A Morning with Liszt and Bulowski

This morning I’m listening to the piano musings of

Franz Liszt while I read the embittered poetry of

Charles Bukowski.

(I can ingest his rancorous ramblings easier that way.)

Old Bukowski was a tortured person throughout his

73-years here on Earth.

One may ask, why then would I read his work in order

to inspire mine?

Well, his poetry was neither academic nor esoteric.

There were no slick or hidden meanings in his work.

He spoke quite literally to the common man I consider

myself to be.

Had we met in life, though, I’d have to say more than

likely we would not have been friends.

That is, had I been living the sober life I do now.

As drunks, however, we would have surely come

to some serious blows.

And then, I’ll drink to that. Let’s let bygones be bygones

(that is until our next explosive drunken episode).

Now, I could imagine being closer to Liszt

had we shared the same time historically.

Had we drank together we may have sensibly agreed

to disagree.

If not, I could just tell him to shut up and play the

damn piano, man!

You sure don’t want to mess up those precious knuckles

of yours punching me in the face.

                                                       -30-

Chris Hanch 6-30-2020

Look, Listen and Learn

Some people learn when they are told,

others see how when they are shown.

Still others try on their own. Sometimes

they fail; sometimes they succeed. Look,

listen and learn.

Now as an experiment, take yourself

out of the picture, become totally dis-

engaged, physically and emotionally

separated from a certain scene or

activity.

Nothing ventured; nothing gained.

You know what I mean, like in a far

fetched sci-fi movie or say a man on

the moon landing, could be a volcanic

eruption on an island off Indonesia or

perhaps the running of the bulls in

Pamplona.

There are somethings you will never

experience personally in reality. I for

one will never scale the icy slopes of

Mt. Everest. I’m scared of heights,

you see.

And why anyone else would beats the

living hell out of me. Too, I’ll only travel

on the Interstates when I need to get

where I want or need to be.

Live and let live...that’s my philosophy.

I was raised in the Midwest, what did

you expect?

                        -30-

Chris Hanch 6-30-2020

what i did and did not know

now in this

the latter portion

of my life

i have come to realize

that i am not as good

as I once thought I was

and had I only known

the possibilities

earlier on

i certainly could have

imagined being

much better

for instance

take that time…

oh, never mind

               -30-

Chris Hanch 6-29-2020

Something About Brother Dave

Thinking about my younger brother who

passed away a year and a half ago. Dave

loved to eat and loved to make his annual

trips to Las Vegas.

He only played the slots, a game of chance

geared to make the casinos lots of money.

And I’m sure over time, Dave lost more than

he won. Yet, year after year he fed those

hungry bandits his nickles, dimes and quarters,

hoping for a grand payoff.

I went with Dave to Vegas a couple of times.

I preferred black jack, a game of which statis-

tics say the player has the best chance at win-

ning. I won a bit occasionally, and I generally

quit when I broke even. I’m not your died-in-

the-wool gambler.

I don’t much care either for the aura and

bright lights of Las Vegas. But the people

watching is entertaining, and the food is

bountiful and generally good if you’re

familiar with the territory. And brother

Dave was an aficionado at that.

I miss brother, Dave. Every fall I think about

him and his excursions to Las Vegas, and him

plugging away at his coveted slots, hoping

against all odds for a big winner.

Not that it matters to him now, but I think

he would have been really upset when they

shut Las Vegas down for a time during this

Corona-virus Pandemic. He’d be praying

that things would open up there come the

fall.

Oh, they have casinos in St. Louis where

he lived. He managed to play the slots there

weekly. But as for Dave, he’d be the first to

tell you, that that just wasn't the same.

                            -30-

Chris Hanch 6-28-2020

1968 Sign of the Times

Watched a CNN Documentary on 1968

last night. Bet most of you reading this

were decades away from even being

born yet.

Indeed, it’s hard for me to believe I

lived through all that some 52-years

earlier. The assassinations of MLK

and RFK, the cities on fire, the riots

and protests, the hell that was the war

at home and in Vietnam.

Terrible!

And I thought so back then, But I was

only 21-years old and had hopes things

would improve over time. But then...

Terrible!

And in cycles as the world turns, more

travesties and disasters occur. Seems

all those lessons and still we never learn.

New deaths, new births, history is written,

the facts fade away, and get ready, here we

go once again.

Terrible!

