Brewed Beverage of Choice: A cup of green tea or a chalice of Zen Lunatic Belgian Strong Golden…take your pick
Sometimes you would think that nothing comes from sitting on a chair in the living room in the wee hours of the morning because you just woke up and are still a bit cloudy upstairs while waiting for the water to get hot so a cup of coffee or a cup of tea or a cup of mate can join you on the chair and clear those clouds that accumulated in the night of deep sleep. You would think that sometimes. But it was this particular morning I came upon such a time. Instead of nothing coming, as it did the previous morning and the previous morning before that, innovation gave me my cup of joe.
NPR was playing on the stereo as it does most mornings. The news in the morning is a great friend of that cup of joe or that cup of tea or that cup of mate. Clears the clouds in a much more efficient manner but really does need its compadre to help. So there in my grandfather’s chair I sat with joe in hand and ears propped up proper to hear the latest news about the protests in Iran. A story came on about an Iranian who tweeted in his native language and the poetry his words created. Most tweets are useless dribble. I have seen better fluid flow from the lips of a one year old in the form of drool. But this protester had beautiful words. Even when they let him speak without translation, the morning seemed more beautiful despite the fact that his world was in shambles and probably far from the beauty I see out my mountain shack windows. His words borne out of revolution whirled in my head…brewing…brewing…brewing…and then, bop, innovation.
It is the one thing that would get me to be on a computer wasting my time away, wasting all my waking hours on twitter, the lastest dooming invention of the internets. His words inspired me to create what I call tweetku: a sort of haiku. Twitter only lets you have so many characters to expound on your feelings, or daily doings, or where the best beers are being tapped in Portland whilst I sit in Bend drinking some finer offerings. The words of the Iranian revolutionary challenged me not to tweet any ole’ thing, but that any ole’ thing in three or four line “poems” with small amounts of syllables per line. The beauty is that there are no lines so I must use the * as the line break. Of course practice makes perfect, and right now I need some practice.
This is not just something I am doing for you. It is something to keep me on my toes, to keep you on your toes. But I am hoping that some of you will do the same and send those tweetku to me. Short and sweet. If I can describe my doings of the afternoon in such a manner and not have it sound mundane, I can be satisfied. It is merely another brew for consumption. Please enjoy my tweetku at twitter. And thank you mysterious and anonymous Iranian revolutionary.
Prost!
the confucian brewer