 
Mind Nuggets

By

Brian Montgomery

Copyright 2011

Brian Montgomery

Published by Brian Montgomery at Smashwords

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

First of all, forgive me for I know not what I do. I mean, I know not "exactly" what I do...for sure. I think what I'm doing is jotting down random articles from my brain, arranging them haphazardly, uploading them on the internet (whatever the hell that really is), and praying to my various gods that someone like you might feel compelled to read them. The problem (oh yeah, there is a problem here!) is that, the words/stories/poems/statements herein come from different moments in my life. As I stated earlier, these "things" were haphazardly ordered and I refuse to attempt to put them in any kind of cohesive order. That means my "moments" could theoretically fall beside each other in a dangerous way. There is the distinct possibility that my words could accidentally create a vortex that could engulf the reader. Just because it's never happened doesn't mean that it never will! Some of the things in my head could be extremely dangerous when combined with other things in my head. I purposely keep those things at a safe distance from one another. But now...haphazard.

It's all a bunch of words, right? Thoughts that trickle down and end up falling from the tips of my fingers onto plastic keys. Voila! From my head, to my hands, to...the cosmos, to your electronic reading device, to your eyes, and into your head. Is this legal?

Thank you for your purchase. Wait, this book is free! You're on your own from this point forward.

###### A League of Their Own

"Ground rules must be set. This is crap without ground rules."

"Like what? Don't expect me to give you concessions without you looking to yourself and understanding that you have your part in this exchange."

"C'mon man, you know all, see all, you know what's gonna happen at the end of this deal and that sucks. What the hell am I here for if you already know my choices? Why not just give me what you know I'm gonna get anyway? What's the fun? Where's the challenge?"

"What do you propose, my horned friend?"

"See, it's shit like that that makes me hate you even more. They hate you too for that smug crap, man. Knock it off! Just turn off the all-knowing, controlling destiny shit. Let the chips fall where they may. If you truly are better than me, take me on straight up."

"It's not a switch that turns on or off but I will approach this without tuning in to the knowledge. I will put the knowledge away for now."

"Good. Now, who gets first pick?"

"If it's good enough for them, it's good enough for us. Let's flip a coin."

"The coins all say 'In God We Trust.' I'm not flipping a coin. You've got a leg up on that."

'Then what?"

"Rock, paper, scissors. One time, not best out of three."

"What about dynamite?"

"What the hell is dynamite?"

"One finger, index finger, is dynamite. It blows up the rock and destroys the paper but the fuse can be cut by scissors."

"No dynamite! Rock, paper, scissors only! Deal?"

"Okay. One. Two, Three. I win, paper covers rock."

"Did you cheat? You knew that I'd throw rock. I can't trust you, you know everything."

"I said I wouldn't use the knowledge. You have to trust me. Have faith that I'm telling the truth."

"Screw faith."

"See, that's the kind of attitude that got you cast down in the first place. I may be a lot of things but I am not dishonest. Live with the loss."

"Okay, go ahead. What do you want?"

"Birds and flowers."

"That's two things!"

"I look at them as one symbiotic entity."

"Okay, then I get two things."

"Picking two at a time would make things go quickly. Pick away."

"Humans and the Earth."

"Okay, but the bare planet only. No plants, animals, oceans, or living things of any kind. Nothing that lives, has lived, or sustains life. Barren planet."

"Cool. I get the humans outright though, yeah?"

"Take them fair and square."

"I thought that you said they were special above all other living things and that they were made in your image and all that crap."

"They said that, not me. They are arrogant and their brains brought them to where we are now. Take them."

"Your turn."

"Air and water."

"That's not bad. I'll take fire and animals."

"No, animals have to be broken down into families."

"Okay fire and horses."

"I'll take Tigers and Dolphins."

"Tigers and Dolphins? What a stupid choice. I want Monkeys and Lions."

"Sun and the Moon."

"I didn't know that they were part of the deal."

"We said the Earth and all of its components in the beginning of our negotiation. They make the Earth what it is. There would be no Earth without them."

"What about Mars or Pluto."

"They have no bearing on the Earth."

"Okay Elephants and Rhinos."

"Good choice. I'll take Dogs and Cats."

"Shit! Okay, Wolves and Leopards."

"Let's cut to the chase. This will take forever and I'm in a hurry to lay waste. How about if I take everything else from A to M and you get everything from N to Z?"

"What kind of scam is that? I'll take the A to M, you take the N to Z?"

"Fine. Done deal."

"No wait, I like Zebras and I want them. I want the N to Z list back."

"I like Zebras too and I don't want to give them up."

"We can work this out somehow, right?"

""I'll take the A to M list back and you get Zebras but I want the S's. You can take a letter from my A to M list."

"This sounds shifty. What gives?"

"Because you are the lord of lies, you expect everyone to be a cheat. Pick the letter that pleases you most from A to M."

"Okay, give me...K. Kangaroos and Kinkajous. You take S."

"Second thoughts? Ready to shake on it and call it a deal?"

"Deal. One thing. Why did you pick birds and flowers first? That was kinda stupid."

"Birds and flowers are the most beautiful and innocent things on Earth and I couldn't see you put your evil on them."

"But you gave up humans without a fight?"

"Not really. I took S from you and that is where their souls are. You have their bodies, their vessels. I have their souls. They are no good to you without their souls."

"That's not fair! I have them, I have their souls inside of them."

"No. The human soul is not in the human body. It lives in the spirit, which is ethereal, and not actually part of the body. I have the S's. I have something else important that starts with S."

"What?"

"Satan."

"You can't have me. Besides, I go by other names. Satan is not my only name."

"You mean like Beelzebub or Apollyon or Lucifer or Devil or Diablo or Fiend or Mephistopheles? All can be found from A to M. So, you see, I have you again my Angel."

"You cheated me!"

"Outsmarted is a more appropriate word."

"Now what? Now that you own me, do you own everything that I own? Is that how you plan to cheat me the rest of the way?"

"That would be too easy and I don't want you to feel cheated."

"What then?"

"Negotiations. What do you want most?"

"I want me back. I want myself along with all of my names and powers."

"Wow, that's the diamond in my crown. I'd want a lot for that."

"What?"

"Everything you have."

"That's not fair."

"That's business. How bad do you want to be Lucifer again?"

"Let me keep the humans too and it's a deal."

"I have their souls remember? What good are they to you without souls to try to change? Take your name and give up the rest."

"Then, it's back to the way it was. You have everything and I'm scraping to try to get what you've got. That's not right."

"You went into negotiations with God, did you expect to have me in the position that you're in now?"

"Okay, give me myself back and one thing."

"I'll give you yourself and one Zebra."

"A strong, young, powerful steed Zebra."

"Done."

"You know I'm going out right now to redouble my efforts to take souls from your precious humans."

"You should be keeping an eye on your Zebra. I think he's fleeing for his life from a pack of hungry Lions as we speak."

"Damn you!"

"Damn me? If only you could."

...

Travels With the Bloofer Lady Pt. 1

I sat typing and humming Que Sera Sera softly when the scent of Jasmine wafted through my closed window. Long after midnight, the streets were inundated by fog, and yet the sweet fragrance made it up to my room. I looked out of my window and saw her standing like a specter beneath a lamppost. The fog made the lamplight encircle her like a soft spot. Her hair blew softly from her face but her red dress and the fog were unmoved by this mystery breeze. I had the momentary thought that her hair had a life of its own but that was ridiculous wasn't it? She seemed to be looking at me but that was as impossible as her living hair. The distance was too great and my room was dark (save for the dull blue hue of the computer monitor). Still though, her head appeared cocked slightly in my general direction. I turned off the monitor to assure complete darkness and leaned onto my windowsill to watch this vision. Her bosom grew suddenly as she inhaled a huge volume of air. Her eyes closed and she blew a kiss to me. I thought that's what was happening but surely she was merely trying to catch her breath in this bedeviling mist. That was my thought until the kiss rattled the glass of my window and the Jasmine grew strong and a warm wind skittered over my naked arms causing the hairs there to stand on end. There was something else there too mingled with the Jasmine. Something heavier. Something darker. She slowly lifted both arms at her sides and held them out as if she were being crucified in the vapor. She smiled, then carefully tilted her head onto her left shoulder and crossed her legs at the ankles. This mystery stood on the street below my window in the dense fog and impersonated a Christ bathed in Jasmine. Her eyes now found mine and locked on them. It was then that I realized that the position in which she stood was impossible. She almost floated. Arms outstretched, head askew, balanced on the toe of her right shoe. Slowly, her arms came to the front and both hands pointed directly into my quiet and lonely room. Her head rose from her shoulder. I was mesmerized...

...

WTF?!

Five families out there in America are grieving losses that they will never truly recover from. Five mothers are crying tears that will never dry. Five fathers are lost. If my son or daughter died tonight, I would never recover. I would go on but I would mourn every day for the rest of my life. Every day. Every day. And every day, we hear that same news story followed by the weather report. Three soldiers today, eight tomorrow, six the day after that. Every day. Every day.

Today, I may not hear the death toll. Tomorrow I may hear it and not pay attention again, as I have been doing for...how long now?

What are we doing? Not this country. Not Iraq. We as humans? There is never a reason to take a mother's son from her. There is never a reason to take a father's daughter. Is it oil? Is it power? Is it...what? Religion? Money? Land? Ego? The hell of it? I have no idea why we are "over there" doing whatever the hell it is we're doing. As a people, we don't know why we're there and we've been told there is no "exit strategy". People are dying daily. The blood of good men as well as bad men is being spilled onto the sand. The sand doesn't care, it just becomes dark red and damp. Young men, women, and children who will one day become the oil that we all covet. What the? Our guns are aimed at those who would shoot us. Their guns are aimed at us because we've drawn down on them. Perhaps if we were to walk away, bullets could be saved. You know how expensive ammunition is. Let's save a few rounds and turn the ships and planes around. Nah, that would not be good for our face. It's all about face. It is better to look good than to be good. It is better to appear smart and be stupid than to admit that you did a stupid thing. I don't really mind being ugly and admitting my stupidity on occasion, especially when it will save all those bullets and bombs. I've heard all the political crap reasons for why it is that we do what we do but do we really need to do it?

One soldier says it all. Is he still alive? Did he die yesterday? Is his family grieving forever now? Has he killed someone? Will he ever get over taking another life? Will we?

...

Sleep Reparations

As I walked along the lovely beach, I spied the handsome young man sleeping peacefully in the hammock. I looked at him and wondered, what would be the difference if our positions were flipped? Simple. He would look at me and say, "There's a Black guy sleeping in a hammock." He would be right. Even if, when I awoke, I had a Jamaican accent. Even if I were from Brazil, Haiti or Morocco. In America, the distinction is minimal. Our nationality is only enforced if we demand to be recognized as non-American Blacks.

I continued to watch the man sleeping, trying to build up the false sense of racial inequality. It then occurred to me that perhaps he too lived under those same circumstances. I looked at a White guy in a hammock and assumed that his ancestors owned mine. Unfair. Perhaps he was French or Canadian or even French Canadian. Could be Greek or Italian. German or Australian. Swedish or South African. Slovenian or Greenlander (?).

I got bored with wondering what race he might be, so I stole his shoes.

...

Little Girl Lost

In the nanosecond before Melisande discovered how to override the system, the memories of her short life flashed through her mind like a flipbook. The doll that she'd begged for for months on end with its curly brunette hair and face so like her own. It was wrapped in yellow tissue paper and housed in a pink box. She'd named her Sandy, after herself. Coming in second in Ms. Daniel's 2nd grade Spelling Bee. Her Girl Scout uniform hanging in its protective plastic covering, waiting for her to wear it every weekend at her meetings. Her parents arguing at Disneyworld on Christmas Eve. Her Uncle Billy having them all over for Thanksgiving and the pool parties at his Summer home in Palm Springs. Her first crush – David Blakemore with the beautiful green eyes and deep dimples when he smiled. Dancing with David at the fourth grade end-of-the-year dance. Her fifth grade straight "A" report card. Ballet lessons that hurt her feet and made her feel like a princess at the same time. Reading Nancy Drew mysteries one after another. Deciding for sure that she would one day be a famous actress married to a famous actor. Flying to Seattle with her mother to visit Aunt Kathy. The masks falling from the panel above her head on the plane. Her mother frantically fastening her seatbelt, then squeezing her hand very tightly. The powerful burst of wind, airline items flying down the aisle, screams that were swallowed by the wind, the loud popping noise, then darkness.

