 grand at Christmas?

I suppose I’m simple. For Christmas, I may treat myself to a pair of khakis or an ice scraper for my windshield. This practicality feels good. Wearing pants and seeing the road are vital to my success as a human. When considering a little something for me, things like “boat,” “pool,” and “car” just don’t come to mind.

And what cruel, crazy person is gifting something like a car to their spouse? Honey, I got you a new Benz! I just thought, what better way to celebrate this season of materialism than with the gift of back-crippling debt?

In case anyone reading this is getting ideas, I’ll tell you straight up what would bring me joy when I look out my window this Christmas morning: my same old unshiny Ford Taurus and a pile of freshly raked leaves. Now that is a good Dad gift.

Our Trip to San Diego (It Wasn’t Bad)

By Carson Speight in PerSpeightives 1 Comment

Recently, my wife and I paid a visit to her sister and family in San Diego. I realize that already I sound cool, because I know someone who lives there and visiting people in exotic places sounds like something I can just do.

Unquestionably, San Diego has gravitas. Nobody who hasn’t been there knows anything about it, other than the city has been endowed with Heaven’s climate. Flawless beach weather everyday where you can walk outside naked and feel physically comfortable.

Other than that, what does this place have to offer? To me it was just Anchorman scenes and a bad football franchise that ain’t even there anymore. Well, I learned there’s indeed more to this place than I thought.

Shortly after exiting the airport, we were greeted by the picturesque bay and harbor, filled with sails and yachts, flanked by scores of palm trees, all with the backdrop of downtown high rises. What would’ve made for an incredible poster was indeed the handsome reality of Southern California.

Upon greeting our sister Andrea, her husband Taylor and our new precious nephew, Jackson, it was off to drink beer.

After all, San Diego has one of the greatest craft beer scenes in the world. I think my family there thought all I wanted to do on our trip was visit breweries, which is an excellent assumption, but not entirely true. All I wanted to do was visit breweries with the baby. Enjoy the new nephew on our terms at our fun places; that’s how we Millennials do it.

So on our first day, we headed to Ocean Beach, one of the last remaining surf towns in Southern California. We first visited Belching Beaver, because if you can fit “belch” and “beaver” into your business name, you’ve won. Afterward we walked to Ocean Beach Brewery and enjoyed a dinner of fresh fish as the sunset over the Pacific. Oh, what a horrible time. Then, a friendly fellow who may have been high asked me to smell a flower. I declined, only because the flower was so small I was concerned his fingers would go up my nose, and I didn’t fly 2,500 miles for that.

The following day, I got up for an early run. The Reeves live in North Park (you’re cool if you know where that is), so I didn’t have to go far before I reached Balboa Park, the great city park in San Diego. If only I could run somewhere new and beautiful every day, gosh, I’d probably be in slightly better shape than I am today. Later that morning, I had the pleasure of driving though the city to pick up my other sis-and-law and her fiancé at the airport. People say people in San Diego drive crazily. But people say that for every big city. I think there are just bad drivers everywhere, because hey, we’re all operating metric tons of steel moving at 80 mph. Yes, it’s freaking crazy.

In the afternoon, we had fish tacos by the harbor. Meh… Just kidding, it was terrific. My best taco had octopus. I’m glad we’re putting the octopi to good use. After lunch, I walked off my octopus at Point Luma, a historical site featuring a lighthouse and panoramic views of San Diego and its bay.

The day only got better, as I emptied a gift card to buy lots of So Cali beer and then watch my beloved Wolfpack whoop hiney in prime time, i.e. 5 pm PST. Watching sports on the West Coast is so money. The best part of all of this was doing silent cheers so we wouldn’t wake the baby. Silent cheering and dancing is really fun. It would be great for a whole stadium to do it as a thing, like a blackout or the wave.

The next day we hiked Torrey Pines National Park. More beauty and wonder, and more exercise to mitigate my rapidly expanding octopus/IPA gut. That afternoon, we explored North Park, enjoying great ale and reggae at Rip Current Brewing and an outstanding burrito at Lucho Libre, a hilariously pink joint celebrating Mexican wrestling. Then it was on to the Reeves’ neighborhood brewery (Thorn Street) where we watched the US triumphantly defeat Panama in their World Cup qualifier, with the blessed ignorance of the proceeding nightmare match. Then back home for burgers, fire pit, cigars, blah blah blah best day ever.

Next morning, we went to the harbor-side market and bought a fish—a huge, newly dead 16-pound skipjack tuna to be precise. Then it was onto to Little Italy for their Farmers Market, where we tried poke-stuffed uni. That’s raw tuna inside a sea urchin. Good golly listen to what we humans are doing. Then, just when I didn’t want to have any more fun, we visited Ballast Point Brewing, Liberty Station, and Stone Brewing. Yes, I got to visit my favorite brewery in the world. I sampled four delicious beers beside a coy pond and even bought a corduroy hat. That was a pretty good day.

All in all, it was one of the best weeks of my life, and our time with family and our new nephew was simply splendid. I definitely recommend San Diego, unless you are against fun, beauty, and factually the greatest city in the history of mankind.