Crazy is, as crazy does

Both my art and words have been appearing in print since the early-1970s. I wish I could say it's been lucrative, it's more a matter of me not knowing what else to do. Over the years, most of the people who have bothered to speak to me about something they saw of mine have said nice things. Then, too, I've also had many a lively discussion over coffee or beer with a reader who wanted to change my mind.

Every now and then it gets too weird. Right away, you know they want something from you that you're not going to feel comfortable giving up.

Such was the case when a man called me on a Saturday night in the early 1990s. He told me we had never met, but he’d read an issue of SLANT. He said he had to talk with me, right then, because I was such a good writer...
Naturally, he was calling from a bar.

Well, I was watching a movie with my then-girlfriend, so I didn’t want to have a long conversation. It was late and the more this strange-sounding character talked, the less inclined I felt toward having anything to do with him. He said he had a story he had to tell me, something having to do with corruption in high places that I should write about.

The next thing you know, he started querying me about my religious beliefs ... uh, oh. So, I told him I didn’t want to meet with him that night. Still, I thanked the caller for the compliment and asked him to call back during business hours, if he still wanted to talk. I don’t remember his name, now, but I did when I told the story of his odd phone call to some friends a couple of days later at Happy Hour.

One of them promptly recognized his name.

“You remember him,” he said, “that was the crazy guy they found on the Huguenot Bridge, maybe in February, about a couple of years ago. He was bleeding to death.” According to the story my Saturday night caller had bought into the Bible saying -- something like, if thy right arm offends thee cut it off.

He had gone down to the wooded area north of the bridge. After putting his offending arm into the canal water to numb it down, he had chunked it into a fork in a small tree’s limbs. Then he hacksawed that bad arm off, just below the elbow.

Of course he did!

Everyone at the bar, except me, chuckled. I was busy wondering why such a person from another planet would want to talk to me about anything? What had I written that had set him off? It was hardly the first time I’d been approached by a creepy reader, but this one was setting a new standard.

Blogging opens the door to all sorts of possibilities, as bloggers interact with readers. In recent weeks there have been comments made here under my posts that have made me wonder where to draw certain lines. While I am happy to discuss most reactions to my writings and art, there is a limit to what I will put up with.

At times, I've let some silliness get under my skin.

Here's one thing for sure, more civility in today's way of walking would be a good thing, all around. And, that includes the blogosphere. Crazy is, as crazy does. Can you dig it?