A Halloween Horror Story in Advance: Beware Martians and Terrorists Bearing Gifts

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Beware Martians and Terrorists Bearing Gifts

Winning at any cost is not something we humans get to do very often.

To win at any cost usually translates into some suicidal act.

That’s why the battle cry “Victory at any cost!” is likely to be mere bluster, more empty saber-rattling.

To win at any cost means you’re probably going to have to die in the process. That doesn’t sound like winning to most of us, but to those who think outside the box, the idea of dying for victory is a valid one.

Some examples:

The Trojan War dragged on for a decade and might never have ended, had Ulysses (Odysseus) not stepped back and resolved to win the war at any cost. What warlord, trained in the rigid format of weaponry and mass military strategy, would have predicted that a handful of unarmed soldiers could wrap themselves in a gift horse and take over an entire city? For thirty centuries, the tale of the surprise, innovation and cleverness of this suicidal act has been repeated, until the myth has become a myth of itself. And, as we all know, myth turns to metaphor.

Perhaps storytellers in the Middle East for the next thirty centuries will repeat the tale of a handful of unarmed soldiers hiding themselves in the bellies of flying metal beasts to bring down the mighty towers of the Western Devils.

In 1897 the author H.G. Wells, knowing his history and acutely aware of its perpetual repetition, tried to warn us all of what happens each time we rely on structured machineries of warfare, each time we forget to use our creative thought processes to anticipate the worst and prepare to deflect it. The novel THE WAR OF THE WORLDS was the result: a Trojan Martian attack from an unexpected direction and for an unknown motive. Sacrifice of a handful of soldiers in a—to the aliens—just cause was the result, and quite effective. Thirty centuries from now, the tale of a handful of outsiders stomping the vermin of Earth in order to colonize, will be told and its metaphor unconsciously understood. The Martian storytellers just might leave out the part about eventually dying after the attack.

And do we learn from such monolithic, in-your-face mythology? Let’s see…

At any moment, the people of Earth could be exterminated—this time by forces known and understood—but very little is being done to prevent it. The reasons are clear. Day-to-day life and politics distract us from preparation. The mosquito on the arm is immediate and can be dealt with in a rapid and unimaginative manner. The five-mile-wide asteroid that’s headed our way is way out there, invisible, and perhaps won’t make itself known till it’s too late. Its effect will be a trillion-fold worse than a mosquito bite, but it’s, like, man, it’s like something that might not happen, man, and don’t bug me about it—I gotta take care of this mosquito.

I suppose Trojans and New Yorkers, somewhere in the backs of their minds, knew that Something Bad could happen at any moment, but we all go on living, knowing that. When we read about H.G. Wells’ Martian war or Homer’s Trojan war or the Twin Towers or an impending meteor, we understand that it can take place, but we are all betting in the same reverse lottery—it’s a long shot, expecting to draw the winning apocalyptic ticket number. Probably won’t happen in my lifetime, so not to worry!

I live in Alabama, a virtual magnet for tornadoes, but each time one misses me, I’m secretly grateful that somebody else is being made miserable, while at the same time feeling bad for them. It didn’t hit me this time. Oh, as a poet, I feel guilty about this, but I’m sitting here, eating chocolate chip cookies and breathing more deeply, just the same.

In order to conquer a planet, you have to think like a Martian. In order to conquer a society, you have to think like a Greek warrior. Then you have to be willing to evaporate along with your victims. Since most of us aren’t willing to make that leap, a lot fewer terrorist acts take place than you would imagine. There are still lots of people who can see beyond politics and dogma and focus on the important things, such as watching sunrises, burping babies, holding loved ones, protecting neighbors. We just aren’t motivated to die violently—if we can help it.

Once you think like this, wars, sports events and contests lose some of their appeal. The way to win a fencing match or a chess game is to pull out a gun and shoot your opponent(s) dead. If you’re not willing to do that, then you don’t really want to win, do you? Besides, most of us want the losing party to survive, so that we can gloat and strut.