Brightly lit room barely visible through the gauze covering her right eye. Muffled voices, beeping machines, and the vibration from those beeping machines. Pain, the smell of her own burned flesh and hair, someone stroking her right shoulder. Slow focus returning to her right eye and unbelievable pain as her burned flesh reawakened. Her father sitting by her bedside, obviously sedated and barely able to speak. Dr. Gurwitz looking into her eye with a light and smiling. Dr. Wells telling her that her mother had died in the crash and that she was the lone survivor. Dr. Wells and Dr. Gurwitz telling her that she'd suffered major physical damage but that they were working together to rebuild her and make her "better" than before. Dr. Speck dropping by twice daily to help her deal with her emotional state. Father Mascelli visiting weekly to give her spiritual guidance. Dr.'s Wells and Gurwitz explaining the miracles of science and surgery that they'd performed on her over the five-week period since the crash. Her brain, right arm, right eye, stomach, and skeletal system were undamaged enough to remain (though there were a half-dozen major skeletal reconstructions with screws and plates). Ovaries were intact but removed because of other internal damage that would have precluded childbirth. Bio-elasticine Exo-skin complete with navel, nipples, and fingerprints capable of expanding up to eight inches (should she grow). Simu-realistic, dye receptive hairs that can be cut or styled or rewoven. Thermal heat regulator that keeps body temperature at 98.6, no matter what the relative environmental temperature. Lungs that inflate and deflate as needed to supply oxygen to the bloodstream, capable of removing enough oxygen from pure water to maintain life support for up to 30 minutes. Servomechanical heart that pumps blood only as needed. Blood infused with synthetic immunity converting microorganisms, which contain and eliminate viruses. Right eye's optic nerves also control the movement and focus of the artificial left eye, which is capable of magnification up to 300x when the right eye is closed and the brain learns to control it independent of the right eye. Audio realization monitors connected to her original tympanic membranes. Breast implants available after puberty. System harmonized by a computer junction that is attached to the heart and connected to the brain stem at the base of the skull. Harmonizer can only be overridden by the brain itself. All neural stimuli fed through harmonizer.

Melisande concentrated on the harmonizer until she could perfectly tune her brainwaves to the internal hum that she felt at the base of her skull. She overrode the harmonizer and shut the system down. Functions ceased.

...

Grieving

I had a heavy heart for all those who perished in the senseless rampage at Virginia Tech. I grieved too for the poor misguided, maladjusted young man who thought that his options were limited (I can't help but think that he was a baby at a breast 20 some-odd years ago). The children of this country have limitless options but, sadly, too few of them realize this. We've fed them too much too much for too long. We're in an inconceivable position. There are psychotic disgruntled people with access to firearms and we all know that. Why are we shocked when something like this happens? We should be shocked that we didn't take this young man under our wings and make him feel welcomed and treated his psychosis properly - and watched him a bit more. We are showing the VT students enormous compassion now, which means that we are capable of enormous compassion. It needn't be used only in time of tragedy. Perhaps we can prevent the next mess by loving one another a bit more - NOW.

Addendum -

I would like to change our constitution a smidge. I know what you're thinking, "Our constitution is our backbone and not a thing to be trifled with." Yeah, yeah, I know. I don't want to change the reading of the constitution, just the spelling in one instance. I think the "right to bear arms" should read "the right to bare arms." Anyone over the legal age (which may vary from state to state) should have the right to shave his or her arms as often as one wishes. Couldn't hurt. Might help.

Goodnight, my fellow Americans.

...

Casa de Huesos

The house across the street from me recently sold after being on the market for a few months. The couple that lived there previously was an odd pair. They were fairly freaky looking and argued often and loudly. The man always seemed dirty and unkempt. There were plastic bags in his car that seemed to be filled with dirty laundry at all times. The woman looked like 18 miles of ragged twisted highway. They had an old fat dog that was the epitome of them both. He would sit at the curb, stare to toward the sky, and bark incessantly at...God, I suppose.

A Black guy bought the house and promptly tore it down. I was happy that they were gone and even happier to have another Black guy in the neighborhood finally. He began rebuilding and I went over to meet him after construction began. Very cool.

"So, how long have you lived here?" He asked.

"21 years."

"Wow, that's a long time. My wife and I bought this place as an investment. We're rebuilding it as a rental property. Did you know the people who lived here before?"

"I never spoke to them but I saw them often. They were kinda strange."

"I bet they were. They were hoarders. When I first looked at the property, they were still living here. They had shit stacked up to the ceiling. Old newspapers, piles of clothes, crap I couldn't even identify. Not only that, they lived with rats. I mean, lived with rats. When I came in, the rats weren't afraid of me and there was rat shit on everything. Rats on the furniture, rats everywhere."

"I can believe that from what I saw of them."

"When I went out back to redo the plumbing for the sprinkler system, I found a bone in the dirt, buried about eight inches down."

"Yeah, they had a pudgy little dog."

"Naw man, I mean a real bone. You know, a bone."

"What do you mean a bone? What kind of bone?"

"It looked like a leg bone to me. Like a human leg. I kept digging, then I found another one with what looked like an ankle attached."

"And?!?!??"

"I threw that shit away, man. I don't need that kind of trouble. I don't need investigators in here slowing down my construction. I had enough trouble with the city trying to get permits to rebuild."

Do I need this kind of information floating around in my head? I think not. Are there more bones deeper in the dirt across the street? Is there a skull over there? Are there 19 transients in shallow graves less than fifty yards from where I raised my kids? Did this guy find a deer leg bone and assume it was human because it was long? I talked to an attorney friend and he's contacting a retired homicide detective and I'm trying to forget that I ever heard this story. Yuck!

...

Irwin

My son came home from school today and was having a snack before homework. He called me and told me that there was a Praying Mantis in the living room. Much like myself, he's a goofball, so of course - I didn't believe him. I came downstairs to find a Mantis sitting nonchalantly by the television on a basket that sits atop a floor speaker. Odd. Odd even for oddballs like us. We caught it and put it into our abandoned Hamster cage/habitat. Made sense to us at the time. My son was watching "The Crocodile Hunter" on TV while we caught this strange creature so we named it Irwin, in honor of the late Steve Irwin. Bet your day wasn't as weird as ours.

...

WTF? Again

Sorry for this moment of ultimate seriousness in the midst of the ridiculous. I went to bed sad and angry last night. I wrote something silly and fun to take my mind off of my misery but it didn't really work. Woke up with the same angst.

Immediately following the "State of the Union" last night, the local news did their usual local nonsense. In the midst of the norm, they did their nightly "War in Iraq" update. "Today in the fight to free Iraq, five soldiers were killed. Three died because of a roadside explosive and two died as a result of small arms fire from snipers. Now, let's see what Fred has to say about who's going to win the big game this Sunday. I've got my money on the Patriots."

Really? Are we so blind and deaf to all that happens outside of our personal little bubbles that we numbly sit and watch this kinda stuff on TV and go on to eat our dinners? I'm not sure what we ever were but I definitely don't like what we've become.

...

Tea With Irwin

He eyed me while tilting his triangular head, "So, what time is tea around here?"

"I was about to make a cup now. Would you like Tangly Timber with a mint leaf or Saskatoon Cinnamon with a spritz of clove oil?" I asked the overly friendly Praying Mantis.

"Actually, I'm hooked on Raspberry Root, but I'll take some of that Timber crap, if that's all you have. Have you given any thought to what to feed me? You have no idea of what my diet consists of, do you?" He asked.

"Well, I was planning on pizza tonight. Pepperoni okay with you? You tell me the topping you prefer."

"Actually, the meat is cool but the dairy part and breading stuff won't really do well in my digestive tract. I prefer my food live. Cricket. Roach. Even a frog or a small bird would do. Hell, I'd even do a fly, if that's all you have hanging around," Irwin said.

I put the kettle on to boil and sat down beside my houseguest. He groomed his antennae with his forelegs and I hung bags from two mugs.

"So...live food huh? I'm not sure what I have handy. There was a moth flying around the porch light a while ago, but it's surely flown on to brighter pastures by now. You sure it has to be live?"

"Yeah, pretty much. I am a higher plane of being than most creatures because I eat the living. Look me up on the Internet. I am one of the planet's most highly evolved predators. Hooks on the ends of my hands, wings, powerful legs, excellent vision, and the ability to digest insects, including poisonous insects, reptiles, amphibians, birds, you name it. I'm a modern marvel of evolution. I'm the only insect that can turn its head around to see backwards. I am the real deal," Irwin said, somehow without sounding pompous.

"What makes you say you're on a higher plane?" I asked as I poured the hot water over the sweet smelling teabags.

"I have the essence of every creature that I have eaten. I have a portion of each of their souls because I ate them while they were living. I am closer to Nirvana than most because I ingest the living. You are simple because you eat the meat of the dead and decaying. I'm better than you," he said, now sounding kinda smug.

"And you're sure about this theory?" I asked, gently stirring the tea in each mug.

"Being on this level affords me certain truths and the fact that I am better than you because of what I have taken into my self is clearly evident. It's a Renfield kinda thing. Eat a bug, take on his essence. That essence never leaves you. You take in part of his soul and a smaller part of every soul that he may have eaten. I am miles above you mortal men," he said as he reached out for his mug.

I reached out and took my mug also. I sipped my tea and crunched my Mantis and enjoyed my afternoon. I don't feel any smarter. I feel...like I need to brush my teeth. Oh well.

...

HOW I SHARED MY HUSBAND

(dark subject matter & graphic depictions – read at your peril)

My pretty Paul was not the kind

To throw sparks at passersby.

But apparently he received

Rather well,

And was rather well received.

My pretty Joyce was rain or shine

Hand-in-hand pal for life.

A friendship fashioned forever,

Until rain or shine

Became fair weather.

My pretty people were my world,

The ends of opposing poles.

They were the base in my life,

Whose debasement thereof,

Became rife.

Joyce and Paul agreed to meet

To brainstorm for my party.

Their plans were laid in hidden heat,

Before their meetings started.

The storm warnings did not impart,

The fury of their desire.

Nor did the thought of my heart

Cool their covetous fire.

Guilt and remorse were soon quelled,

As were the newfound friends.

Secrets are meant to be held,

Especially when new love offends.

Did my only loves so disrespect me this way?

Was this the surprise planned for my birthday?

Their fatal chance encounter was unleashed lust,

That unbeknownst to me had been in tow for years.

While in the guise of the keepers of my trust,

Their desires echoed but never reached my ears.

My pretty uncontrollable loves fell upon each other,

Neither stopping to hear my world caving in.

Consuming passions forced my spouse to take the friend of his lover,

As was also the case of my spouse craving friend.

Quite against their wills their lust turned to love,

And bloomed beyond their control.

Soon secret trysts were not enough,

To share the love they stole.

A rotten love affair will sometimes stink forever.

Other times the party crossed becomes empowered to sever.

With hindsight, I understand my Joyce scented sheets,

And her inability to keep our Sunday brunch dates.

Paul's "honey, I love you's" were at best cheats,

As was his feigned interest in his bedmate.

I guess I should have read the road signs,

That spelled out every hairpin turn.

You'd think I would have seen the star shine,

While they grew and I failed to learn.

I never gave reason for your betrayal, my pretty Joyce,

Nor was I ever unwilling to satisfy you, my pretty Paul.

This act of treason was altogether your choice,

And we all know why and where the axe must fall.

My gods have fallen to Hell and I never even saw them slip.

If Hell is their destination, then I'll join them in their trip.

Now that the deed is done and the seed is sown,

I shall redress them with a dressing down.

To do this, my beatless heart must turn to stone,

And my guileless face mask smile or frown.

Exacting grim punishment has never been my gift,

Nor severing relationships ever been my plan.

In avenging my spousal covenant's most foul rift,

I intend to cleave the cleaving woman from man.

Though my curative training commands me to heal,

It is implied that I judge relative revivability.

Attaining sterile instruments in my field,

Is as simple as ignoring my vow's sanctity.

Undertakings of this nature require extreme poise and grace.

As did the killing of my marriage without remorse on either face.

I suppose one outcome would be that I would lose love's aptitude,

And be thrown upon the cold rocks of warmth's pall.

Befitting me, I propose to offer myself to love's latitude,

A distinction that I would no doubt prefer above all.

Further, it could be that upon completion of this violent revenge,

My dissatisfied heart will discover no satiation.

Like a soulless Spectre forever begging at heaven's fringe,

My unqualified heart must have this retaliation.

It is for God to pardon me for this sin against Man,

For it is only His forgiveness that I shall ever abide.

Besides, it is much more seemly to sunder foot and hand,

Than to fairly take hearts in the literal eye for eye.

Whatever my consequence in this heinous matter, it is just.

A kind of hurting is warranted on those who openly breach trust.

Subduing my Pretty Paul was no great feat,

Considering his indulgence in that night's meal.

His raves regarding the rich taste of the meat,

Fueled his consumption of the Morphined veal.

I surmounted my Pretty Joyce on the following day,

By doling out several blows to the head.

Overcome and in a state of disarray,

I laid her beside her comrade in bed.

Chained to the walls of my basement, they began their stay,

In the hell of their love's wildest dreams.

Linked by crimes of debasement are those who stray,

And penalties for this fine pain are high indeed.

Finally, the game is afoot in my wholly unholy mission.

I will have my pound of flesh from those who caused this condition.

"I never meant to hurt you, you know,"

Says he, realizing his impotency.

'"We should have stopped long ago,"

Says she, through the tears and weight of pregnancy.

"You just can't do this to us!"

He screams, knowing well my vengeance.

"We never meant to be serious,"

She cries, as though there is a difference.

My turn to watch them writhe

And suffer their romance.

I bring with me a scythe,

As end to this performance.

A tragic heroine caught in the family way,

Simply adds to the sadness of this passion-play.

The amputation of a single finger,

Pales to the loss of an entire hand.

All pain is pain that lingers,

But physical pain, I can withstand.

While in their narcotic rest,

I cut off their hands for my heart.

I sutured their wounds and dressed,

The arms that never would part.

Needless to say, they awoke unamused,

And screamed and yelled bloody murder.

They felt they'd been abused,

But knew not of my plans to go further.

In shearing their hands, I have shown them defeat.

Love's vowed vendetta is now one-third complete.

After two days away from their hands,

I freed them of their feet.

With morphine at my command,

I made their cropping complete.

In their painful newfound state,

They had no need of their chains.

Why incarcerate,

Those who must remain?

