“Word Blast”

c. 2019 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-19)

Blasted.

After my early retirement in 2016, I rediscovered a habit from high school years. Surrendering to bed at a reasonable hour, only to wake again around 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning. At this comfortable point between sunset and sunrise, I used to finish homework. Now, I found it useful to pause and scribble out ideas over coffee and P. B. Toast.

As a teenager, my night-owl habits were unwelcome in the household. I learned to be stealthy and quiet while active, overnight. Eventually, this meant rigging up and old pair of headphones from a crystal radio set, to my television. But now, divorced, retired and disabled, being awake during uncivil hours brought no scrutiny. My Black Lab did not care. It only meant an extra trip outside for him, and more treats before stretching out on the carpet. He was glad to endorse this irregular behavior.

The shack was my kingdom. The home office, my starship bridge.

On a recent morning, I was finishing a Phil Hendrie Show netcast in sync with my third cup of go-juice. Eyes still heavy. Battling a sense that I should have stayed under the comforter. My writing discipline had stalled like the weather outside. My keyboard had been abandoned for several days.

But then, with tones of bumper music fading to the show conclusion, a simple phrase whispered itself into life.

“Personal opinion.”

This silent voice made me sit upright in the chair. I shook my head in disbelief. Personal opinion? The thought-in-text seemed ridiculous. Personal opinion? There was no connection in the phrase to Phil Hendrie and his multiple radio personalities. Personal opinion? I repeated it over and over again, hoping for a sort of understanding. Something in the tonal resonance of jangling guitar had pricked my consciousness. Personal opinion? What a foolish admonition to receive with frozen windows, snow on the steps, and a soul-in-stasis, sitting idle, unloved and unworthy in the darkness.

“Personal opinion. My view, my attitude...”

I was unprepared for any sort of inspiration. Even a bit irritated to have my moment of solitude interrupted. More content to sit and ponder the wisdom of Margaret Gray, Robert Leonard and General Gaylen Shaw. Coffee drops still lingered in my mustache. But I grabbed the phone. Fumbling slightly, I found the ‘Notes’ app. In a fit of what seemed to be automatic writing, I prepared to channel the vision into useful prose.

Then, quick and unrestrained, the orgasmic rush of words arrived like a winter storm:

Personal opinion
My view
My attitude
Got to step back in time
Find a taste of the sublime

Personal opinion
My way
My judgment day
Phil Hendrie podcast
Plugs me to the word-blast

Personal opinion
My breath
My second death
Wind blows colder
This wordsmith getting older

Personal opinion
My rhyme
My trip through time
I give the poet’s note
To those without hope

Personal opinion
No more
Than a word score
Read the page, lightly
Sling the ink, mightily

Personal opinion
Edgar Cayce
Thinking free
Automatic writing fits
I scribble with my stick

Personal opinion
Mood true
Coming through
Face of the other self
Peering from depths of hell

Personal opinion
Three o’clock
On the rock
I give a nod to the nighttime
Still reek of coffee-wine

Personal opinion
Loner sits
In ash pit
Busted up for display
Nighttime is my day

Personal opinion
Duck call
Seeker, enthralled
Losing my control of self
Back to the kinder spell

Personal opinion
I like
I deny
Eyes into the muck of me
Me slipping to eternity

Personal opinion
One kiss
Double miss
She said the chance is enough
I bow to sterner stuff

Personal opinion
Eye wink
Cocktail drink
My glass ready to be filled
My dreams already killed

Personal opinion
I wait
Breaking day
Wait for a message if release
Wait for the other me

Personal opinion
Breathe deep
Then sleep
Caffeine has opposite effect
I am a physical wreck

Personal opinion
Last verse
Final curse
Wind cold over the snow
Soul-starved and ready to go

Afterward, I sat in my chair, motionless and reflective.

It was five degrees below zero degrees outside. The ‘Polar Vortex’ had crept down from its northern realm to frost the continent with icy gloom. I was glad to be indoors and comfortable. But even more grateful for my unexpected tap-in to the creative continuum.

Somehow, the comic muse from El Pacifico had sparked a bit of creative fire when the weather, and my imagination, had gone so cold.

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