THE WAR OF THE WORLDS was a cautionary tale, but the peculiar thing about humans is that, even though we know things could end badly, we just go on living in denial, hoping that something bad, if it happens, will happen somewhere else. Wells knew this, but he also knew that to be human is to try and try again to survive, against all odds, against all mockery and ignorance and hostility

© Jim Reed 2014 A.D.



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Tender is the Obsolete Once-Tended Tinderbox

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Tender is the Obsolete Once-Tended Tinderbox

I watch new buildings being erected throughout ancient Southside Birmingham in which I reside. In some cases, century-old historic structures are bulldozed in the tradition of all developers everywhere. Here and there,  high-speed carpentry replaces a vacant lot with a multi-storied block of pressed particle board hidden by brick.

“Those condos would go up in flames like a tinderbox,” one bystander remarks, at which point I begin recording in print these observations and events, hoping that future generations will appreciate what it was like to watch history defaced and replaced in a matter of hours.

But, as a scribe of history, I mull over these  ideas:

Will anybody be reading anything a hundred years hence, and will all my efforts and the efforts of thousands of writers be in vain?

Even if there remains a small population of readers, even if some of them actually study history anymore, even if my written words are preserved so that real readers can find them, will they understand what I have written?

If my words are found and appreciated, will I, the writer, have been respectful enough to my future readers to use language that they can readily understand? For instance, the comment, “Those condos would go up in flames like a tinderbox,” is not self-explanatory. Who knows what a tinderbox is nowadays, much less in a few decades? If I carefully state that a tinderbox is a box containing tinder, flint, steel or other items for kindling fires, will I lose the reader? Who will know what flint is, or kindling? Should I say, “Those condos are so frail and wood-based that they would go up in flames like burning newspapers.” Wait—nobody will know what a newspaper is, let alone what a condo is.

“Those condos are so fragile they would go up in flames like a meth lab.” Uh, what’s a meth lab?

“Those condos are so flammable they would burn like a BIC lighter.” By then, self-lighting cigarettes will have made lighters disappear as quickly as bottle openers.

All these remarks might have been meaningful at the time of writing but by the time a next-generation reader reads them, they may be puzzling or boring.

So, how can a writer attempt to communicate with the Future?

Good question.

To make yourself clear, you just have to view each sentence as if you are a Martian.

Are there universal words that can replace faddish words or slang words or brand-name words or doomed words?


The writer who wants to be understood beyond the present and the temporary just has to write smarter than most scribes.

“To be or not to be, that is the question,” is such a remarkably simple statement that its many meanings are never lost on each generation.

If Hamlet had said, “Uh, I don’t know whether I should pull a Kevorkian or just go on feeling disenfranchised and depressed,” his forgettable thought would not have lasted a season at the theatre. Who would know the meaning of Kevorkian or disenfranchised or even depression in a thousand years?

Next time you see particle board replacing genealogy and remembrance and lineage, think how you would describe the horror to Martians or futuristic societies.

The exercise could be fun

© Jim Reed 2014 A.D.



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Another Whirlwind Roller Coaster Bumper Car Day in the Magic City

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Another Whirlwind Roller Coaster Bumper Car Day in the Magic City

My car heads west on the Bessemer Super Highway this morning. I don’t have to tell my car to do this. It just does it. I’m riding in a driverless car.

The signs along the way are worth the drive. There by the side of the road is GRANNY’S LITTLE ANGELS DAY CARE CENTER. I still miss the long-gone POWER RANGERS FOR CHRIST DAY CARE CENTER. Maybe those tiny Power Rangers became little angels one day.

I would pick out my favorite sign, but each one is a favorite for a special moment. Look! There’s MIDFIELD THE CONVENIENT CITY. I’d love to have been in on the committee meetings that decided on this slogan. “Well, Charles, I think your idea about MIDFIELD THE IN-BETWEEN CITY is a little vague. And Andy’s YOU’RE PASSING THROUGH MIDFIELD ON THE WAY TO SOMEPLACE ELSE is too long.”