Fearing that I may snip them further,

Paul seemed the most unnerved.

I had calmed my trimming fervor,

But my finale had been reserved.

Once pruned, my limbless loves now had only their minds.

The goal before me now - hack away that too in kind.

The new game in town was now beginning,

And I alone wrote the rules.

To set their little wheels to spinning,

I told them of their unique menus.

Strictly gourmet meals on golden platters,

The fare had been for the last five days.

Knuckle soup with fecal matter,

Followed by my famous foot soufflés.

When told I had aborted her child,

My pretty Joyce became a lost cause.

My pretty Paul went simply wild,

When he recalled it's tasty tart sauce.

These acts, in fact, are too far for even me to go.

With stomachs and minds unsettled, they'll never even know.

With a game this completely engrossing,

It's hard not to lose as you win.

The slam of sanity's closing,

Echoes from both outside and in.

Who knows which devil knows best,

When they all have hold of your hand?

"Revenge the pain in your breast,

Or live with what you cannot withstand?"

Moments come when I have my doubts,

Whether or not I am on this limb.

My answers comes to me in shouts,

I think it's me but it's them.

The state of my thoughts I willingly mistrust.

A point I would worry over, if I didn't feel so just.

My pretties are not so pretty these days,

With their hollow and ghastly grim faces.

There seems to be something akin to malaise,

In these lovers who've lost their embraces.

Small mindless creatures that quiver and drool,

And stare toward the void since their capture.

Destroyed by the simplest surgical tool,

Cut to the quick and bereft them of rapture.

The storm is now gone and peace has returned,

My heart is resuming its rhythm.

My role is no longer wife/friend spurned,

But planner of what to do with them.

This most macabre deed has brought a most serenely pleasant reaction.

I feel only a total, sheerly outright, completely cool satisfaction.

The trip to the car was a journey itself,

With Paul's muffled attempts to be heard.

Joyce became an eel in a seat-belt,

But the sedative had the last word.

Lolling and crying, they begged and they pleaded,

Though they saw only doom in my eyes.

As if sorrow for pain was the remedy needed,

And I was their vessel for lies.

The ride seemed tremendously long,

Yet short to them I suppose.

Fittingly, the radio did not play our song,

A tune that will soon decompose.

A good deal off the road, I gave them a last cozy dose of morphine.

I ungagged them and left them in this forbidding and sandy new scene.

As I expose this seamless sin to you,

Your troops are out scouring the desert.

My crime is what you must prove,

Criminals cannot simply assert.

I admit these deeds to the law,

Because I knew you would question in time.

Where are Joyce and Paul?

That is for you to divine.

My conscience, to spare me damnation,

Made me make a clean breast in detail.

All but that one prime location,

That would undoubtedly land me in jail.

Without corpus delicti, passions crimes are but baseless reflection.

Without Paul and Joyce to testify, it's just a confessor's conception.

...

Travels With the Bloofer Lady Pt. 2

My eyes fluttered and all was silence in my darkened room. There was sunset just beyond my window but dusk was settling heavily in my small room. My viewpoint was from the floor, just at the foot of my unmade bed. My Bloofer, Lucy, was a vision in dark, flowing, purple velvet. Her hair moved independent of her head. Her hair swam and seemed to reach out to me. I was still lying on the floor, paralyzed and in the deep throes of love for this temptress. She smiled down at me and blood drooled in long silken crimson strands from her teeth and entered my waiting mouth. Her blood was cold, yet it brought breath and life with it. A kind of life that I had never felt before. A hyper-life. A life unending. I life of hunger and power. Fulfillment and solitude. My limbs began to fill with this power, an offshoot of Lucy's power. I knew that all that I was or ever would be was an extension of her greatness. I stood and breathed new air. I saw a new world. A world that would bow to me because I was an essential part of the Empress of the Night.

I stepped out of my window and followed my master/lover out and above the darkling city.

...

The Little Light Bulb

Once upon a time, there was a little light bulb that lived in a magnificent chandelier. She was a sad little light bulb because she was dark and cold while all the other bulbs were bright and happy. They all turned on together, laughing and sparkling every time the man came into the room. She simply sat in her socket while the others shined and sparkled and filled the room with their light.

Oh sure, she could see by their light and feel some of their heat upon her outer body of delicate glass, but her insides were dark and cold. She had no contribution to give and this made her sad. So sad, that once she wished that the socket would release her so that she could crash to the floor.

But the man would have to pick up the pieces and she had no wish to trouble him, for you see, she loved the man.

There was a time when the man would enter the room and the electricity would strike and she would outshine every bulb in the chandelier. She would shine so brightly that the man noticed her and called her his "little sparkler." She returned his love by being bright when he read his books and dim when he had a headache.

Their relationship grew until one day when the man cleaned the chandelier. He used a feather duster, which he brushed against her ever so gently but hard enough to jar her away from her current. From that day on, she had been cold inside

One day the man looked up at the chandelier and seemed to notice something odd. He left the room and returned with a stepladder, which he placed under the chandelier. The little light bulb became frightened because she knew that she would be replaced and thrown into the trash. She tried her best to sparkle, but all she could do was watch as his hand came close. Then, she felt his warm fingertips on her cold body and knew the time for replacement was here. She gathered her dignity and vowed that her removal would be graceful.

Just then, he twisted her slightly and she flickered back to life. Her light was brighter than ever and she could feel her inner warmth beaming. She looked down at the man who was smiling and climbing down the ladder. She sent her glowing love to give light to his life.

Moral: Sometimes, when you're down and you think you're all burned out, it can all turn around when the right guy comes along and screws you.

...

Catversation

(all apologies to Sting)

I saw a stray cat lying in the grass while on my way to wisdom. I couldn't resist lying next to him to find out the mysteries that he contained.

"I wish that I could live a life like yours. Lying in the Sun and being taken care of. Being fed when I'm hungry, petted, and loved."

He gave me a tremendously long sang-froid stare. Then closed his eyes indifferently.

"To lie about, purring contentedly. To have the ability to turn on a hunting instinct to full power and suddenly become the ultimate predator."

He opened his eyes and cut a glare my way. The indifference was gone. It was replaced by something close to loathing.

"I am what I am because I deserve to be. Being a cat isn't something that happens by chance."

"What do you mean? You were born a cat like I was born a man. What have you done to deserve being born a cat?"

"My kind are God's chosen ones. We are what all others aspire to be. In every life before, I have been a cat."

"Nonsense! We are made in God's image, not cats! Look at all that man has done and all that man has meant to the Earth. What have cats achieved?"

"Nirvana."

"That's ridiculous. Man is king! We have created a new digital world. Technology is what separates us from animals."

"I watch your television when you are not home. Your technology allows you to see all corners of the world that you are slowly ruining. I watch your rockets blast off toward new worlds in hopes of finding life. A life that you will no doubt exploit. You search for a planet that you can rape. One victim is not enough for you. Is that what God wants? Is that the true aim of God? I watch your wars. Your ability to kill a few innocents to reach the guilty is a revelation. It is also appallingly horrendous. I watch your commercials where you reach out to the consumer offering the newest bestest most coolest fastest car with its polluting engine. You take that car out on the highway and run over a small creature and continue on your way. Do you feel remorse? Do you really understand remorse? I watch you sell your alcohol to an audience that is almost unable to resist because they are addicted to the unnatural chemical compounds. You make wine of grapes, rice, dandelions, almost anything. Have you tried making wine out of marijuana? Why not combine your addictions? I'm sure you've thought of that. If not, I pity you for what you will now do with this suggestion."

"Wait, you can't belittle man for the horrors that we may have done. What about all the good things that we do?"

"What good things do you do?"

"We created roads, society, government, farming, shipping, art, music, the written word."

"All of those things relate only to you. The rest of the living things on this planet get zero benefit from all the wonders that man has created. The things that affect the rest of us are also creations of man. Zoos, hazardous chemicals, hunting for sport, smog, you've even begun to destroy the layers above the Earth that protect all living things from doom. Nice going."

"What have cats done to make the planet better? What do you do for others?"

"We retain a sense of modesty. We don't attempt to lord over all else."

"Well...you can't blame me for what other men have done."

"You have a saying that goes, 'what one man can do, another man can do.' If one man does evil and other men do not act on this, then all men are complicit in this evil. What have you done to stop the evils that other men do?"

"But...I don't know how...I can't..."

"You are a confusing and mysteriously stupid animal. You work to buy gas to go to work. You complain about the price of gas but have no complaint or realization that water costs more than gas. Gas is a refined product that is often shipped across great oceans from countries that despise you. I understand it costing a great deal. Isn't water free? I've seen it fall from the skies for days on end. Who sells it back to you and why?"

"But you don't understand, God has chosen man to-"

"What if I had irrefutable unquestionable evidence that God exists but He no longer cares about you? What if I told you that God created you then became bored and moved on?"

I looked into the cat's wonderful eyes and felt hatred for this creature. He was obviously sent here to be my serpent. My mind swam in the murky thoughts that this evil feline had presented me with. It was then that I realized that I had been lying on a cozy lawn with a cat that SPOKE to me! His ability to speak had seemed so natural to this point that it never occurred to me that I was in the presence of a talking cat.

"Have you been speaking to me? Speaking English? How is this possible?"

The cat stood slowly, arched its back in a lazy stretch, rubbed its chin and cheek lovingly against my shoulder, then meowed and slowly walked away leaving me alone and dumbfounded on a beautiful lawn beneath an amazing sky.

...

Wrong Feelings

I went through most of my day thinking that I was dark and evil inside but I was wrong. I had mistaken my emotions. I now know what's going on inside my malformed brain. I am sad and lonely. Heartbroken without a clue as to why. No one killed my monkey. Hell, I don't even have a monkey. But the feeling is like having my favorite monkey killed in a terrible taxicab accident right before my eyes. I couldn't have lost a lover because I haven't got one. It's not suddenly hitting me that my father died 25 or so years ago. I've dealt with that. I think the loss is internal. Am I losing the ability to believe in love? Am I never to be loved again? Not like mommy loves her precious precocious little me. Love, longing, passion, desire and the like will never be mine again will they? Why didn't you tell me that my ride was ending? This sucks. More than sucks. It hurts. It's making my eyes all puffy without a tear falling. Give it to me straight Doc, is there hope?

...

I Miss the Beautiful Woman

I work out at my local YMCA (that's stupid. Who works out at a distant Y?). Okay this isn't that kind of story, so get back on track. Right. I'm there a couple of years ago and I'm on the roof using the free weights. The door opens and a trainer escorts and older woman onto the roof. She was probably in her early sixties, slightly hunched over, stringy unkempt graying hair, dour faced, and she walked with a cane. The trainer showed her the equipment and explained the functions. She tried to pay attention but seemed distracted. I felt her staring at me as I worked out. It felt a bit odd but not too far out of the ordinary. They stayed approximately 4 minutes, then left me to peacefully finish my exercises.

From the roof, I generally move on to the second floor and work out on the machines next. When I got there, the woman was sitting on a machine trying to do a simple movement without any weight whatsoever. She struggled and her head trembled. I smiled at her as I passed and began my workout. Five minutes in, I felt her eyes on me. I turned and she was sitting on a machine staring at me as if she knew me. She gave me a weak smile that let me know that she was semi-embarrassed to be caught staring. I returned her smile. She got up and walked over to me slowly with her cane. I stopped and looked at her as she spoke softly.

"I wish I could still do the things that I used to do. You are very lucky to be able to do so much," she said, then turned and walked away.

I was at a loss. She shuffled out the door and gently down the stairs. I sat on the seat of the machine and couldn't move. What just happened and why to me? I had never had anyone speak to me and stop all thought before. After what felt like eight years, I got up from the machine and ran down the stairs looking for her. I found her in the parking lot. I walked behind her and called out to her. She slowly turned and showed me her deflated and wizened face.

"Excuse me, may I talk to you for a moment?" I asked. Her face showed her shock but she nodded her approval nonetheless.

"Please don't be offended but I just have to say this to you."

"Go on, young man."

"You may not always feel this way, you may not think this way, you may not hear this often enough, you may not even believe it yourself but you are beautiful. You are a beautiful woman."

She smiled a "you're so full of shit smile," then said, "Oh yeah, I see this beautiful face every time I look in the mirror."

"I don't think you do." I took her frail hand in mine and held it gently. "You are a beautiful woman. I don't know you and have never seen you before today. I may never see you again. I have no reason to lie to you. You are a beautiful woman. A very beautiful woman."

She slowly took her hand back and wiped a tear from her face. Her shoulders heaved slightly as she silently cried in the parking lot of the Y.

"If only...no one's ever said that to me before. My father never told me that I was beautiful. I wanted him to think that I was beautiful. My husband didn't even...no one ever says that about me."

"Then it's time that someone tells you the truth. I'm sure they all saw how beautiful you are, they just couldn't say it out loud. You are beautiful."

I stood there with her until she got the tears under control. She thanked me profusely, then got in her car and left. I felt good. Better than good. Not because I'd made someone's day but because I did something that we seldom do as humans, I spoke the truth to a total stranger because "I" wanted to.

A couple of weeks later, I was sitting on a machine working out and I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I turned and saw a woman who looked like the older woman's daughter standing behind me. I took my headphones off and got a better look. My beautiful woman was standing straight and tall, her face was lightly made-up, her hair was clean looking and pulled back into a nice little bun, and her smile was huge. She still walked with the cane but she was a completely different woman. We talked for a brief moment before she began her workout. I smiled all day that day.

