abba's way

Lord’s Prayer Metrical

Originally the Lord’s Prayer ends “deliver us from evil”.

My Metrical Version:

Abba whose home in heaven is
Hallowed and holy is your name
Let your realm come your will be done
Til earth and heaven are the same

Give us this day our daily bread
Forgive the wrongs that we have done
As we forgive those who do wrong
Lead us not into temptation

Deliver us from evil, Lord
And safely guide us to your shore
Yours is the power to heal and mend
Yours is the glory evermore

abba's way

It’s time to tweet again. I do my tweets six days in advance.

From Some Stones Don’t Roll (FicMemOne by Stephen C. Rose) eBook: Stephen C. Rose: Kindle Store


It’s time to tweet again. I do my tweets six days in advance. If something strikes me I dripfeed it and almost a week from now I shall look at my Twitter stream and see how many favorites it has from those who Justin Bieber follows or others among my 140,000 followers. I am a leader, that’s for sure. Here waiting for the birds to land and the drip to end and flagellating myself not really for being immune to empathy for the dead. I have this thing about death ever since I read something about the patterns of the cosmos that suggested to me that there is a way things move that is entirely different than we are aware of and that that makes death itself something we need not lament or well we only lament it from our point of view. Face it.  I am just immune to empathy. That’s all there is to it. I will not seek therapy now. I am too old and I see no one anymore. I cannot even imagine my Twitter verse.  Or is it Twitterverse. I invite new people daily. If they do not accept I unfollow them four days hence. I take pleasure in not following and pleasure in watching my followers increase in number. I shall get to a million and still have no fame. I do not want fame. I want change. Am I being honest? I am being very honest. I can take some sorts of pain, the medical kind, the post-prostrate inability to pee ten out of ten pain., But I cannot take the pain of ills I do not know. The social pain. The pain of fame. The pain of expectations.  Of being observed and thought to be what I might be, but cannot see myself as becoming. It is a crime that another’s eye can glom what I can miss for decades. Forever perhaps. I rarely tweet the same things. I write them as I go along. I have been at this keyboard for more than three decades a full third of all my days, willing the world to change so it will be following the trajectory of my own imagining, Even though I know that if that happened the world would stop entirely. Immediately. No wonder I have no empathy.



abba's way

Everything is always better.

Excerpt Two from the new ??? oh yes Ficmem now available as Some Stones Don’t Roll (FicMemOne by Stephen C. Rose) eBook: Stephen C. Rose: Kindle Store

Everything is always better. Palmiers broken in two and the new plastic, top always in place, iced-coffee thingy. I will take it with me on my journey. I have a viaticum in waiting. I have Kenneth Burke on my floor ledge. Now there’s a siren, fire no doubt. And buildings collapsed and three dead six miles north and east. Now a hammering upstairs. As if we used stairs anymore. Two plastic containers of supplements I do not use anymore. They stand like sentries between me and the dirty window where a record player also obsolete sits next to cassette holders also empty and yes I know a change in view would be just the thing to change everything to make pigeons more visible to make the window cleanable. The dripping has not stopped.


abba's way

Nationalism is harmful. Survival is germane.

Nationalism is harmful when it embraces the virulent edge of incipient harm to others.

The 20th century laid bare the bane of nationalism

Isms are not as prevalent these days

We are wrestling with one world concepts

With ecology

With sustainability

Shall we be frank

With survival

With trying to roll back our senses of entitlement

To entitle all