When you live through so many cycles

you begin to think, sure different faces,

perhaps different places, but here we

are, Déjà vu all over again.

Terrible!

At 73-years of age with all my maladies

and pains, I’m thinking how much more

of this shit can the human race take, all

the prejudices, injustices and hate?

I sit alone now watching the CNN docu-

mentary on 1968 replay, knowing that

new ones are being produced today.

Next time I may not live to see the day.

Terrible! Goddamned terrible!

                          -30-

Chris Hanch 6-28-2020

Heredity

It has been stated that a generation covers a period

of about thirty-years. We are a fairly new species

on a 4-billion year old Planet Earth, having arrived

to our present place in time from generations tracked

back some 250,000 years. I won’t go beyond the bi-

pedal state, few are really interested in the creepy

crawly slime which preceded that. So, over myriad

generations past, we homo sapiens have evolved to

our present condition. Biologically, we share 99% of

the same DNA with the chimpanzee. No wonder we

are fascinated with our closely-related primate. And

even though we consider ourselves a superior species,

we share many similar traits with which we can oft-times

embarrassingly relate. (Each time I pick my nose or scratch

my ass, I am reminded of that.) Oh, and we humans can

boastfully claim that we were the first to come up with ice

cream cones and advanced thermonuclear weapons. I

myself prefer chocolate chip.

                                   -30-

Chris Hanch 6-27-2020

Duty Bound

Once a month our boss assigned Clarence

and me to cross-check numbers on some

stupid special report which had something

to do with inventory and purchase orders.

We went to a small conference room, plopped

down a stack of papers on the desk and began.

Clarence went first, Part number, 136-12234,

quantity, 504. Part number, 136-12234, quantity

504, Check, I replied. And the first in a long line

of several thousand numbers had begun.

Part way into the pile of crap we were sifting

through, I started to nod off. Couldn’t help

myself, numbers bore me, besides Clarence,

an older man, had a low, drone voice which

could put a savage, hungry beast to sleep.

I really didn’t care much for Clarence either.

He was a numbers man, never said much and

always did what he was told. Nodded his head

a lot instead of saying, yes. Boring.

I hated my job as a material planner in the

purchasing department, thousands of small

electronic parts, thousands of numbers to

identify and classify for inventory.

I hated the routine, 8 to 5, an hour for lunch,

one 15-minute break in the morning, another

15-minute break in the afternoon. Same faces,

same parts, same routine, number after number,

the same over and over again.

Seven years I stuck it out for family sake. Was

brought up to be grateful and satisfied with

steady employment and a modest get nowhere

except pay the bills wage.

I hated my life, didn’t get along well at home with

the wife. I hated weekends, mow the lawn, change

the oil, wash the car, shop the grocery store and

mall, take and pick up the kids from events and

friends.

Most of all, though, I hated Clarence. I was afraid

that in a few more years if this shit kept up, I’d be

as boring as he. So boring that I would put a much

younger man than I to sleep. Clarence nudged me,

Pay attention, he said.

                                -30-

Chris Hanch 6-26-2020

What It Takes

Yes, in part, it’s what has been done, yet

what’s more, we await the arrival of that

which is to come.

A sailor on the bow of the ship tosses

the rope to the dock man on the pier. The

ship can’t be landed and secured until it

is moored to the dock on shore.

It’s is the repetition, my friends, which

keeps success in motion.

One inoculation is not enough. Vaccine

must be administered to one person after

another to stem the tide of disease.

The control tower repeatedly lands aircraft

one by one in a row, bringing a stream of

passengers to safety. It is never done just

once to achieve the goal. It takes contin-

uation to realize success in any endeavor.

Respect is not shown and bestowed with just

a passing word. It takes action upon action

which precede and follow.

The axiom, if at first you do not succeed, try,

try again. And it must likewise be extolled,

success is a continuum which must be reap-

plied time and time again.

A single meal is not enough to nourish the

body for a lifetime. One girder or brick laid

does not a skyscraper make.

One cannot reach 100, 1000, one million

without a sequential accounting for all the

numbers which come before.

It takes more than a gratuitous word, a kiss

and a hug to perpetuate a solid and enduring

relationship.

A single action is but a beginning, the foundation

to the next and the next must be laid, building a

pathway to success.


Civil Rights is a perpetual process in motion.