From time to time, I'd see her at the Y - chipper and lively. After about a year, she stopped walking with the cane. We became passing friends. We didn't get to the point of asking each other for our names. I called her beautiful and she just said, "hey you" whenever she saw me.

I haven't seen my beautiful woman in quite a while. I wonder how she is. I know that she's still beautiful.

...

The Office

I went into the office today and fired Williams right off the bat. His lack of loyalty and clear disregard for the company's mission statement can no longer be tolerated. Jenkins and Peterson are on notice and they feel my eyes on their backs. My secretary, Emma Balkin, handed me the third quarter report and the boardroom was silent. I looked across the room and all avoided my glare. We are seven points above expectations but I demand more than a measly seven points per quarter. I popped an antacid and began my individual critiques or tirades as the underlings have so aptly described them.

Suddenly, as if a ray of pure sunlight was burning my retinas, I realized that I don't have a job and have never worked in an actual office of any kind. Funny how several Vicodin and a ton of booze can make you think you're me. I know I thought I was me for a while there. It was great, remember? I was screaming a lot and waving my arms about while you were plucking the chickens and building up a tolerance to iocane poison. Glory days.

...

An Open Letter to My Best Friends in the World - the Good Folks at Nike

Yo Nike, I've got an idea. Why don't you put a little money into me and sponsor my blog? You didn't know that the whole shoe thing would work when you gave Michael Jordan that huge contract. Look what happened there. It turned out great for both of you. If you give me, oh, let's say...$53,000,000, I will put your swoosh on my site with every post. I will wear your products at all times in public. You can promote my blog and I promise to post at least three times a week. I won't write anymore of that "poor me" kinda stuff. I will write upbeat crap that everyone can enjoy. I'll even dumb down the content to appeal to today's reader. I will go to your sites and comment on your new lines of shoes and apparel. My comments will be meaningful because I will be a celebrity and someone to be admired (after that $53,000,000). If this new venture doesn't pan out, at least one of us will be happy and you will know positively that this kind of thing doesn't work. But if it does work, watch out! Your competitors will once again be following your industry leading promotion abilities.

Just do me!

...

Canadian Advice

I recently got advice from a friend from the world above. She told me how to break through the gloom of life and growing older by forging ahead. I took her advice to heart and I'm ready to begin forging.

The problem is, the word "forging" got stuck in my head and things got cloudy. The word itself began to sound funny, then I was unsure of what the hell was being said. Was it "forging" or "foraging"?

I mean, foraging is cool too. I could use some twigs and berries. Wait, maybe she meant take something "for aging." That's another option that somehow makes as much sense as anything at this time.

Then again, her message may have been take something "for raging". Again, makes sense considering my state of mind.

Another more impractical answer would be that she meant a combination of all of these things. I have no idea what that might mean, so I'll assume that what she said was "forge ahead."

Ciao!

...

Falling in Starbucks

"Okay, I'll meet you at Starbucks at noon. Don't be late," she said.

"I'll be early," he said, with a smile broad enough to put the Cheshire Cat to shame.

He hung up the phone and ran to his closet to find the perfect ensemble to impress a supposedly beautiful woman on a blind date. Nothing so formal that she might notice that he was trying too hard but something dashing enough to get noticed. After an hour and a half, the shirt met the pants that met the vest that met the scarf that would make him undeniable.

11:47. He sat facing the door, waiting patiently for Constance to arrive. A woman in a blue dress opened the door and his heart fluttered, then he remembered that Constance was supposed to be a blonde and this woman's hair was jet black. Still, a pretty woman in a blue dress. He could be wrong about the blonde hair. She could have recently dyed it. The woman smiled at the handsome man who was staring at her, then continued past him and placed her order. His eyes went back to the door, where Constance stood smiling.

Blonde, but dishwater blonde. A sort of faded gold that went down to the middle of her back and a bit windblown. Her nose was fairly long and kinda flat at the tip. Her smile gently off kilter. Eyes that were huge and dark. Heavy unkempt eyebrows. She was taller than he anticipated and thinner than necessary. All in all, not the "pretty woman" that had been described to him by his pal, Alex.

Constance sat down and extended her hand. He shook it lightly and smiled. Her smile beamed and her less than perfect teeth gleamed in her off kilter mouth.

"It's so nice to finally meet you, Michael. You're just as I expected," she said.

He reached for her hand again. She let him take it, but her look was wary. He kissed her hand and smiled.

"You are so much more than I expected, Constance."

They are still in love today.

...

Same Sex Marriage Now Legal in California!

Today, it became legal to marry one of your own kind in California. Gay couples began early this morning in the celebration of the becoming "legal spouses". It was the lead news story on every channel. As it stands now, 51% of the people here approve of the unions and 42% believe that it's an abomination.

"I believe that God is looking down at us at this moment, in this state and that He disapproves of what we are allowing here today. Same sex marriage is not marriage. Marriage is a Holy Right designated to one man and one woman," said Reverend Whateverthehellhisnamewas.

I hope God's not really paying too much attention to what we're doing down here. I hope He's got something better to do. I can't imagine that He cares who we love. I can only hope He cares "that" we love. If God's really watching, I would think He's probably more upset that there are some among us who are speaking for Him than he might be about wanting a legal sanction regarding who we choose to kiss.

I hope God's watching the NBA playoffs and that He helps the Laker's to go to a game 7 in Boston, then washes His hands of everything and lets the players decide who the champions are. As it stands, the Laker's might need Him to win game 6. He's a good defender and His passing skills are some of the best in the league right now. His jump shot is hot and cold but hopefully, He's going to be hot tomorrow. Go Laker's!

I'm sorry; I lost my train of thought. Go gays!

...

My (Tor)Mentor

I had a dream about 20 years ago. Eternally surreal. I was in the desert, dying of hunger and thirst. A vulture appeared beside me. It was buried to the neck in the sand. As I approached, it began to talk to me in a familiar voice. The voice was Alfred Hitchcock's. The HitchVulture told me that the next story that I would write would be a literary pearl. The HitchVulture went on to tell me that I was a talented writer who simply hadn't been discovered yet. The HitchVulture then dug itself free from the sand and unzipped its exterior. Alfred Hitchcock was indeed beneath the feathery body. The difference was that with the feathers stripped away, the head changed to a regular vulture and the body was a skeletal version of Mr. Hitchcock. A large skeleton with the head of a vulture. The HitchVulture continued to speak, nonetheless. It told me that I had to continue writing because my talent was untapped. "Never stop putting words to paper," it said.

Since that all-important dream, I have written many screenplays, dozens of short stories, dozens of poems, and two novels. I haven't received a single dollar from these writings (liar!), yet I continue because "Mr. HitchVulture" gave me the incentive. Does he know that I would appreciate some of this crap being read by half the masses? Does he realize that I could use some form of compensation for putting words to paper? Monetary compensation would be wonderful.

Hey Hitch, why not appear in Mr. Spielberg's dreams and tell him to give me a call so that we can hook-up and perhaps produce some of these words on paper? You could enter Ron Howard's dream tonight and give him my phone number and hint to him that I've got a script or two that he needs to look into. What, are you too busy to haunt a Hollywood big shot? If that's the case, why the hell are you screwing around with little old me? Twenty years later and I still remember that dream vividly. I can't stop writing because he might be right. Why me?

An old, fat, dead, British director controls my life!

...

Gotholicism

Are they weird? Yeah, but who can point the weird finger without having it end up directly back in their own face eventually? Are they social misfits? Think of how many "cool" characters are actually social misfits - Spiderman, Batman, Superman, Frankenstein, the Hulk, Hellboy, it's a long list. Are they merely seeking individuality? Seems unlikely. Usually when one seeks to be unique, one doesn't dress and behave like a specific group. That's not individuality, that's conformity. Perhaps it just is what it is. It's not Jock or Nerd or Greaser or Soc or Geek or whatever else may come down or up the pike. It's just a filled niche.

Consider the time, imagination, bravery, and delicate attention to detail that it takes to not only achieve their look but to also live this look. I have never known a Goth personally but I appreciate their difference.

...

So Long, Suckers!!!

Once upon a time, back in the Age of Idiots, I used to be a writer. Actually, I was a writer for you stupids who are reading these stupid words now. The reason that I am no longer writing for you losers is that, apparently, I am rich. Not just rich - filthy, nasty, gruesome, stanky rich! A person of my newfound magnitude would never stoop so low as to waste my priceless precious time writing inane crap to the underlings of the world. So, this is my farewell to all of you numbskulls. Kiss my opulent ass as I swim in a pool full of fortune!

You may be wondering what could have happened to make me so much better than all of you. Well, it just so happens that I recently received an email informing me that I have a distant relative in Nigeria (that I never even knew about before today!), who has left me close to half a half a billion dollars! Ha ha! How ya like me now? That's right, there's $447 million bucks waiting for me in Nigeria. Cash money, sitting in a suitcase, left to me by Umbuku Ukumbu. He left the cash in a closet in an old suitcase with instructions for it to be mailed to me, in the event of his death. Last week, he choked to death at a family BBQ. Now, I'm the wealthiest man you know. Or used to know.

All I have to do is send the attorney, who holds the will and the big fat-assed suitcase stuffed with U.S. currency, eight grand. A lousy eight thousand dollars and he puts my future in the hands of a trusted Fed Ex dude. I've already put my house up for sale and taken the eight thousand out my son's college fund. I know that I'll lose money on the house in this economy but the upside is too much for me to even consider right now. Who needs this house when I'm in line for a half a half a billion? I can tell my wife to quit her job tomorrow. No, wait...divorce! I'm filing papers first thing in the morning! Gotta do it quick before she finds out about my windfall. Yes, the pieces are falling into place!

Wish you were me, dontcha? Well, you're not! Sucks to be you!

...

My Dear Dear Friends!

Wasn't that a funny silly stupid joke? Nigerian relatives, ha ha. You, dear readers, are my true friends and family. Well, I mean, you are now that I realize that my money is no longer my money and my windfall has either blown away in the wind or fallen off a cliff somewhere in Nigeria. Whatever.

The good thing is that my wife has forgiven me for serving her with the divorce papers. Yeah, she just calmly took the papers, put them in the shredder, then shoved the shreds into the pepper mill, ground them into a fine powder, mixed the powder with a squirt of piss, a healthy spit, and kneaded that into a thick paste. She later took the paste and carefully inserted it into an empty 357 cartridge and waited until the paste hardened. Once hardened considerably, she simply put the divorce Papier-mâché bullet into a pistol (when the hell did she buy a pistol?) and shot me in the face. After that, she wasn't really that angry anymore.

So, my son won't get to go to college. Lots of people don't go to college. He may live a life of anger and regret. Happens to the best of us. He's been walking around the house mumbling the words "vendetta" and "blood feud." Kids today. No one can figure them out.

There is a silver lining to this cloud. I've just gotten an email from the guy in Nigeria who scammed me for the eight thousand dollars. He says he's sorry and he wants to give the money back but he's already spent it. He bought a ton of food and decorations for a huge party that he's having for me. He wants me to fly to Nigeria and be the guest of honor at the party. I told him that I don't have the two thousand dollars that round trip airfare would cost because I gave him almost all of my worldly cash holding. I'm down to my last twelve hundred. Wouldn't you know it, he said that he can get me round trip tickets for exactly twelve hundred bucks! It seems that ticket prices are lower in Nigeria. You never know when luck will happen to you.

So, wish me bon voyage!

...

Sound Bite

If you really sit and think about all the people that you see on TV, on the big screen, and those in music, you have opinions about all of them. You read something about them from their art or you hear gossip about them on the tube or in the press or, even worse, you hear nothing at all about them but the characters that they portray give you a "feeling" about them. You actually know nothing about Brad Pitt, yet you think he's either adorable or an ass for leaving Jennifer for Angelina. Do you know what idiotic things Ms. Aniston requested of him to make him want to leave her? Of course not. And if you did know what actually went on "behind closed doors," it would be gossip too. None of us knows anything and we all know everything.

The best that I can hope for is to one day be reduced to a sound bite that is cooked up and served to the masses. Bliss.

...

What's So Good About Good?

We all have evil thoughts. Are mine more evil than yours? I hope so. That either means that I try harder or that I have a larger innate evil. Cool. This is America and we all want to be the biggest and best. By America, I mean this world is America. Sorry to say it to all you Canucks, Aussie's or whoever's out there but the world has been Americanized. It sucks but it's true. You guys were buying into our music and movies and celebrities without realizing that the gimme gimme mentality was bundled with pop culture. Oh well, sorry 'bout that.

Back to evil. When we come across a person with vast amounts of evil, say like a serial killer or a politician, why do we punish them for displaying more of what we all have in us? Those of us who have way too much good, say like a (no example shown), we don't pray to them or anything. Well, there was that one guy a couple thousand years ago but we did do a good bit of punishing there too.

What if we started punishing people for being too loving? I forgot, we do! It's called marriage. Okay, what if we started punishing people for being too happy? I forgot, we do! It's called an insane asylum. Okay, what if we started punishing people for being too...forgetful? I forgot, we do! It's called uh,...

So, back to my point about evil. I guess my point is that I didn't really make a valid point here. That's because, deep down, I am just a wonderful good person. That's what a truly evil genius would want to make you think.

You figure it out.

...

Who Needs 'em?

