Its not that I'm a huge Ren & Stimpy fan, but something about the corny trumpet melody makes me think of them! I see them twitch on every stacatto break in the music.

...we're on version 2.1 now, and the twitchiness seems to be lost. Its gotten more fullness and swells. I think it's a better song, but I'm going to see if I can restore some twitch!

Cover generated by Microsoft AI. Thank you Future!

Ren & Stimpy Got EARWORMS v2¹ [2024] David G Schrankler

BLUE PARLOR [story]

WARNINGS! a short poetic story

Spruce  Drive went  both  directions from  my  Grandparent's  old,  white, farmhouse. To the right, we could  cross the busy highway  that had claimed  many farm pets over the years. We would  walk up the big hill  to a field where we used to fly kites when we were children. I remember it being referred to as "Bernie's hill". I think Uncle Bernie was a relative who owned the field at the top- and maybe some property on the other side. If so, I'm  sure' we must have walked  to his farm also a few times over the years. I do know  we've  walked all the way to the end of road in that direction a few times, yet I really couldn't say what was there. My mom tells me it was a woods and a railroad track the vagrants often rode; getting off to beg or find work. Perhaps Bernie passed away and we stopped going that direction  when I got older? Walking  the road back down  the hill to return to the farmhouse is when I first discovered those big grasshoppers that warm themselves on the asphalt and gravel - flying further up the road when you get too close.


We walked  the other direction  more often. That way  we didn't  have to cross the traffic that had claimed  so many farm pets over the years. On our way we pulled  out broom grass and used it to tickle each other's ears. We picked wide grasses to make them whistle  between our  hands. Grandma  showed us how  to preserve the huge, delicate, dandelion-like puffs of seeds we found using her hairspray. The milkweed pods, however, were to be torn open so we could let the seeds float through the air. Did  you know  that Monarch  butterflies only lay their eggs on milkweed  plants? The caterpillars start as specks the size of pencil dots under the leaves and grow, eating almost an entire plant each, until they crawl away and spin their cocoons.

I  know  the  road  ended  in  a cul-de-sac  against  the  end  of  a wood.  "Cul-de-sac" seems like too fancy a word  for the casual country  road; too French perhaps. Maybe better to call  it a "turn-around", or even a "dead-end"  -although your  walk  didn't have to end  there. Somehow  that still  seems more  poetic.  I think  there was a foot path that continued where  the road left off. I'd  feel a little  disappointed that we had rarely  walked  that  path, if  I didn't feel  it  was  more  important to  stay focused  on appreciating  the things we did do.

The destination  was never the point,  though  anyway. It was the walk  that mattered; the people  we walked  with, the things we found  along the way. That's what  makes Spruce Drive  worth  remembering. How  many friends and new family  members  had walked  with  us over  the years? Some came back again. Others  moved  on as their lives diverged  from  ours. Either way, all  their  memories  will remain  on  that  road until it ends.


WHERE THE ROAD LEADS (A Short Story)

The huge engine chugged and whirred tremendously as Jeresh started it up. It 	ot  even louder  as cogs and gears started clacking and grinding against each other. Heavy,  metal parts  insid	the machine  began to pounding each other  like  a chorus  of jackhammers.  Jets of  steam whistled  in  shrill,  discordant  bursts. Anyone who operated the device  had to wear both earplugs and earmuffs. Yet miraculously, once it was running, a client  could  insert their  head into  the adjustable  framework on the other  end  of  the machine  and  hear...  absolute  silence!  ...Incredible, 100% pure, silence. Most  people  never experience such quiet  while they are alive.  Even after they're  dead and buried,  there  is still  the sound  of bugs and  worms  moving through the soil around them and distant din of the highway.

It may have been a sublime  experience to listen to what the machine  manufactured, but the price  was high  large and sometimes two-fold. Purchasing just a few minutes of  its serene peace  cost  more  than  most  people  made  in  a year  - although  few would  deny  that  it  was  worth  that  and  more.  An  unfortunate few  paid  an even higher price  later. It was a gamble  - nobody  knew  who  would be subjected  to the terrible  consequences  the machine  sometimes demanded. Each customer  took their chances;  hoping  it  wouldn't  be  them.   A   few   felt   it   immediately  after   they disconnected  themselves  from  the  machine.  Others  felt  the effect  more  gradually, building and compounding over the weeks and months after their encounter.

