I heard… my Lord speak, past the Charlatans.

I heard the loud gossip.   The unremitting implacable voice that bled tyranny  without a purpose.   The dangling nuances floated like dandelion leaves weaving themselves intricately in the still practically still air.   Soon the caterwauling traversed the Ivy walls and permeated a culture.   The perceived sin was a stain and the accuser with a letter opener divulging it’s contents with savage alacrity.

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Pretty soon more bees appeared humming innuendo in consonance,  breeding a fomenting tide.   The woodchucks were building a dam to a pent up rage.   Finding philosophy,  clarifying perceptions and sustaining the crackling whip.

Now the tide’s foams where churning,  this mass moving forward in soliloquy followed by a sneeze.  The steady hum of ceiling fans and the bubbling cauldrons of digestion echoing about.   Terse abeyance with the clicking clock,  this momentary lapse in a long and counterproductive day.

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The victim’s penance was not enough!   The dirty closet was for later and now just the poison of a sting,  it’s arrow embedded in the heart.   The poor Butterfly felt dizzy and the drawing of the curtain too much.  This Monarch was unseated,  it’s clefted speech unrecognizable.   There really was no sustaining sin or the need for such whippings for the Antlers of the accuser gored with reckless glee.

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White linen appeared,  as a Praying Mantis praying her sublime ode with perfume and the perfunctory slap of heavenly quiet.   Reckoning not with shackles but a compromised self-image,  the progression of a pendulum,   striking the atavistic cheek with a dose of reality.  The Victim like the Swan apoplectic at it’s good fortune,   humbly then cast aside the hurt in favor of a favorable outlook.   Exonerated and unimpeachable joyfulness like the bells of a church chattering.

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To a pastoral scene within a dream of Tanzanite Blue and the shifting sands of time to a reverence and the hand of God looking kindly, prodding,  reassuring.   You are safe,  feel the cascading waterfalls wash away ordinary blame…    Resolved…..

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I felt… Oh oh feelings!!!

Wizzzzz

Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings – always darker, emptier and simpler.

Friedrich Nietzsche

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/feelings.html#fGQvfxoqLOmo18UI.99

I felt but what was I feeling?

Were my perceptions of myself,  perceptions or guesses?

Were my guesses literal?

Or were my literal cognitions but fanciful dreams in a pick pocket’s hands?

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Were those hands ruddy or smooth?

Were those acts of sleight of hand cumbersome or like velvet?

Was it crushed velvet or a simulation,

like a Cubic Zirconia kind of Diamond?

And can a diamond be a friend

or can a CZ be one too?

So what if I feel.

JFKReflection

Was it a feeling  that I felt or a summation of feelings.

Feelings so elusive like water through ones fingers.

Fingers that rob and yet feed.

Fed by greed or by the perception of a job?

Does sustenance legitimize theft

when appreciation was only a fleeting consideration

of what I felt? A glimmer of what could have been?

Or more likely a clever ruse to conceal?

Ghandijerry_brown

Put up a Parking Lot, Pennsboro Speedway, a Phoenix Rising.

Nestled in the catacombs of our memories lie tragedy and inevitability.   Pennsboro,  WV,  a sleepy town of almost 1,200 people is stirring, pushing for new life to an old habit.   A secure place with it’s own particular history and a populace not floundering with the future but embracing it.    Not a parking lot or apartment complex but a resounding family affair,  apparent and growing.

Every Autumn has it’s flourish and the long hard and cold Decembers seem so lonely and desperate.   Hedging next year as profoundly more important than past and yet feeling that some person in a high place with a well-kept lawn sees no use.   No reason to deal with the noise (in the middle of nowhere- basically) and for a few votes suppressing a good thing.

The good people of the past feel a particular melancholy,  with the sounds of mechanics tools and a desperate driver preparing for a feature uncertain of it’s end.   Wives and children sit silently as drivers don helmets and safety restraints.    The sound from the PA system alerts drivers to go to the staging area and so it goes.

Not many are paid except maybe feature payouts for a lucky few and the money and time spent getting it right and knowing that if you do not get more sponsors it may be over anyway.

Anyhow,  that is next week’s problem or next year or whatever.   The track is dry or maybe too wet but somehow the job gets done and it is time to race,  inspite of everything.    But in the lonely dell at the edge of the treeline sits people ready for action.    Tomorrow will come by and by.

People who are proud and proud of the flag,  bowing reverently with hand over heart and a prayer for the safety of all.   It is a special night.   Another night celebrating the sacrifce of Veterans and active duty types. That and first responders,  heroes in any regard.

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Like at many tracks pictures and accounts are numerous but when they are not and when older fans and drivers want to think back on those days and the joys they brung then these stories and photos bring that back for awhile.    I will enclose a couple links so that you can see more of this great history of this track and remember sponsors because ultimately these sponsors and investors are needed to keep a track going.

http://free-stock-illustration.com/pennsboro+speedway+photos

http://www.wboy.com/story/28902683/ritchie-county-fairgrounds-pennsboro-speedway-revived

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Rebuilding-Pennsboro-Speedway-And-Ritchie-County-

This facebook account above you can regard as a portal to all things related to Pennsboro Speedway and Fairgrounds.    They will keep you posted on events and initiatives for the track.

Scoringbooth

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I have worked on around 100 radio stations as a broadcaster and Meteorologist and I have seen a few tracks come and go and includes tracks like Hales Corner Speedway,  USA International in Lakeland,  Fairgrounds Speedway (Tampa),  Golden Gate Speedway and a few others and I hate that.   The tracks that remain face issues of rainouts,  selling out to new owners and I can guarantee you this,  that the people of Nazareth dirt and the tri-oval were  back.  There are some things that matter and to the racing community this is literally life and death.     Non-fans and politicians may not see the intrinsic good in a race facility but it is more than a sport.    It is an event and culturally invaluable.

