Monograph

mon·o·graph

   [mon-uh-graf, -grahf] Show IPA

noun

1.

a treatise on a particular subject, as a biographical study or study of the works of one artist.

2.

a highly detailed and thoroughly documented study or paper written about a limited area of a subject or field of inquiry: scholarly monographs on medieval pigments.

I’ve been writing these little 800 word (Yes! I am counting!) ditties for a solid week now.   Some of you are amused, some are greatly amused; some of you are not.

Therein lies the lure and the danger of spontaneous humor.  In order for something to be funny, it must teeter precariously on a thin line.  It must be outrageous without deterring the reader.  If it crosses the line, the readers themselves become outraged.  No attempt to point out irony or timing will suffice; the reader packs up his opinion and leaves the page.

So solly, you offendees.  I take the chance and lose some of you for all the monographs yet to come.  My saving grace here is that I don’t give a flying

F**k what you think of this.

See?  I just offended someone and they continued to scroll down their FB page in a huff of outraged indignation.  Bye-bye.

Now, to those of you still remaining; a word of explanation (OCD’s MUST explain themselves!).  I am afflicted with PTSD.  Many of you are already aware of that.  PTSD brought on by the Viet Nam War—let’s call it the American War, to distinguish it from the Chinese, the Japs, the French and other nations who were raping this little backwater country long before we Americans stepped in to try our hand (hand?)

For months now, PTSD has afflicted my brain, my body, my spirit.  My life has ground to a halt.  I have sat at this computer most of that time, a prisoner of my own house and my befuddled consciousness. And then something happened: last week, a trusted friend slammed me with their version of tough love; denounced my PTSD as a ploy to wheedle more $ out of the VA and secondarily to attempt to elicit tea and sympathy from all who would hear my tale of woe.

I want to thank this individual.  He did for me what I could not do for myself.  That he became the voice of the Divine Plan I have not a single doubt.  I sat in my back yard last week, thoroughly demoralized.  I began to spiral down into the despair that assailed me when this began.  My animals came to my rescue, as did many of my friends in the Fellowship, to console me after that vicious attack.  So my gratitude extends to all of you, and you know who you are.

Left with the unsolved dilemma of how to heal myself, I began writing these monographs and posting them on Face Book.  I have a blog—only one friend follows that. Rather than persuade everyone to read my blog, I hereby abandon it.

Here, amongst people who know me I will broadcast my solution: I’m going to laugh my PTSD to death. 

It’s conventional wisdom that if you want to rid yourself of a bully, laugh at him.  They may continue to assail you, but the laughter is puzzling, even disconcerting.  Eventually, as all cowards do, they will leave you to yourself, convinced you are either something of a madman or psychotic—the two terms are not mutually exclusive.

The monographs are true to the extent possible. These are cameos of my memories of the American War.  I am trying to face reality, not create more fantasy to hide in.  I have been hiding for forty-two years from this bully.  I have emerged now, using a talent I always knew I had.  I have delighted some of you through all the years you have known me with this gift for hyperbole and enigmatic juxtaposing of ideas.  Here it comes in print.

In one of the first pieces, I ended by declaring that I ‘gave not a rat’s ass’ whether you read, approved, liked, commented or shared.  Holding to that.  This is my therapy, not yours.  If it makes me laugh, then perhaps it might do for you as well.

Before I decided to proceed down the road with this, I had to look up the word ‘monograph’; to be sure it was being used in the right context.  It is the right word: this is a limited treatise from the swirl of my noodle.  Forward!  Into the Light!!

Ta-ta for now.