SaZen, the  company   that  designed- the  machine,  adamantly  denied  the  negative effects of exposure to such pure silence. They argued that "Universal Enlightenment Therapy", as they called  it, could  not create anything but wisdom and tranquility in the  minds  of  those who  experienced it.  They  implied that  any  adverse  reactions were  due  to  moral  corruptions or  depravities  that  already  existed  in  the  client's brain or soul. They were very effective at turning  popular  opinion against those who were afflicted.
                                                                                                         
The truth  was that it was such an intense  calm  that the user could  sense the depth and scope of the universe. They could feel  their connection to time  going  forward and back through  infinity- sometimes  further.  In those moments  the future  and the past merged  into  a new  and indescribable awareness. Unfortunately, to  have that experience and come back to what they had previously understood  to be reality  was such a shock; such a loss to the soul, that many people  had a hard time carrying on with  their  lives  afterward. It seemed counter-intuitive. Such absolute  insight;  such knowledge of  your  connection  to  every  molecule of  the  universe  and  to  every moment  that ever  had and would occur,  should  bring  one to a comprehension of place and purpose  like no other.

Many  people  did.  They  became  teachers or  spiritualists,  even  profits.  They  could see the webs  of  life  and fate; even  raise the vibrational frequency  of  anything or anything they focused on. People sought them out from  all corners of the Earth. But some clients slowly came undone. Their  thoughts unraveled and became disjointed. Their behavior became erratic. There was no remedy for the loss and disconnection that overcame  them. In desperation, some threw  themselves off buildings or bridges
-hoping that death would rejoin  them with  the whole of everything.

jeresh  pondered these things  as the  machine  powered down. The client  had  left. Lights on the console  indicated  it was now  safe to remove  his ear protections. Was the  gain  to some  worth what  others  lost? He  didn't know  - he  never  would. 	e didn't  earn  enough   operating  the  machine  to  ever  consider   undergoing Therapy  himself. Probabl


THE SOUND OF SILENCE (A Short Story)

I felt myself falling backwards. The room seemed to fade away as my eyes closed. My  body  was tumbling  head over heels into darkness. I thought of Alice - was this what it was like for her? But she was awake at the time, if there was any truth to her Wonderland  legend. I, on the other hand, was definitely  not awake! So then the question was whether I was now falling asleep or dying.

There had been times in the past when I'd closed my eyes and stopped breathing to imagine what death would  be like. Sometimes I even wondered  if it was possible to simply will  myself to die. I suppose over time, negative thoughts could cause one to become  ill and deteriorate  until  their  body  can no longer  remain  functional.  But spontaneously willing one's body to shut down,  or perhaps wishing  your consciousness to permanently drift away and abandon your body - seems unlikely, at best.

I've tried to kill  myself through  more active half-methods before: stupid things like chain-smoking  cigarettes without  taking in any outside air, or simply  smacking my head against a wall or a rock. All  are painful, but the body passes out before you can do enough damage to kill  it. Having  to live with  a bad suicide attempt can be worse - I think  of a friend  who  jumped  out a window, but only  shattered all his bones instead of breaking his neck. You've now added to whatever problems made you want to die in the first place. I can't  imagine  living  like  that! Yet I've heard it said that we're  each given the experiences in  life that we can learn and grow  the most from.

Sometimes falling asleep can be dangerous enough  on its own. In my drinking days I  never fell  asleep while driving, but often  when  I was drifting off to sleep I would panic and wake  myself up to make sure I was in my bed and not in the car driving down  the road. I did,  however, spend a birthday  sleeping on the floor  in the men's room  of a bar and several other  nights passed out  in  stranger places. I don't  know whether  it  makes  me  feel  better  or  worse  to  realize  that  you  probably have  had experiences just as embarrassing.

It's similar  to the feeling  of falling asleep at your desk, when  your head falls forward and  you  bold   awake,  just  to   immediately  start  falling asleep  again.  I  did  that regularly  through  school and later, work- over and over again. Once  I even missed half a day of work  because I fell asleep in the parking  lot on my lunch  break.

Sleep is a lot  like  drugs. It offers a temporary  escape, but all  the details  of your  life are still the same when  you wake up. However, sleep is free- and can't be detected by a urine test.

