DFM

Enter our eternal and infernal friend,
Deflatermouse–
careful about the point he makes when scrimmying across the kitchen floor in a fairly affluent suburban subdivision that would otherwise say it’s been treated well by the rodents and mongrels of the world. Only DFM (as the folks in the know have referred to him) gets a pass–you know, for sheer name novelty that has nothing to do with his aptitude for deflating himself (or others) and everything to do with occupying the (then) hovel of Fretful Fred, a beleaguered baritone at the peak of malaise and circumspection.

“Well hello there, little fella.” DFM pauses, startled to be addressed in such a cordial way.

“You’re the first visitor I’ve had in quite some time!” DFM appears to be intently listening to Fred, if only to take in the sonorous quality of his voice.

“Take a load off, friend! I don’t have much of anything to offer, but I’m sure you’re fairly adept at fending for yourself at this point.” DFM then immediately proceeds to scrimmy away, marking the exact moment in which his fabled moniker first graced Fred’s consciousness.

Fretful Fred considers himself a bit of a wordsmith, in addition to his accomplishments of the stage and screen. It took about two to three seconds to formulate the nickname, during which time there were numerous cognitive connections taking place, not at all dissimilar to the series of adjustments that a world-class athlete must make while performing the repetitive tasks that put them in that spotlight in the first place.

Our tiny rodent companion lit the fuse that led to a lightning-quick series of self-deprecating blasts. Every moment neglecting my life’s passions seems to just fuel the bonfire of self-hindrance, perpetuating a “woe is me” mentality that only spirals as the moments compile. My pesky new pal graced me with his presence at the intersection of doubt and fear, giving me the semblance of camaraderie, no matter how fleeting. But, just as all moments ever experienced by we, the mortal folk charged with hoisting the weight of the cosmos (whether or not weight is an accurate measurement), our fledgling friendship seems to have vanished as suddenly as it appeared.

“You’re a real Deflatermouse, you know that?” Freddy knew that an intellectual connection couldn’t be made, now or ever, but he continued to consciously deny the existence of a language barrier for the sake of infusing any wonder into his underwhelming existence.

LXXII

What is there to gain in this boardwalk town? Mainly stuffed bears for shooting moving wooden ducks, pigeons, turtles and raccoons–the usual representations of animals that are defenseless against ball bearings fired from close range by two young people who rather fancy themselves to be expert marksmen (if given the chance). Though, in their heart of hearts, they have to admit their fear of injuring a living thing, rendering their dreams unachievable (unless they vow to only point their firearms at inanimate objects for the rest of their life, making them the laughingstock of their hunter friends, of whom there are many–you wouldn’t think an antiviolence advocate would associate themselves with folks indulging their primal bloodlust, but you’d be mistaken in this case).

Just for the Moment

Total responsibility is not for the scrutinized person to fear, or anyone else for that matter. Now that I have your attention, I’ll take a mosquito from the top shelf and borrow a set of raisin blades for the moment, just for the moment. Now we get some work done, and we go everywhere that needs a bolted spit of broccoli or two, not always usual or indeed even warranted.