                                                -30-

Chris Hanch 6-26-2020

The Excuse

Seven years into my employment as a Material Planner

at King Radio, the slow clock of eight hours finally hit

5 o’clock and quitting time.

I asked my friend George to join me for a beer after work.

“Pizza Hut is close by, meet you there in five.” George

smiled, “I’m up for that.”

Routinely, my wife, a practical, hard-driving, no-nonsense

woman of German descent expects me home daily at 5:30

sharp every evening. And if I know what’s good for me, I

generally accomdate her schedule. Even a genial phone

call advising her of my meeting with George would not

appease her.

She’ll have dinner on the table at six. I’d better be unwound

from my days work and ready to eat. Today, though, I’ll break

the Golden Rule and have a few brews with George.

Gives us a chance to catch up on our private lives and

discuss our personal goals for the future. We have some

grand plans for someday doing our own thing.

George wants to open a bar; I would love to escape the

commercial world of work and be able to write and

paint. Pie-in-the-sky hopes for the both of us, I know,

but every man needs his dreams, makes an otherwise

boring life seem worthwhile.

After a dose of cloves to soak up and cover the smell

of beer on the breath, I arrive home at 7 o’clock. And

having rubbed my hands over my car tires to give me

that filthy flat tire changing sheen, I entered the house

explaining my tardiness to my angered wife.

“Tire blew out on I-35.” I told her with a frustrated tone.

“I was doing 75, damn near lost control, but somehow

managed to pull over to the side. Couldn’t find the tire

tool so I flagged down a motorist who was kind enough

to stop and help.”

Luckily the wife lightened up and bought my tale of

terror. That’s one excuse I’ll not be able to use again.

And likely it will be another month or so before George

and I would be able to commiserate over beer again.

The wife expects me home at 5: 30 sharp. Determined

German women demand to have their needs met. No

need for me to be starting World War III.

“You’re dinner is cold,” she said sternly. And quietly, I was

reaffirmed, that’s not all.

I washed my hands and sat down at the table. “Pass the

sauerkraut, please.”

                                     -30-

Chris Hanch 6-24-2020

Jogging the Memory

I write some about my childhood days, a few highlights

and low-lights which come to mind. But my memory is

not really all that good.

Think of it, from an age when you can first recall being

alive which may be 3, 4 or 5, until you reach puberty

and could then be considered a young adult, you had all

those accumulated days filling your brain with memories

and activities.

And from the tens of thousands of those happenings, you

can only recall a few dozen or so. My point is, for me at

least, I should have entered life when I was in my mid-forties

or so.

Sociologists and psychologists claim as children, we grow

into and through various learning stages. We learn to love

and hate, we are potty trained, and through example and

teaching we learn to socialize, to speak, count and spell.

Walk, run, jump and play are part of our natural pro-

gression as human beings. Anyway, half of what I may

have learned as a child is useless to me now in my

advancing years. And the other half, I am physically

and emotionally no longer able or fit to do.

I figure my forties would have been a more appropriate

fit from where life should begin. For now in my mid-

seventies as I digress in body and mind. At least my

memory was much clearer thirty-some years ago, and

at that time I had some clue as to who I would eventually

come to be.

On the other hand, I can also understand that being born

for the first time fully formed in your forties would pose

some serious problems for both the child and mother

physiologically.


I feel as though I'm going through the process of reverse osmosis,

you know.

                                     -30-

Chris Hanch 6-23-2020

Peace and Tranquility

Peace and tranquility comes when you finally let go.

Those who win achieve a false security because all

which is won is bound to eventually be lost in the end

.

There is no Rest in Peace for the deceased. Houdini

promised friends he would attempt to reach out to them

from the other side when he arrived.

How in his after life could he ever be resting in peace

while struggling mightlily to escape the perminance

of the condition he has achieved?

Now I don’t mean to depricate or dismiss you avowed

believers in eternal life hereafter. It is your faith which

keeps you hopeful and alive.

I too have my personal take on the enevitably which lies

ahead—the never ending void of pure nothingness not

even total darkness can abide.

I shall take that which is afforded me in this life. I shall

know true peace and tranquility when I choose to let go

of my egotistical prideful identity.

You can only achieve that while you’re alive. Could you use

the nifty recliner in my living room when I’m gone? It’s

damn near brand new. I won’t be needing it I finally arrive.

                                                          -30-

Chris Hanch 6-23-2020