Doctors confirm: Use of flesh-eating opioid drug krokodil is spreading in U.S.

Excellent blog. thanks, a beautiful mind as well….

Biken Shrestha

Doctors confirm: Use of flesh-eating opioid drug krokodil is spreading in U.S. (via Raw Story )

It’s official: Krokodil has reached the United States, and doctors say it’s posing a real threat. The extremely addictive, injectable opioid is made by mixing codeine with some combination of gasoline, paint thinner, iodine, kitchen and bathroom…


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Hirams Lightning Sprints

A picture of Justin Ward’s #8 Sprint car reminded me of someone I know whose color scheme is very close to Ward’s.  This curiosity compelled me to look at the Hirams Lightning Sprint series but also noted they are not microsprints per se but a 1,000cc 4 cylinder division with Japanese motores.

The Hiram Sprints race at five different tracks and the rules for the division are listed on the site,  so please check out the page and websites.    http://www.hiramslightningsprints.org/results—standings.html.

One of the best things about short track racing is that you can find these kinds of programs in most states and these drivers and tracks have sponsors,  so please check them out too and patronize the many businesses  and say, “Thanks” to the drivers and everyone else who make these events possible.

I mentioned earlier the similarity between Justin Ward’s car and my friend who races 410 Sprints in Pittsburgh and nationally at the Sprint Car Hall-of-Fame in Knoxville,  Iowa.    Sprint car racing is sprint car racing and the Hirams series is a quality circuit at quality tracks,  so give it a try.

Justin Ward - HiramsEdCharlotte513

The wings may be different sizes and the engines but the spirit and dedication remains the same.

Race Tracks

Cherry Raceway

​8649 E. M113

Fife Lake, MI 49633

Track Info: www.cherryraceway.com | (231) 468-1477

Berlin Raceway

2060 Berlin Fair Dr.

Marne, MI 49435

Track Info: www.berlinraceway.com | (616) 677-5000

Crystal Motor Speedway

8315 Sidney Road

Crystal, MI 48818

Track Info: www.crystalmotorspeedway.com | (989) 235-5200

​​Merritt Speedway

​4430 East Houghton Lake Road
Lake City, MI. 49651

​Track Info: www.merrittspeedwaymi.com  |  231-328-7223

Tri City Raceway

85 W Wheeler Rd.

Auburn, MI 48611

​Track Info: www.tricityracetrack.com | (989) 316-6804

The all Michigan series have their stars put on a very good show and with the popularity of sprints growing it is no wonder judging by the competition here.

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There are also the local shows at each track including Late Models,  Modifieds and Sprints and the ever present regular stocks  —   a fan favorite.

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Bradley Poor 148 BP 1

Oh Very Young…. We love as we pass.

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Perpetual Autumn leaves must fall,  the inexorable push against the seasons affect us,  one and everyone.   From Terry Cloth to Mr. Clean,  we can fix most things if we really want.   Those memories like the multi-colored leaves of each season have not perished,  they have changed form like the lines on our faces.    We are not vexed by circumstance nor are we really cheated.   Our sentience,  our journeys, with the cascading highs and the lowest of lows,  these are milestones not millstones.   Interrogations of self-awareness,  floating like tinsel in song and in prose.

To my 1974 classmates.   The pretty blonde is older than us.   Be of good cheer! Bless you all!!!

We have traded the wind for flight.  We walk less suredly but we walk none-the-less.   The fingerprints of our lives,   immutable and distinguishable,  yet that is not the totality of our essence.   That is not what makes one unique because we are born constantly,  born in altered states.   We learn to be humane by embracing humanity,  learning the crush of mother nature,  yields to us gems of exquisite taste and discovery.

The laughter of a merry grandparent,  the inexplicable statements uttered from the lips of infants.    The boulder that is a footstool and the wash….  perpetuity of reconciled grace.   Goodness is a stanchion, a rock of it’s own.    Buttressed by the hum of a bee delivering nectar,  a butterfly exhibition or a savant,  relishing  chords before him or her.

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Even our sweat culled in diligence and purged by the vapors before,  the scene clears as we let go of preconceptions.   The delineations between self-aggrandizement and the muck and mire we consider self-gratifying.

The sheer beauty of a waterfall and all around it the greens of sustenance and rapturous good looks.    Fairies are born here and muses gush from Geisers to outerspace.   Indivisible worlds so feint,  yet thriving with the same energy like rippling muscles and gravity waves.

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We are bound to create or at least appreciate the dunder and the spate of good fortune that follows even the least fortunate.    Our awarenesses are platforms which we climb,  and amber a testimony of a moment in time.   We are time and outside of it.   Our brains synaptic marvels beyond the ken of most,  save for the shards of inspiration that are spiritual and sublime.    The Higgs particle in each of us embodies the spectacle of complexity and awesome sighs of a groaning mountain,  suffused with energy,  kissed by providential bursts of warmth.

In a soup kitchen lies the answers,  and beauty misinterpreted.    The old server with a smile on her face and the broken hand accepting a penance.   NOT a handout per se,  but charity upon charity,  hope balancing out inequity.

A time of cleansing, a spiritual parthenon way upon a hill.   The caste system stemming from a dandelion and the blowing tumbleweed that seems to have no function.   It is the burst of creation without cognizance and steel forged by the very same benevolence.   Be benevolent.

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