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By Andrew A Felder

A fascinating collection of short pieces reminiscent of the work of Hugh Prather. Incisive and thought-provoking. Simple yet complex. Personal yet general. A blend of psychology, philosophy, humor - at once ironic and surreal, yet intense and very real.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crest Publications Group
• Release date: Jan 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637523292

Andrew A Felder

A retired attorney, judge, city manager and professor, Andrew Felder now devotes his time to publishing and editing The Network Magazine, an eclectic publication in which the humorous pieces in this volume have all appeared and from which they have been compiled and presented in The Best Diversions.

Book preview

WRY :::::

(rī) adjective   

1.       Produced by a distortion of lopsidedness of the facial features;

2.      Humorously sarcastic or mocking;

3.      Devious in course or purpose; misdirected;

4.      Contrary; perverse;

5.       Distorted or perverted in meaning

6.       Bitter or disdainfully ironic or amusing.

Puddle

I wish I was a puddle.

Then I could just hang around

and I wouldn’t need an excuse.

A picture containing outdoor, ground, dirt Description automatically generated

I Want to Say Something

I want to say something, but I don't know if I should. What I want to say could be construed in so many ways; it would probably be misunderstood - it usually is. I wish I didn't think what I want to say; but I do think it, and I do want to say it. I can't - I shouldn't - I won't.

But it plagues me. The words are on my tongue, in my mind. They are real; they are honest; they are painful - they are wrong! I will make a conscious effort to avoid the honesty, which, when misinterpreted, would be dishonest.

What to Do?

I feel like doing something.

Yet, I don't feel like doing anything.

I think I just don't want to feel

like not doing anything.

So I sit ... and think.

What does one do

when one feels like doing nothing?

Nothing?

But that doesn't satisfy the urge to do something.

So I sit, and I think about doing something.

Anything … which I don't want to do anyway.

Whatever it is.

I am actively engaged in thought.

That is what I am doing.

I am waiting until I think of something to do

besides think.

I am thinking and I am waiting.

Waiting until I feel like doing something -

which will no doubt be when I stop thinking.

Am I?

When I don’t know that I don't know, I think I know.

When I don't know that I know, I think I don't know.

Either way I think - either way I am confused.

But when I know that I know, I am sure.

When I am sure, I don't have to think - I am sure (I think).

And when I know that I don't know, I know I don't know.

One doesn't have to think not to know, I think.

I think, I think - or so I thought to myself

before I stopped thinking about it.

But I still don't know.

I Had No Choice

(I looked at her.)

I looked and dreamed, daring not to speak,

lest my fantasy be disillusioned by reality.

I created, in my furtive imagination.

I reveled in the ecstasy of good, undistorted by intimacy.

I existed in the universe of possibility, untroubled by earthly limitations. But I knew it was unreal,

so I had no choice but to become schizophrenic.

Think of Someone

Think of someone you know - not intimately, but well. Think of them retiring for bed with someone you don't know. Can you? Think of them in the bathroom, on the toilet. Think of them undressed. Think of them making love. It's preposterous! Such conjecture! Why think of it at all?

Orgasm

I can wait - I must. I shall rest in expectation of that well-worth waiting for, repose in reserve. I will put it from my mind - but not entirely. Aspiration is a good thing - dreams are unavoidable. It will come to pass; I know it will - I can feel it.

They say anything worth having is worth waiting for, that something earned is more dearly appreciated. And that fruit, which is now forbidden, will later be all that much sweeter. That which temperance bids time delay will soon be ripe.

The road to heaven may well be more enjoyable than the place itself (which is, after all, deafened by an unspeakable silence). The road is flooded with heavenly light - it compels indescribable sensation, life force, instinct. The attainment of a goal, the procurement of something tangible, even inner peace are all short-lived satisfactions, if too easily accomplished. I can wait.

Delay is hard. It’s as if there is a pressure from within. I will not think about it. I delude myself - I cannot not think about it. It is hardest when you want something very badly.

It has gotten to the point where I can no longer wait. I no longer have to. It is now, or probably not at all. I have endured the limits of my bounds - I can endure no more. I cannot resist compulsion. I am in song, in revolution, in touch, in heaven. I am injected.

I waited. I was strong. Now I will wait again, resting, then in readiness - a similar project. I will wait, still, and (somehow prudently) delay. Then I will be overcome.

Guilty

Guilty of that which I don't understand.

Guilty of not understanding that which I must face.

Guilty of feeling guilty about not understanding.

Guilty of the fear of being guilty without understanding.

Guilty of doing that which I didn't know I was doing

Guilty of not doing that which I thought I was doing.

Guilty by implication … by association ... by admission.

I must be guilty, because I don't think I did anything wrong.

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The Wall

A close - up of a white brick wall Description automatically generated with medium confidence

He faced the towering stone Wall and gazed at Its surface for what seemed to be forever. He approached and touched It, running his hand lightly across, and then stepped back to see It anew. He did this many times, but nothing changed. His stare moved upward and all he could see was an endless stretch of stone; but it really wasn't that high, one could see the top of the Wall high above. He then let his eyes drop and saw the Wall firmly implanted, immovable in the Earth. It was equally