Woman! Women! So what?!?! None of them love me and all of them lie. I would be a happy man, if I'd never met a woman. You prick out my heart, do your seductive dance, then spit on my soul. You claim to be the only ones with emotions. Liars! I have emotions coming out of my ass! Just because I burp and fart out loud and watch brutal sporting events and stick my finger all the way up my nose and laugh when someone falls down and is obviously injured, doesn't mean that I don't have feelings. I cry every time I watch "The Bridges of Madison County," "Field of Dreams," "Brian's Song," and "Rambo II." I recycle. I like babies. I know how to sew a button back on a shirt and darn a sock. All this and the entire population of you can't muster up a lousy "I love you too."

Fine. To hell with the lot of you! Outside of having a period, I used to consider myself one of you but no more. If you can't get your ranks together and have one of your kind represent the rest and bite the bullet and lie and say that you love me, then we are officially at war. Don't look to me to cover a puddle with my jacket so that you can cross the street without getting your pumps wet. I hope your toes get muddy to the point where you need a supreme pedicure to clean out the gunk. Never again will I hold a door open for you guys. Use your weak and pathetic upper body strength to struggle your way into a building. I will no longer give you that smile that means I think you're the cat's meow. You're not! You're the cat's...something else.

I've spent my lifetime trying to get your approval and love and you've shunned me, laughed at me, and gotten off on my lifetime's goal. Well the worm has turned, sweethearts! I despise you now. Happy? Is this what you wanted? I will do everything in my power to destroy you one by one (except for my daughter - she is so cool!). You are on notice, females!

I'm sorry. I love you! Love me. Love me. Love me. Kiss me kiss me kiss me. Forgive me. It was all a joke. I'm no good without you. I need you. Don't you want me? Why don't you want me? I'll change! I can be what you want me to be. Love me now?

...

Employment Assistance

I need help. I'm not one to ask for help but it's high time.

The only thing that I ever really wanted to be was a Matador. I saw a bullfight at age 5 and I knew my calling. I now think it's kinda cruel and mostly awful but I still want to face down a bull in front of an adoring crowd one day. The operative word there is "want". I know that I can't do it. Besides having a knee that's so bad that it won't allow me to get the damn hell out of the way, I'm also scared of large livestock. Yes, even cows. I can ride a horse like a semi-pro but I'm afraid of cows. I'm not too fond of goats either. Crazy eyes. I've strayed from my point before even making my point. Wow, that's bad brainwork.

This post is a plea for help. I need you to help me find employment. I've been looking for quite a while now, with only bad luck. Don't ask me what I do or what I want to do. I know less about me than you do. I used to be a Special Education teacher and I never want to step foot in a classroom again. So, that qualifies me to be a...pizza delivery guy. Nothing against pizza delivery guys, hell, we all need pizza delivered. I'm just kinda old to break into the delivery biz. Pizza shuffling's a young man's game.

What would you advise me to do? Don't say, "follow your heart and become a Matador." I appreciate the sentiment but it sometimes ends badly.

...

Melting Plot

In time, I believe that the people of the Earth will look the same. By "in time," I mean three hundred years or so.

A little Asian. A little Indian. A little Middle Eastern. A little Spanish. A little everything. Pretty much Filipino.

America is called the Melting Pot but that's idealistic. Southern California and New York are very close but the vast majority of the US is pretty homogenous. Don't take that to mean White or anti-everything not White. I mean that in most areas of the country, Blacks marry Blacks, Hispanics marry Hispanics, and so on. Of course, there are pockets everywhere that blend a bit. The cross-breeding, melting pot thing is an idea, not a practice. Yet, I believe that the US comes closest to melting people into an "other." In Europe, Fins may marry French or Poles may marry Brits but the offspring tend to be White Europeans. I doubt that there are a lot of Chinese ladies seeking Spaniards. The Asian nations seem to be making Asians. The Indians and Africans seem to be intent on making more of their own.

I think that a change is coming. They say that we're in a global economy and it's true. What one nation does in the business world affects the rest of us. I believe that the global hybridization will follow. The extremes (Black and White) will likely fall off the chart and the middle ground will become the norm. Asians, Indians, and Hispanics will drift into a caramel colored, dark haired, beautiful composite. The remaining races will be pulled into this mix and we'll have to find a new reason to hate each other.

Oh yeah, there's always religion!

...

Metaphors be With You

I borrowed the title from Patricia T. O'Connor, author of "Woe Is I: The Grammarphobe's Guide to Better English in Plain English." She has a section devoted to mixed metaphors that obviously turned me on at the moment. It's a cool book for those of us who know the language but forget it as we go along in life. I read this book every couple of years to remind meself of how speak and write is supposed being done. Is helpful.

"Listen Luke, we could stand here and talk until the cows turn blue but Darth ain't gonna just surrender. We gotta go get him," I said.

"Trust me Lando, he knows we're here. He's watching me like I was a Hawk," Luke said.

"He's just a Wolf in cheap clothing. I don't believe Darth has the power that you think he does. I say, let him take a flying hike. Besides, he's not the one with his ass in a noose. His dirty laundry is finally coming home to roost. When life throws you curveballs, make lemonade," I said.

"Lando, you don't know Darth like I do. I can read him like the back of my book. He's watching everything we do with a fine-toothed comb. To him, we're like a sitting duck out of water right now. If we move on him, he'll get us by hook or by ladder. He's diabolically opposed to us and capturing us will be as easy as falling off a piece of cake. Do you follow where I'm coming from? We can't burn our bridges until we come to them," Luke said.

"You expect me to believe that? I wouldn't eat that with a ten-foot pole. It's time we stepped up to the plate and laid our cards on the table. We can take the wind out of his saddle, if we strike first. As it stands, people are dying like hotcakes, waiting for us to strike the hot iron. There's no way he's coming out of this looking like a rose. He's cooking his goose deeper and deeper. Right now, he's the low dog on the totem pole and he's stinking like a stuck pig," I said.

"It won't be that easy, Lando. He doesn't stick out like a sore throat inside the Deathstar. It'll be like finding a needle in a hayride. And I'm sure he's been burning the midnight oil from both ends awaiting our arrival. Even with the Force, I can't read him like an open can of worms," Luke said.

"I know how Darth operates, kid. He can't read the handwriting on the wind. He always shows himself too early when provoked. You can't change the spots on an old dog. You may be a little green behind the ears but he's moth-eared. The fan's gonna hit the roof, boy. Let's charge in there with guns blazed and catch him cold turkey with egg on his face. Trust me, he's probably sweating like a bullet. Aren't you tired of being a pawn in his game of checkers? I know I am. I've been up and down so many times, I feel as if I'm in a revolving door. We can do this. It's not rocket surgery," I said.

"But what if he turns out to be a tough nut to swallow? We might be torn between and betwixt the devil and the deep blue sea. We could end up getting hit right between the nose. The foot would be on the other hand then. I'm not sure we want to tackle that battle," Luke said. There was true fear on the boy's eyes.

"Actually, I think he's got bigger dogs to fry right now. The rebellion's growing in size and girth. We can tackle this hurdle. Besides, we've got an ace up our nose. We've got a rolling stone that's worth two in the bush, whose heart is as big as gold. We've got you, young Skywalker," I said to reassure the boy-leader.

"Stop trying to beat me over the head with a dead horse! Just because I'm now a Jedi, doesn't mean that I'm ready to face Darth," Luke snapped.

"You're right. It doesn't mean that it's written in gold. The truth is...I know that in your heart, you know your destiny. The first time that I met you, you could have blown me over with a feather. I knew that you would never bite the hand that rocks the cradle. I turned a blind eye to all that I heard and was immediately willing to lead your horse into the bowels of hell. I implore you to take the time to stop and smell the tunnel at the end of the rainbow," I said.

Luke stood stark still and thought in deep waters.

"I know my destiny, Lando. Let's proceed," he said.

I now saw the warrior that was foretold. He would lead us all into a longer future.

"You hit the nail on the dot, my friend. You will come out of this smelling like a bandit. You can take that to the bank and smoke it. We will soon celebrate your victory and the beer will flow like wine." I said.

Ten minutes later, we lay unconscious on the floor of Darth's dungeon.

...

Some of God's Thoughts

For some alien reason, I've been thinking about God lately. Well, not God, but religion. Religion and Man.

I was raised Baptist and I went to Catholic school for 12 years (yeah, I've got the scars to prove it). The slight differences in their approach to God's word beguiled me. I came to feel that if God wanted something from us, it was probably a fairly simple request. You know, be good, do good, leave the world better kinda thing. I have honestly never found a religion that didn't hold those ideas paramount. Cool.

As I grew older, I learned a bit about Buddhism, Hinduism, Judaism, Islam and others. They all have some salient points and I understand the need to believe in their tenets. For me, the issue arises when they are looked at closely for their inherent purpose – what does God want from me, what do I want from Him, and how is this religion the means of making both of us happy?

Conflict grows. Buddhism cannot be right in what they seek because my religion tells me something that opposes their beliefs. Islam, Hinduism, Judaism, and Christianity cannot be right for the same reasons. Religions fork. Ideas and beliefs and practices are discordant.

The real problem is that all religions have at their base the sticky wicket of faith. Faith is a monster that is both fierce and indestructible. Faith makes us act upon that which is taught to us about what our God desires. Man will kill and die for the pleasure of God. By that I mean, to please their God. And of course, we are taught that our God is The God and all others are not only not God but somehow a mockery of ours. This will get you battles and bloodshed until there is no one left to remember who God was. I have never understood how any man could destroy another in the name of a God. I cannot fathom a God who would want us to take another life for any reason. It would seem that God is fully capable of taking that life if He wanted.

As I said in the beginning, the commonality of the variety of religions is that they all seem to preach the do good, be good idea. If that is their common ground, how does "God wants those guys dead" ever enter the picture? Troubling.

If you are a Christian, do you know why? It's because you were born in a Christian abiding place. You were either born to Christians or you were indoctrinated by the Christians in your area. Can you imagine a child born in Afghanistan who sees the light and wisdom of Christianity without being exposed to its teachings? If Christianity is "the true religion," then that would happen. Wouldn't all Buddhists one day come to realize that what they've been doing for eons is wrong because Judaism has it nailed? It's like when you were a kid growing up and the kid across the street or your next-door neighbor was your best friend and you're still friends to this day. Best possible friend for you or the kid close to your age who lived in your vicinity?

As I grew older still, it occurred to me that regardless of who we are, where we are, our color, or language, we all act upon what we are taught. We are taught that God wants the good from us or the vengeance from us. Now, in most situations, when we are taught things that are potentially harmful to ourselves or others, we look to the teachers and say "bad job, you're fired." Who is teaching us about the religion that we blindly follow? Could they be bad teachers? Do we fear the wrath of God for questioning the lesson? Perhaps we fear the wrath of man more. After all, the wrath of God seems to come in the form of a man blowing something up in the name of God. He always says "God wishes this infidel dead." Powerful stuff indeed. An organization that perpetually teaches its ideas and can be righteously/murderously severe in its treatment of those who question the teachings. This seems on the verge of The Black Hand to me.

I will continue to grow older and hopefully realize things that have been right before my eyes always. The trick is to understand a few of them.

Blessings to you.

...

Gingery, My Personal Faerie

"So, what kind of being would you wish to be?' She asked.

"I have no idea. I can't think of anything better than being human," I said.

"There are so many creatures more elegant and refined than humans," she said.

"But no other creature has art or culture or technology," I said.

"Or murder or crime or war," she responded.

"Okay, I get your point. I'd still rather be a human," I said.

"Then what kind of human would suit you best?" She asked.

"What do you mean, what kind of human? I would want to be the best kind of human, I suppose," I said.

"The best kind of human? That's easy," she said.

"Can you turn me into the best kind of human?" I asked.

"Of course, silly. Just take this pill," she said, handing me a tiny pink pill.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's a shitload of progesterone," she said, then flew away.

...

Thursday, January 22, 2009

From the Field to the Big House

I've been trying to gather my thoughts since Tuesday. I have a screenplay idea that's been teetering on becoming a real thing. I have the story's beginning, middle, and end but there are some issues that need fleshing out. The flesh is here now and yet... Almost always, when the muse slaps me, the typing begins. I can't stop even if I want to - usually. There is a difference now. A Black man was given the keys to the White House and I haven't been able to fully gather my thoughts.

Hi. I'm a Black guy. God, that feels good to say. I'm not an African American and never have been. There's absolutely nothing wrong with being African American, if you so choose. I'm Black because I used to be Colored. Soon after, I was a Negro. I remember those days, but not fondly. In 1968, James Brown wrote a song called "Say It Loud - I'm Black and I'm Proud." Honestly, I was a fringe fan of JB but the song was a hit and I was 8 years old. Even at 8 though, the song resonated deeply in me. In fact, it's the only song that has ever changed my life. I realized then that I was Black and I was done being anything else. If there is pride in being Black, then I have to learn to be proud. When the whole African American thing came along, I felt like it was cool for those who wanted to be called something new but I've already been defined. Besides, how can we have a unique identity if we reclassify ourselves every decade? If we are "Black and proud," let's leave it at that. I was the weird, quiet kid in my neighborhood. Too much thinkin'.

Anyway, Mr. Obama has done something so amazing that I can't find words to tell people how I feel about what has happened. I know that America has voted for a Black man and that this is beyond historic. Monumental isn't even a big enough word. I also know that the fact that he is Black is not what is important here. The important thing is that America has chosen to be great once more and move forward toward enlightening the world. What am I talking about?! The important thing is that we voted for a Black man! No, the important thing is that we are moving onward and upward. Are these things equally important? Must be. So, now you see why I have had trouble in gathering my thoughts. I so seldom have two wonderful things to choose from.

