Tom Flanders World

All the stuff about me and my life
Meaning and Responsibility
train station meaning

What does meaning mean?

In response I’m spending more time on each piece. Last Thursday’s post went through five drafts. It’s not the time and effort spent on multiple drafts that bothers me. It’s that fact that the more drafts I do, the drafts I want to do. The more things I find to “correct”, the more I assume there are other things that need correcting. (Like that comma back there that I initially left out.)

So I go from two drafts to five, and it was only a deadline that prevented further revisions. I had to convince myself that it was good enough. Not an easy accomplishment for a flawed perfectionist.

Then we have meaning, which is what I started to write about. On this I have oddly little stress. People will read my stuff and come to their own conclusions. What it means to me might not be what it means to them. They might not even care enough to assign meaning.

I guess the question is; What does a writer expect from their audience? Do we want praise, comments, criticism? Or is it enough to know that people are reading what we wrote? For larger pieces I have a wonderfully honest first reader, but I don’t want to wear out my welcome by having her look at every little piece of text that leaks out of my brain.


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Tow Week – Riding

Lots of Riding

I rode more this week than most months so far this year. We’re definitely having riding weather.  After last weeks non-riding days due to tendonitis I dropped way down in the National Bike Challenge rankings. With Today’s ride I’m up to 27th for San Francisco.

Random Thoughts

A defining characteristic: in my spare time I read car magazines from 1905.

Now is the Winter of our dysentery. Release the kraken!

The grammarian in me is having a hard time with people’s constant misuse of the word ridiculous.

Creating weird art out of breakfast foods is called cerealism.

I’m a fan of milder violence so I watch the Penultimate Fighting Championship.

I start writing at 11:55PM and finish at 12:05AM. That way I can write for two days in a row in only ten minutes.

All my favorite writers are dead. What does that say about me?

My soul drinks Mexican orange soda at the dark cabaret.

A job?

Got back from the long RV trip to find email and voicemail regarding what sounds like a good job. Just when I got my brain comfortable with the idea of moving this happens. What is the universe telling me?

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Leo’s Poem – 100 words
poem window

There is a poem that begins with the phrase, “The cool air on my skin is the sadness of a touch unrealized.” Unfortunately that is the only line worth repeating. The first line came to Leo, the poem’s author, intact one cool summer morning. He drove himself insane trying to find more words the equal of the opening line, but failed. For years he failed, finally giving up and publishing the poem. The critics tore him apart. He lives in his parents basement now and watches the feet of passers-by through the tiny slit of a window. Waiting for death


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Tom Week – Trump
Insane Trump

Trump is mentally ill

Seriously. Have you read the news about Trump yelling at his television during the Russia hearings. Then he lashes out by firing the FBI director. These are not the actions of a sane person.

On a related note regarding the hearings; I would not want Sally Yates mad at me.

Bike clearance

Today is the day I start cleaning out all by bike parts. They have no place in my plans for the immediate future. I’m keeping the tools but the parts have to go. It’s a bit sad, but I’ll feel better when they’re gone.

Dad’s Car

My father got his stolen car back. The car was stolen on March 29. It was towed, from a few blocks from dad’s house, on April 1 or 3. The keys were in it. The car was parked in a snow zone, which is why it was towed. This week, in May, they sent dad the parking ticket. Hilarity and happiness ensued.

Apparently the Worcester police computer consists of multi-colored 3×5 cars that are only collated every other month.

Cleaning House

Today I put all the bike parts out on the sidewalk and took a huge load to Goodwill. (Thanks to my helper.) Unlike the first load there was no sense of loss. I am glad to be rid of it all and look forward to getting rid of more.

update: Nearly all the big stuff is gone. All that’s left is a rusty girl’s frame, some greasy bits and a perfectly good wheel with a flip flop hub.

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Patterns – 100 words
patterns of music

The patterns of music elude me. I listen hard but fail to perceive or understand how music works. I know I’m drunk but my brain has never been this useless. People are dancing at right angles to each other. Up and down have lost their meaning and purpose.

I do an inventory of previous drug experiences and find nothing that matches this. Then I realize that my brain is functioning. I can think and reason. It’s my senses that have broken down.

I try to alert my friends. I can’t move. Someone shouts in my face. It all goes dark.

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