-end-


FALLING ASLEEP (A Short Story)

THE LAST WALTZ v4¹ [123 Mix]

The walls  had been talking  again. I had tried to make them stop, but  it was useless. I guess that's  just something walls  did; they tal ked. They made up lies about  me. They were ruining  my life  with  their gossip. I wanted  to smash them down  with a sledgehammer, but I knew it wouldn't do any good. The rubble would  still rumble no matter what I did.

I had tried to keep my secrets from them, but it was impossible- there were walls everywhere. What they didn't  know  about me they made up. Heavy coats of paint wouldn't keep them  from  hearing; wallpaper  wouldn't muffle  their cruel  taunts. Perhaps I'd  have to move to the desert or into  a forest - somewhere where  there were no walls. I didn't  know why they hated me so, but I was fed up and decided to leave for a while.  I got up out  of the overstuffed chair,  grabbed my slippers  and went outside.

As I walked I heard sounds; rustlings in the tops of the trees, scrapings in the bushes. I told myself it was nothing  and tried to ignore it. Birds began swooping down  off the roofs and power  lines; landing on the fences along my path. As I passed them·it seemed they were flying  ahead and landing  again to continue  their surveillance  of me- so I picked up my pace. I was beginning  to suspect the walls had put them up to it. In my experience, walls could be very sneaky, even vindictive!

The trees were rustling their leaves much more loudly  now. The branches began to creak - even though  there was no wind  to move them. I was getting scared, but fought the impulse to run. I didn't  want them to know I was on to them. I wondered if they were they reading my mind? It was .subtle, but I thought  I could  feel them probing inside my head.

Th	birds  were getting 	loser. I'd  never  known  them to be  so 'W-	hey  were cawing and squawking- calling m	names. Sparrows and chickad  es landed on th lawns ahead. A pair of mourning  doves stood on the path directly  in front  of me. They mocked me, bobbing  their head and cooing. I knew they were giggling, but I was pretty sure they didn't  know I knew. So I hid my fear and kept my course as if they weren't  there. Real birds would  have flown  when  I got close, but  not these.  Spies!  I  was  almost  upon  them  and  tli y  weren't   going   to  move! A confrontation  seemed imminent  and I was terrified.  At the last moment I choked!  I diverted my course and stepped off the path to go   round. Once I had passed them I heard the doves cooing  and laughing  hysterically  behind  me. They had won  and I had never felt so ashamed.

That was when  I  became aware of  a buzz  in  the air. The sound grew  quickly, forcing  me to cover  my  ears. I  looked  around  and  saw them  as they  began to swarm. Insects! They came from the trees, circling and diving  down  at me. Some held grains of sand and pollen  -trying to drop it in my eyes. Others carried germs, releasing them in the air in front of me. I held my breath. The bugs landed on my skin and in my hair. I tried to brush them away, but they just burrowed  under  my    

THE WALLS (A Short Story)_2.wav

Two very short stories about Mother Nature.

FOG (parts I & II) by David Zen .wav

THE PLACE WHERE WINGS UNFURL by David Zen

CARL by David Zen

two dieties encounter problems on a planet they are building

THE PLANET BUILDERS (story) CH 1 Infestation

Flying High (an AI generated Anthem for EVERYBODY)

Visions of Wonderland [AI]

CHECK OUT "FLYING HIGH" - my new anthem. I'm rounding up singers and will complete it soon!

If you like a little chaos in your music... 
Just some random guy trying to compose himself. 

The writing process is always interesting to me. I feel I don't know what I'm creating or how I'm doing it, then I'm surprised by the end result! Mayhaps I'm channeling? The same thing happens in most of my creative projects. (Or does it mean I don't know what I'm doing?)

I think my music is unique. It may take some listening to find the melodies through the chaos and discord I tend to incorporate - but I believe it will grow on you! 

I released a CD of "bad 80's music" in the mid-90's. Now that I find myself in 2024, I've begun composing and recording with Flat.

The songs from my 1995 CD "Falling Together, Coming Apart" were performed on a Korg Poly64 synthesizer and a Rowland drum machine in my closet/studio. I intended to find a female singer to redo the higher vocals, but it didn't happen. However, if you listen very closely you may hear that cat meowing in the background!

The new music is composed on Flat.io - which allows me to score the music, but I don't actually get to play any instruments. I got a small midi keyboard to compensate. So far my new songs do not have vocals but I may start adding them as I become more intentional and comfortable composing.

I'd love to hear your thoughts.

David Zen

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