Actually, MIDFIELD A WORK IN PROGRESS wouldn’t be bad.

One pedestrian is walking a scruffy dog. He holds his head high and takes a deep breath of fresh air, then sticks the large billowing cigar back into his mouth and continues on, deep in a portable cloud.

Along the way, I look for clotheslines. I miss clotheslines. The last time I visited my Aunt Margaret in Cuba, Alabama, she was out in the yard hanging out clothes, ignoring the nice washer-dryer combination in the house. When I helped bring them in, they smelled of pure air and cleansed soul. The same way they smelled sixty years ago in my backyard in Tuscaloosa, when Mother and I would quickly take them down in advance of a storm.

A man crosses the street in front of my idling automatic vehicle. He strolls with the calm air of someone who has no appointments. How I envy him.

In some of the passing mysterious places, highly trafficked,  somebody somewhere has forgotten to put up a sign telling the name of the street or the name of the intersection…thus depriving people of knowing where they are. Thus depriving the neighborhood of its history.

I remember when the sign at the entrance of my childhood home, EASTWOOD AVENUE, was removed by the city of T-Town without warning. Someone had decided a numerical system would make more sense. Our street was stripped of its story. But to us, those  who lived much of our lives on EASTWOOD AVENUE, it would always be EASTWOOD AVENUE. Some things cannot be removed.

Cesare Pavese once wrote, “We do not remember days, we remember moments.”

That’s why my pockets are bulging with tiny sticky notes jotted with moments.

Never know when they might come in handy


© Jim Reed 2014 A.D.



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Something to Do When You Are Not Doing Anything

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Something to Do When You Are Not Doing Anything

Writing is something to do when I am not doing anything. Indeed, if I had a choice, writing is something I would do most of the time. Everything else gets in the way of writing—making a living, maintaining relationships and kinships, eating, hygiene, activities of daily living, etc.

Like I say, writing is the best way to fill the doing-nothing void. Writing empowers me, jumpstarts me, reboots me, infuses me with bodily energies, electrifies my spirit.

Writing gets me from point A to point Z when all else fails.

Among the thousands of large and small regrets I carry around, the major regret is this: Look at all the time I have misused by not writing.

You see, writing has an eerie effect on me (and I am not the only writer who knows this). It forces me to ignore the obvious and concentrate on the important.

When spontaneous, joyful writing is taking place, living becomes effortless. No kidding!

So, do writers know these things when they first begin writing? Nope. Knowledge and wisdom flow only after much, much writing has taken place over a long period of time. But it does come. And you won’t know this fact, you won’t share this wisdom with me and other writers, until you have put in the time.

All dedicated writers know the same thing: Each of us has to wend our own way, find our own special way to write. In order to do this, the writer first has to realize there is no Big Secret. As Somerset Maugham said, “There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.”

Maugham’s message is clear to all us writers. There is no magic formula. Best use your time writing rather than talking about writing.

Another quote from a master: Lillian Hellman said, “If I had to give young writers advice, I would say don’t listen to writers talking about writing or themselves.”

Sometimes writers, be they aspiring or professional, can get their muse revved up simply by thumbing through a couple of pages of books by real writers. The three books I recommend most are “How to Become Your Own Book” by Jim Reed; “Zen and the Art of Writing” by Ray Bradbury; “On Writing” by Stephen King. We writers can’t tell you how to write, but we can most certainly, with just a few words, swat your muse on the fanny and cry out, “Just write!”

As Groucho Marx once said, “Those are my principles. If you don’t like them…well, I have others.” These are my ideas and thoughts for today. If you don’t like them I do have others.

Get on with it, my friend. You’ll be overjoyed when it actually works

© Jim Reed 2014 A.D.



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