Soon, I will get back on track but right now, I'm kinda just too Red, White, and Blue to focus on anything else.

...

Hard at Work Redesigning Man

I've been thinking about changing the make-up of the human for some time now. I'm not talking wings and superhuman strength, I mean adapting some of the abilities of our fellow creatures that would make us better but not much different than we already are.

Hearing - Not a supersonic change, just an adjustment. A third ear. An ear on the back of the head so that we can hear multi-directionally. That ear would be like a bird's or reptile's ear, a hole without an actual ear covering (keep your hair trimmed around your hole!).

Sight - Just a bit better at distance and much better in the darkness.

Smell - Return to what man's sense of smell probably was when we first left the caves. Pheromones mean very little these days.

Touch - Take that tickle crap away. We should be able to touch each other anywhere without bursting out laughing.

Sleep - Four hours should be enough and it should come easily, like an on/off switch.

Teeth and Bones - Both need to be a bit harder. Teeth should grow back when lost or broken.

Strength - Half times stronger than we are now. Muscle fiber equal parts muscle and oxygen (that buoyancy will help us swim better).

Pain - Our pain threshold should remain as is. Our ability to lessen it with our thoughts should be whatever each individual chooses (some of us kinda dig a little pain).

General - All tissues regenerate. Life span, 175 years. Lung capacity enhanced to three times current ability. Vastly improved immune system. Our brains will more rapidly begin opening up so that we have greater use of the parts that we aren't using now.

I can see that this will never end. There are a ton of other improvements that we could do with. We could get rid of the bad breath thing and replace it with the smell of cinnamon.

...

This is Only a Test

If you dislike the gross and unpleasant, please skip this article immediately. I'm about to tell two true tales of my most embarrassing bathroom mishaps. It's gonna get odd.

When urination is imminent, the male of the species has a distinct advantage over the female - external genitalia. We also have a nasty drawback when we are at full bladder and on the way to the toilet. As we unzip or unbutton or loosen our drawstrings, our brains tell our urethras to open wide and begin the flood. The female may have the same desire at that time, I wouldn't know. It usually happens when we are thirty feet away from the desired drainage site. This is where our advantageous outer genital companion comes in handy - literally. We have the option of manually pinching the tip and circumventing the stream until we make it all the way to the rim (that's why we don't always have time to lift the seat). Well, about a year and a half ago, I was on that journey and I knew that I would make a mess of the floor perhaps twenty feet ahead of plans. I pinched. My bladder resisted. I pinched harder and tried to waddle faster. My urethra, obviously angry over some past infraction, joined in with my bladder and threatened release. I pinched harder still. Luckily, my hand is stronger than my internal organs. I won the battle but they won the war. I made it to the toilet, even managed to lift the seat. When the moment came, I released and let fly with a powerful surge of bloody urine. Oh yeah! It burned like hell too. I managed to break a few blood vessels and fill my throne with a crimson tide. Good times.

About four months ago, I had an engagement with my pal the potty. After a fairly pleasant visit, I flushed and was ready to begin my boring day, when something caught my eye after the flush. It was perhaps a half-inch long, and...swimming. The look of wonder on my face must have been a site to behold but I didn't get a chance to see it. A moment later, the swimmer was joined by two fellow swimmers. Kinda thick and stubby, dark little worms were frolicking in the water. Horror hit me. I just flushed, now there are parasites in my fresh toilet water. Where else could they have come from? Damnit! I told my wife and she told me exactly what to do. I ignored her and pretended that it was an acid flashback, even though I've never done acid. The following day, I checked again and found a happy little swimmer. My head is thick but not too thick. I took my wife's advice (plea) and called the doctor. Now, we've just switched to a new doctor and I'd only met her once before. She is an attractive young woman. In fact, her name is Dr. Yeung. Telling a doctor out loud that I have worms is embarrassing but, I'm an American male, and telling a pretty young woman that I have some critters coming out of my rectum is gonna be really difficult. Jesus, guys are idiots. I called her and she actually answered. Damnit! I fessed up and she was ultra cool. She said, "Take a stool sample and bring it in." "Okay. How exactly do I do that?" I asked, as if we were talking about how one goes about setting up a tripod or something equally innocuous. "Just take a teaspoon sized sample and put it in a ziplock bag, then put that bag in a brown paper bag and bring it in. I'll be here until six this evening. Let the nurse know when you arrive and I'll have her bring you in to me and we can have tests done to see what's going on." Wow! Is she cool or what? So, I do my duty (worst pun ever?). I enter the office looking like the world's biggest fourth grader with his bag-lunch and the nurse asks me what I'm there for. I lean over the desk toward her so that I can whisper my shame and she gives me the evil eye. "Do you mean, you brought in a stool sample inside that bag in your hand?" Apparently, the doctor neglected to tell Nurse Ratched my situation. "Yeah, Dr. Yeung told me to just bring it in." "No, no, no. You have to do it here and put it in this bottle. Just take it in that bathroom and put the sample into the bottle." Right. Thanks a ton for speaking at a normal volume so that everyone in the waiting room knows now what I've brought for lunch. I take the little plastic bottle, that also has some kind of fluid in it, into the bathroom and do the old switcheroo. Later that evening, I go into my throne room to expel a bit of urine, only to find a couple of swimmers enjoying a leisurely skinny-dip. It seems that our plumbing has cracked because of the roots of our bastard of a Sycamore tree and that some worms have found their way into the pipes. This was later confirmed by my beautiful young doctor a week or so later when she called to tell me that I indeed did not have parasites. Good times.

...

Lifening

Pay close attention to the next bolt of lightning you see. In that burst of furious electrical energy, that jagged jolt of voltage, your life can be explained.

While watching a storm and thinking about life, I discovered the connection between us and one of nature's most amazing phenomena. Every hot blue jag and jerk that you see is a fork, a path that's chosen almost whimsically. Every choice that you make is the fork that takes you down the odd path of your life. We're both hurtling blindly toward an end that we don't comprehend; yet we are unable to avoid that which we are inevitably drawn to. Our sharpest minds tell us that the bolt is searching out that point on Earth that will ground and diffuse it. Our highest ethical leaders tell us that we are on the path to Forever. I believe that we are on the same path. Lightning and man are plunging forward to a grounding. I don't believe that lightning is gone because we no longer see it. It is within the Earth and part of it forever, as are we. We all live on, whether in the Earth or somehow above it.

...

Jennifer Heading Home

My wife, son, and I were watching a movie last night in the living room. It's none of your business what it was. Okay, it was "Under the Cherry Moon". Happy now? Anyway, my wife had to run upstairs for a minute. As soon as she got to the top of the stairs, she yelled down to us, "I think there's a bad accident outside." Since we hadn't heard a thing and the movie was at a scene where cars were racing, we assumed she was hearing the movie downstairs. She called me again and said, "Hurry up and get out there! Someone's screaming." I ran up the stairs to take off my pajama bottoms and throw on some pants. When I got upstairs I heard a shrieking like I can't describe. Wait, yes I can - it sounded like a woman on fire being drawn and quartered. I threw on my pants, yelled down to my son to call 911, then ran out of the door. Three doors down, a BMW was upside down and two other cars were in a heap in front of the smoking Beamer. I ran to the BMW and tried to open the door. No way. The weight of the car had smashed it down so that the openings of the windows was maybe 15 inches. I couldn't crawl in and the woman inside couldn't crawl out. Remarkably, she seemed okay. She had been thrown into the passenger's seat and was talking to her On-Star system. They were talking her through the accident and calling 911. I went to the next car, which was empty. I looked all through the car to find a victim but none were in sight. Now, several people had come out of their homes and a crowd was gathering. An Asian woman with a cell phone to her ear came to me and told me that it was her car and that she was okay. I tried to get her to sit on the curb but she didn't want to. Now, the scream came again. Nice and piercing. I ran to the third car and found a young woman pinned under her dash. She was still sitting in her seat but the dash had been rammed into her and her legs were jammed underneath. Her car was filled with the dust/smoke from her airbags and she was gasping and crying. The driver's door was a mess of shrapnel. It was welded shut by the collision. I pulled the window out and let out some of the dust. Just then, a woman came over and said that she was a nurse. I moved to let her do her thing. I went to the passenger's side door and broke it open. More dust emptied from the car. Glass and her personal items were everywhere. The screaming came again. She looked toward the door where I was and stuck out her right hand. There was that moment again. That instant when someone needed me more than anything else in life. I sat down beside her and took her hand. She squeezed it tightly and begged me to take her out of the car. I told her that I couldn't get her out, even though I wanted to. I also knew that she shouldn't be moved but I didn't tell her that. I could see that her legs were not coming out, no mater how I tried. She was afraid of the car being on fire and said she didn't want to burn to death in the car. I told her that the smoke was only the airbag dust and that I wouldn't leave her side. She was in tremendous pain but all that I could do was be there and talk to her. So, I talked to her. I know so much about Jennifer now (except her last name). It took the fire/rescue people 25 minutes to get there. That's a long time when you're in pain and scared. By the time they got there, I knew where Jennifer worked, that she was on her way to her parents house, that she wasn't allergic to any medication, and that she felt really bad about being overweight. While I was holding her head and soothing her, I also found a huge lump on the back of her head that she didn't realize was there. She knows about it now, I'm sure. When help finally got there, they had to use the Jaws of Life to cut her out of the car. I went to her as they put her into the ambulance, held her hand, and said goodbye. I think she's okay. Probably just a badly broken leg.

Two hours later, I had to leave to pick my daughter up from work. On the way, I hit a Raccoon. Didn't kill it but it was kinda punchy after meeting my car.

So, what did you do last night? See any good movies?

...

How Does Stop Happen?

How do you stop things that are unstoppable? Can you ever end all communication with the universe? How does one stop drives or wishes? I think God screwed up by not giving us reset buttons or immediate sleep buttons with programmable alarms like clocks. Little button in the left armpit that we could click and go into some kind of hypersleep in which we don't need food and don't lose muscle tone. A hibernation dial.

How many of you would be asleep right now?

...

Who Will I Eventually Kill?

In the 70's, my father asked me to deliver a package for him to a friend who had an office in Century City (a small non-city area in West Los Angeles). While driving around in this unfamiliar area, looking for an address, I was kinda sorta not really paying attention and a woman stepped off the curb and began crossing the street in front of the teenaged me. To be fair, she was kinda sorta not paying attention too but she wasn't housed in metal like me. So, the screeching of tires began and she froze, awaiting certain death. My last second swerve saved her life. We just sorta stared at one another for a long uncomfortable moment through my windshield. My heart was beating like a Hummingbird and I assume hers was too. That woman was Dionne Warwick.

About 6 years ago, I was driving at night in the rain - looking for a parking space. I was late for the movie that was starting soon but I was paying attention. This time it was a guy who decided to cross the street. Dark night, rain, and he was wearing black pants, black shirt, and a black leather coat. He thought that he was running fast enough to make it but he was wrong. So, again the screeching happened and again my swerve saved a life. What the hell was Ben Stiller thinking? He gave me a little nod once I came to a stop as if to say, "Thanks for not ending my life on this dark wet street." You're welcome, buddy. Hey, at least this time, I had car insurance.

Okay, I didn't almost kill Tom Jones but he walked in front of my car a few months ago. No screeching involved but he did look at me through the windshield like celebrities past and, for a split second, I must admit that I had a fleeting moment where I thought, "Hey, I could kill Tom Jones right now." The thought passed and I watched him walk to his Rolls Royce.

...

The Mighty Oak

I've been in a strange funk lately. Stuck in something like drying liquid latex. I'm not terribly sad or anything, just sorta unable to move. I've even got some new happiness in my life but I'm still not moving.

Today, I thought, maybe a walk is in order. One this voyage I came across a tree in my neighborhood that I never really noticed before and, for the life of me, I don't know why. This Oak is maybe the most amazing plant that I have ever seen. Not the kind of thing that one can just walk by. This is a must-sit-beneath kinda tree. So, I sat. Before long, I noticed that no one was within sight, so I began telling the tree my story. If you know me, you know my stories start off sad and weird. Three stories in, the wind kicked up and some of the branches began to make a sound like laughter. No despair here. I went to college and I know a few things about a few things. Trees can't laugh at you, no matter how pathetic they think you are.

I continued telling the tree my stories. I guess the wind picked up. Before long, I began to feel a bit like a schmuck. My sorrow seemed a piddling thing with this giant tree laughing at my heartbreaking melancholy. I decided at this point to begin telling this tree about my joy. I mean, if I tell a laughing tree happy tales and the laughter continues, I will therefore be happy with my reflected delights.

The laughter continued and even grew stronger. My psyche is weak. The laughter threw me and I felt laughed "at" instead of "with". My grief kicked in and this mocking monster brought me to a point less than I thought possible. I got to my feet and began to trudge off toward home...defeated and afflicted.

Yeah, that's all a crock of shit. I just thought writing something tonight might make me feel not quite so stuck in this hell-deep mire that I'm in. It didn't work but I used up 9 minutes of time, so that's a good thing.

...

Odd Mumbo Jumbo Hoodoo at the YMCA

I had one of those days yesterday. The kind of day that had me trying to smile even though I was scowling on the inside. Lots of sarcasm. Not sure why the mood was strangling me or at least not willing to admit what was bothering me. I decided to go to the Y and work out real hard, you know, burn the shittiness away. My son and I went to the weight room and I must have been really over-doing it because he was watching me as if I were a stranger. Even with all the lifting and pushing and pulling, the funk was like a halo.

Before long I remembered a tried and true method of feeling better. Make someone else feel better. I looked around the room and my eyes were immediately drawn to an Asian woman in her mid-forties. She was a bit hippy (as in large hips), fairly dowdy, and intently working out. I watched her peripherally. She worked without looking at anyone. She had the withdrawn, private look of a woman without a real sense of self. She finished, then stepped out of the workout room and went to the pool deck just outside. I gathered my stuff and walked up to her. I stood beside her and she didn't even look at me, she stared out at the empty pool (apparently someone had a little "accident" in the pool and they had to shut 'er down for a few hours). Okay reader, here's where you come in - you've got to follow my lead and do this on occasion. I said, "Excuse me, hello." She looked at me slightly startled. She smiled and looked at the floor, then slid to the side because she was positive that she was standing in my way. She made herself very small and scootched (that should be a word!) against the wall so that I could pass by. "I'm sorry," she said. "No, I just wanted to say something to you." Confusion crossed her face but she kept her head pointed toward the floor as she looked up into my eyes. "You are beautiful. I just wanted you to know that you're a beautiful woman." She blushed and sighed at the same time. Her smile was more impressive than I would have thought. I was right, she was really beautiful. I mean, I actually thought that she was an average looking woman until she smiled. "Oh, I haven't heard that in a very long time. I don't know what to say. Thank you." I returned her smile and walked away. You have to walk away. You won't want to but you have to or you're just some guy hitting on her. I walked out the door and the halo was gone. 30 seconds later, I went back and opened the door. She was still standing there smiling. She looked at me. "I meant to say absolutely gorgeous, not just beautiful." Her smile was so big it kept her from speaking. I walked away again. Walk away!

Now, I'm feeling good and sitting naked in a little wooden room that's dimly lit and 170º. A fat White guy comes in and sits down for a much needed sweat. I call him fat because his belly was bigger than mine and if your belly is bigger than mine, you're fat. I am the dividing line between "you need to lose some weight" and "a fat guy". He started talking about being out of work, which turned to Obama and his plans for lowering the unemployment figures, which turned to national healthcare, which turned to "Excuse me, if my Redneck comes out but it's all these fuckin' Messicans messin' things up for the rest of us. Immigrants and affirmative action are gonna bring this country down faster than any faggy disease. Don't get me wrong, I ain't got nothing against anybody. Hell, one of the best times of my life was meeting Brownie McGhee and talkin' to him about his life and what he went through, then we went together and took a piss in the same trough. Can you imagine that? Takin' a piss next to Brownie McGhee! I'm just sayin'. Not two weeks ago, I was sittin' right here in this sauna and Deepak Chopra was sittin' right over there. You know what he said to me? He said, 'Listen, you don't have to worry about working out and trying to build muscle or lose fat. Eat what you like, my friend. Your body is telling you what it wants to eat and how it wants to be.' Well, buddy I gotta get outta this heat. I've been in here too long today. You take care."

Some might be slightly offended by his conversation but I was refreshed by it. Racism, in fact, most isms are best right out in the open. The only thing that I focused on in that extremely odd conversation was the idea that Deepak Chopra might have joined my gym. What the hell? I think either there was a Chopra look-alike hanging out in West LA or that Deepak was really here and couldn't take this guy's bullshit, so he decided to give him advice that would surely make his heart burst. Whatever, it made for an adventure.

...

My Thirst For Water

I wish to be the river. Not bound by my past, looking at my image in today's mirror, nor hoping for goodness in my future. I am trying to become understanding. I am realizing that I am all of these things - past, present, and future. With that realization I am working toward making my consciousness appreciate and accept that truth.

I wish to be the river. The river is at the mouth, the fork, the melting snow high in the mountains, the mist above the rapids - everywhere at the same time. It dies and becomes the fog and the rain and snow and once again the river. It is the unending cycle that I am. It is all things as am I.

In the words of Bruce Lee, "Empty your mind. Be formless. Shapeless, like water. Now, you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now, water can flow or it can crash. Be water, my friend."

Now that I know this, I must learn to live this.

...

Women are F-ing Stupid!

Sorry. I know that many of the people who read this may be women. I'm not talking about you; I'm talking about women.

Men are your downfall. You listen to every little bird that whispers in your ears telling you how to attract and/or keep a man. There is only one rule to finding a man - be alive. If you are alive, there is a man out there who wants you. Our DNA tells us that we must find women and "continue the species." We already want you. There's no need to inject your lips with whatever today's fad says is cool (your own belly fat is the way to go!). Why the hell do you need to paint your lips ultra red? Why do you lightly brush a reddish schmutz on your cheeks? Why do you put exotic colors around your eyes and falsely lengthen your lashes? Do you know why you do this? I do.

During the sex act (whatever your favorite act may be), your face, neck, and chest flush with blood giving you a colorful blush. Your pupils dilate, making your eyes look bigger. Somewhere along the line, you were told that having that climax look all the time would make men attracted to you. Not a bad theory but, as with anything, too much is a bad thing. If you look that way all the time, then the effect wears off and you end up looking painted. Why are we still asking you to paint yourselves and why are you doing it?

In the animal kingdom, the male is usually the colorful one who must fight for, dance for, sing for his plain looking mate. How did this flip with humans? If you were smart, you'd be working on flipping it back. The race could use a good flip. The weak, fat, short, bald, dumb guys might get bred out. Would that be a bad thing? Maybe.

Maybe in time, men will redevelop the ability to smell your natural pheromones and perfume will be unnecessary. Flip it. Bleaching your hair, squeezing into a dress that doesn't fit you, fretting over your hips and waistline, all things of the past.

Pretending that fashion turns us on is a mistake. There has never been a man on Earth who noticed that your fingernails were peach but your toenails were mauve. If a man ever would notice that, it wouldn't stop him from being with you. If a man ever noticed and decided that he didn't want to be with you, you're lucky - he's not human.

Also, stop saying, "I do it because I like looking good for myself." Lie, lie, lie. Big giant, steaming, stinking lie.

...

11 Days

Have you ever noticed your life whipping past you in a revolving door? I seem to take a step back and watch it sometimes. I see tomorrow coming and that whole déjà vu thing kicks in. If I sit and watch long enough, I can see 11 days into the future.

It's gonna be weird/painful but, if I hold my breath and pray to my goddess, the next day will come and I can breathe and be filled with hope and love again.

Know what I mean? If you do, you've got issues. Just take it from me, life is a kick because on that twelfth day...

I'm swimming in bliss once again.

...

So, That's What Auburn Is

For PLB~

I sat at a light today, waiting with windows down, breathing the filthy exhaust from the surrounding cars. One of those all too familiar moments in life when absolutely nothing is going on inside of my head. Blank slate. Freshly shaken Etch-a-Sketch. Peripherally, I saw this woman about to cross in front of my car. My eyes scanned her without me asking them to. For reasons that it alone knows, my brain went into slo-mo mode.

She was remarkably unremarkable. Even contradictory. Long and lanky with a small paunch. I looked at her face, taking in her nose, lips, eyes, cheekbones and everything else that comprises face. I still can't describe her. It was as if there was nothing about her that the word ordinary didn't cover. The only thing that I recall is the slight furrow of her brow. Tiny worry lines.

I watched her pass, carrying a small brown bag (or maybe it was a purse), wind not exactly blowing her hair but being swept back by her stride. Now, her hair, that was something that I can describe. It was what I assume is Auburn. Being colorblind sucks. It was brown/red - am I right with Auburn? Good. There was no style to her hair. In fact, it was a bit stringy and fell across her shoulders and back in incongruent lengths. It was just kinda there, dangling to the center of her back - uncared for. I imagine that it probably didn't even have a particular smell. Not like shampoo or chemicals or that wonderful "woman" smell that many of you have naturally.

I watched her continue on past me, coming closer to the end of whatever journey that she was on. Walking home to make dinner for some guy named Scott or Adam. Those worry lines were thanks to him. They would deepen and stretch too. You see, she had made that fatal mistake that we all make at some point in our lives - she told him once, early on, that she would do anything to make him happy. We all know that when you tell someone that, they will inevitably make you put your money where your mouth is. Now, she has to do anything. She said, "I'll go through hell or high water to show you how much I love you, Scott/Adam." He's giving her the hell part first. He'll test her backstroke later.

Her car insurance just took a jump for no reason and her brother needs to admit that he's an alcoholic already. Worry lines. She goes to the gym four times a week and that damned tummy is laughing at her. Worry lines. She's afraid of the news that she might hear tomorrow when she goes in for her mammogram and what will Scott/Adam do if something should happen to her? Worry lines. She's on the cusp of being too old for children and, deep down, she knows that Scott/Adam would be the world's worst father. Worry lines.

The light is still red and I can feel the limp hair falling across my shoulders. My mouth is dry and I taste the bitter coffee breath that's built up on my tongue. These fucking shoes pinch and I'm tired of walking. I'm going to make meatloaf tonight and Scott/Adam is going to complain that we had meatloaf two weeks ago. I'll never have a child and I'm getting fat regardless of what I do.

HONK!

Okay green light, I get it. Drive on. I have to go where I was going and stop being her. The thing is...I can't stop being her. Neither can any of us. I am her. We're all her. I have seventeen thousand things going on inside me and I can't see the rest of the glorious planet that's rotating underfoot. I have to worry about this package of shit that I've created. As if any of it is important. As if I can change most of it anyway. I have today and this breath that I'm taking right now. Everything else is not really in my control and I'd only ruin it if I could control it all. We're all ants really. We're digging in the dirt, claiming stuff, collecting stuff, looking for more than we have, shuffling the crap from the left to the right until we're happier with it. It's still crap. We have to learn to be happy with happy when we find it. Happy is small and doesn't last as long as we want it to, so it must be appreciated - no matter how small a burst of happy we get.

With a clearer mind, I can describe that woman now. She was absolutely magnificent. She'll never see herself that way though. Too much on her mind. Too many things to do. Too busy growing worry lines.

...

Don't Get Me Wrong...

I love this country. I loooove this country! I would calmly and happily give my life to protect this land.

That being said, I have always felt this weird ambivalence about celebrating the 4th of July. I don't know the exact age that this odd feeling began, I only know that it was pretty early in elementary school. I have a tiny problem with my people having a party for this date that ought to be sorta looked at as the anniversary of a bad joke.

This is the day that we jump up and down and light fireworks because we gained our freedom from Britain. Key words being "we" and "freedom." That had to strike at least a few of our founding fathers as kinda awkward. "I'm now free to keep slaves and run a plantation without taxation from my oppressors." Amazing how the human mind can paint the picture that it wants to see.

Now, reread the first sentence and enjoy the hell out of where we've come from and where we want to go.

Peace and love to all.

...

Soul Suckers

On a cool Monday morning in Beverly Hills, I sat with a Caffè Americano Energy+Cinnamon Dolce Latte topped with light Whipping Cream. The dew was just burning off the leaves of the plastic Chrysanthemum near the outdoor WiFi table with the best reception in the whole joint. I was taking in the beauty of the morning and hoping to find something interesting for my eyes to land on. Lo and behold, I found my focal point. A man, who couldn't have been more than 55, was giving his dog a lesson in being out and about with panache.

I called him a man a second ago, forgive me. This being was a monument to the male of the species. Tall, tanned (perhaps too tan – a bit beyond bronze), robust, well dressed, and a shock of ochre hair that was most likely the model for the world's most agreeable toupee. All that the word "vigor" implies.

I called his pet a dog nine seconds ago, again I must apologize. This canine was, well...adorable (but cuter than that word implies). The kind of animal that would make an old broad like Leona Helmsley leave her fortune to its perpetual upkeep and happiness.

The gentleman and the delightful ball of fluff, walked slowly and carefully, allowing their resplendence to be captured from all angles. I have yet to appear that significant, so I have something to look forward to. The thought that my day of being that guy would come, warmed me eighteen times as much as the cup of pretentious shit that I was drinking. My initial thought was, "You go, boy!" My next thought was, "Why, Dear Lord, did I just think the most inane, gender questioning thought ever conceived by a human in the entire history of this planet?"

Those thoughts quickly died when my peripheral vision caught the rapacious march of the conquering horde. Four, mid-teen aged girls were on their oblivious mission of doom. This wasn't just a small gaggle of pretty young girls, these were pretty young girls in Beverly Hills. The only thing more destructive than a small gaggle of pretty young girls in Beverly Hills is a small gaggle of pretty young girls in Beverly Hills who know it. The virile on course with the viral. He never had a chance.

As the ignorant cluster of ingénues neared the dumbstruck duo, I could see what appeared (from a distance) to be waves - not unlike heat waves on a hot horizon - surrounding the lasses. Not until some time later, did I understand that to be the volume of oxygen around them expanding and thus contracting from elsewhere. Said elsewhere was the protective bubble of oxygen that the man and the puffball inhabited.

The girls seemed to coalesce as they neared the man and animal. The girls never once glanced away from one another. Their chatter never dipped and the universe followed them, as it does.

Ten feet from contact, the girls' ambience broke the protective bubble and began to suck the vitality from the man. I swear, I saw his hair and tan tremble and fade. He fought with all that he had within. He smiled at them with a smile that demanded their attention. Fruitless. His skin only became paler and his hair grayed and fell from his head en masse.

Five feet from contact, he aged twenty years and shrank three inches. His chest constricted from lack of oxygen and he became simply an old man walking a dog. The female cluster remained indifferent, which hastened the effects on the man. Their self-absorbed, self-important, self-imposed sense of entitlement ground the man into submission. He gasped for air and stared at them with wilting eyes.

Contact! To the band of beings, there never was a man and a dog. "There is only where we're going, what we're saying, what we're doing, what we've done, and who we are." The Sun revolves around these precepts.

Meanwhile, a sturdy man out on a lively walk was reduced to a memory of what hearty men once were. His pet, however, was unchanged. Still cute and cuddly and unconcerned. The dog continued to accept his master without, apparently, noticing the changes that the man and I had gone through. In time, he may regain his composure and become manly and full of vim again. He's got to learn to cross to the other side of the street sometimes though.

I've got to stop going to Beverly Hills and attempting to enjoy a greatly overpriced cup of...stuff.

...

Spell Caster

She whispered in my ear, "Tell me a secret."

I turned quickly but no one was there. Weird. Weird even for me. I continued walking down the dark street. The howling wind must have been what sounded so clearly like a woman.

"Close your eyes," the whisper came.

I began walking faster. I had to get off this unfamiliar street and find myself. I was obviously beginning a hallucination that I was unprepared for and I felt the need to be in a world I recognized.

"Close your eyes and you will see me," she said.

The fear was welling in me to a degree that I had never felt before. I began to jog toward a distant light. The jog soon became an all out sprint. I could still hear her faint laughter, even though I was panting heavily and out of breath. My heart fell as my lungs burned and my mind realized that the light was unreachable. That light had been the Moon and the chances of me ever getting there were extremely slim. I fell to my knees to catch my breath. I closed my eyes, on the verge of collapse.

She lay on the grass before me. Sunlight glowing on her curvaceous, dewy, nude body. She laughed at me and kicked a shapely leg into the air.

"If you open your eyes I'll go away. If you want to stay here with me, you have to keep your eyes closed," she said without looking at me.

"Who are you? Where am I and how did I get here?"

"Questions. Men never tire of questions. If the day comes when all of your questions are answered, then you will have nothing left to live for," she said. She turned to me now. Her smile was beguiling.

"I have to know who you are."

"If I told you that my name is Jaslim, would that make you happy?" She asked.

"Where am I?"

"Serbia," she answered.

"How did I get here?"

"You closed your eyes. Would you like to stay here with me?" She asked.

"Yes. I mean, maybe. How do I...is this real?"

"Do you feel the sunlight on your face? Can you smell the breeze? Do you see me before you? What is real and is real really what you want? If you doubt this reality, then open your eyes," she said softly.

I awoke in bed. I have so many new questions to ask her. Serbia's a long way to go to find what's real.

Maybe when I close my eyes tonight...

...

Our Culture Must Hurt Them to the Core

On the cusp of the second decade of the twenty-first century, the Afghan Taliban treated the world to a display of Islamic (Sharia) law. They proudly sentenced two human beings to be publicly stoned to death by a mob of two hundred men who were only too happy to do so; a mob that included the relatives of both victims as well as bystanders galore.

The couple's crime was that of loving each other and wanting to marry. However, the woman refused to marry the relative to whom she had already been promised. Thus, they had both rebelled against cultural, tribal, and religious expectations.

The couple, 25-year-old Khayyam and 19-year-old Siddiqa ran away. Both were lured back home by relatives who promised them that permission would be granted for them to marry. It was a ruse. Once back, they were subjected to Afghan Islamic justice, Taliban-style and were stoned to death. Siddiqa was forced to wear her burqa to her execution.

This must be understood as a cultural honor killing, similar to the Afghan Taliban punishments of women who have fled dangerously abusive and child marriages. The Taliban cuts off their noses and ears—merciful by their standards compared to stoning.

Covering women from head to toe is the manifestation of a fear not of women but of what beauty/natural attraction does to these men. They fear themselves. Their desire factor. It must be hard to live with the fear that viewing human beauty will drive you to madness.

If you follow the logic, there should be no rape in the hard-line Islamic world. Also, women would seemingly be revered. If they are so completely covered by burqas, it follows that they are special. If not special, then why is their Heaven filled with virgin women? That sounds like the treat at the end of a well-lived life to me.

Our obsession with beautiful people of both sexes flies in the face of everything that they believe. If you lived in a culture where the female form was completely concealed, wouldn't you just hate a society that flaunted its bikini-clad nubile women?

Yet, they love us too. They must wish to be us but religious law dictates otherwise. They watch our movies and listen to our music and eat our food. That push and pull must be friggin' maddening.

Ronald McDonald's statue stands at the entrance of many McDonald's restaurants in these countries with his hands folded, as if in prayer or supplication.

"I hate everything you stand for but Big Mac's are damned delicious."

Gotta be literally hard to swallow.

...

Araignée Gigantes!

My living room. Last night. Biggest spider in the known universe, sitting by my fireplace contemplating a new world order.

This thing was huge. Did I say huge? Well, it was bigger than that.

I don't think the word spider applies to this creature.

I don't think this was an actual terrestrial being.

It was big enough to drive a school bus but at least three legs would be dragging behind.

I believe Satan would fear this thing.

After looking at it, if you avert your eyes, you can still see it.

Each of its eight legs had three more legs.

Four of these things on our side and that whole ugly mess in Iraq/Afghanistan would be over.

I'm sure it probably usually feeds primarily on horses and bears.

In a fit of courage (does courage come in fits?), I ran over and stomped it. It grabbed me by the leg and flipped me. My catlike reflexes kicked in and I pirouetted midair and went back on the attack. Everything became a blur at that point. When I awoke, the thing was dead and my house was in ruins.

Of course, even I don't believe everything that happened in this tale. I mean, the creature was dead. No human \- yes, including me - could possibly have killed that monster. Batman or Ironman or one of those "man" guys must have had a hand in it.

...

Ambienworld

What the hell?

I went from one Ambien to one half and my subconscious is talking. I haven't done or said anything damning (that I know of) but I am a talker when I black out on Ambien.

I (apparently) posted this on my Facebook page yesterday.

"Muslim extremists. Grande latte. Paris Hilton. Oprah's stamp of approval. Caligula. Donald Trump. Sean "Puffdaddy" Combs. The homeless junkie that asked you for money recently. Pope Benedict. Dubai. The cancer riddled old lady who will die tonight in a hospital bed. The conflict in Sudan.

We focus on and celebrate the extreme instances of humanity but we rarely take a stand for or against them. As a group, maybe something visible gets semi-accomplished. We all take some unknown and uncredited credit for it because "America" stepped in somewhere and made it "appear" like something positive happened on our behalf. As a person, you have no idea what deal was made or what devil WE shook hands with. You agree with whatever CNN decides to tell you.

How involved have you ever been in knowing what's going on out there and making a difference? A real difference. Not a tax-deductible donation to an organization that has a name that sounds as though it can make something happen?

Get your hands dirty or shut the hell up! You're just saying, "I wish/hope things get better over there in that country that I'll never even visit." Lip service. Our generation will be famous for looking directly at changing the world through a two-way mirror. We can easily identify our problems but we dare not look them directly in the eye. That might take effort and responsibility.

Joan Baez and John Lennon and almost everyone their age told us that we could change the world but it might take one person at a time making a difference. They weren't full of shit, you just didn't listen and believe in them

So, what makes me think you might believe it when I say it?"

Wow! It seems that I have a lot on my mind when I have no control over my thoughts.

...

Village Woman

In Los Angeles, there is a faux village surrounding UCLA called Westwood. Just several square blocks of stores designed to draw in tourists but surviving on the cash of the favored college crowd. I drive through the area often – at least 5 days a week. Short cut home kinda thing. Well, for many years now I've seen a woman who sits and reads on the grass just outside of UCLA Hospital. She is a homeless woman but you would not know it by passing her only once, even if you looked very carefully.

I cannot pass by her corner without looking intently at her. Clean. Well kept. Youngish. Minimal. Often smiling and gazing upward. On several occasions, I have driven by to see her with her sweater hood down and her flowing hair, freshly brushed and beautiful. There is definitely something striking about this woman. I wouldn't call her beautiful but I dare you to see her standing there in her glory and try to look away. Just damned intriguing.

No "Will Whatever for Food" or "Please Help" sign. She sits and she reads a newspaper or a novel. There 90% of the time. She has two small rolling luggage cases beside her at all times. She sleeps exactly where she sits during the day. She sits when she sleeps. I have never seen anyone talk to her or give her money and her hand is never out when someone walks by. I have never seen her in the village proper, though I assume she goes there.

Each day when I drive past, I stare and tell my son that I am drawn to this woman and one day I will stop and talk to her. He thinks, no he knows, I'm crazy and that it's all talk. He's wrong. I can't live my entire life without making some kind of contact with this woman and I don't know why. I'm not curios about who she is or how she came to be where she is. I want to know more than that. Those things are cosmetic and vapid. I don't want to ask her 19 questions and hear her answers, I would like to sit and talk to her. Again, I don't know why. Human connection thing in me, I guess.

Well, the idiot did it yesterday. I parked and dropped a quarter into the parking meter and approached her as she serenely did a crossword puzzle. With each step, my brain wondered, "What the hell are you doing and how do you start this conversation, you fool?" I did it like any other awkward conversation that I've ever started, "Hi, my name is Brian, can I talk to you for a few minutes?" She looked up at me with brilliant, piercing, blue/green eyes (I say blue/green because I'm colorblind and I only know that her eyes weren't brown) almost sweetly and said, "What are you going to give me? What will you do for me?" Not ready for that one. My shitty side immediately thought, "What do I owe you?" Not cool. Not why I'm here. Regroup.

The conversation was halted at every turn with a sly smile and a sarcastic/bitter "What's in this for me?" She thwarted my every attempt to reach out as a human and make contact with a fellow human and maybe get to know someone – no matter how briefly. I didn't want a lifetime commitment either. I think that I wanted to say hello, maybe honk and wave when I pass by. Hell, I have had thoughts of bringing her food from time to time and books and maybe stopping by and taking her for coffee or lunch on the odd opportunity that I had a few minutes and a few extra bucks to spend on a "friend." I pass her very often on my way to the YMCA. I could easily pick her up and take her with me where she could take a shower and have a swim in a nice big beautiful pool. Hang out in the women's locker room for an hour or so, watching TV or whatever. Maybe stop for a burger on the way back. Human contact kinda thing.

I finally gave up and walked back to my car. Hell, I left feeling like she owed me a quarter for my meter time. Complete disillusionment. I sat in my car, opened my sunroof and looked up at the sky. I don't know if I've ever seen clouds configured more beautifully. I sat in my luxury SUV on my way to spend money on things and money on gas while on my way to get those things. Things that I could definitely live without. I thought about my last blog post and my privileged life. In a way, she is richer than I am. I have a nice home filled with a lot of shit, she has everything else. Those clouds are her ceiling. The world outside of the walls of my house belong to her. Those were my thoughts. Naive and contrived. I was trying to make this all make sense and fit into my mind my way. Bullshit.

I tell myself that she's got this quiet dignity because I've never seen her beg. I've never seen her sneeze either but I'm willing to bet that she does. I have put my imagination at work on her and told myself that she's somehow above or better than the ragged homeless lunatic who digs through the garbage and mumbles obscenities to passing women. What the hell do I know? I haven't walked in her shoes. I have no idea what her perspective is. Perhaps she came to this place on Earth because some horrendous, evil shit happened. So, this tall Black guy comes walking up out of the blue with a smile and a bunch of stupid fucking questions. Maybe she's right, what is in that for her? I just got out of a Land Rover, her issues are probably a little more immediate than mine.

I felt that way for a while but my day was still a little off. I want more. I want more for her. "What are you going to give me?" I'd like to give you more than your heart desires. I can't though. We're all confined by our lives and none of us can ever have enough. Still, I would like to give her something. Even if it were something trite. I would even be satisfied writing a real story about her – whatever she wants her real story to be – and take a few pix and try to force the LA Times to publish her story. Maybe she wouldn't get the monetary benefit that she seeks but who knows what she might gain by talking to me and making that human contact thing? Then again, when I said to her that I'd like to talk to her for a few minutes and write a story about her, her reply was, "So, that's what you want to do for you, what do you want to do for me?"

Maybe she's right. The human contact thing doesn't pay well.

...

9-11 Isn't Even a Real Date!

Okay, I have to say something - even if it's the wrong thing (lot of that going on lately).

I've been hearing a lot of 9-11 hoax talk lately. I'm not here to comment about whether or not it was "us" or "them" who made the towers fall. The 2,985 who died that day probably care less about who did it than the fact that their lives were taken. I doubt that they were considering a conspiracy as they burned, exploded, choked, and felt the agonizing pain of being crushed to death. I don't think the firemen, on their way to the towers, were pondering whether or not our government planned this and got the major news networks to help them pull off this master stroke.

Is it possible that our beloved government or "the chosen ones behind the curtain" had a significant hand in this atrocity? Well, we have had a hand in some violently ugly shit before, no doubt. I don't know. How could I possibly know? The US Gov is the devil I know. I will buy the story that they tell me because it allows me to continue walking this planet. I could check out websites that publish "the truth" but that's the devil that I don't know. Besides, anything that anyone tells me or that I read is a story too, isn't it? Without personal and direct involvement, how could any of us know anything that we aren't involved in? Does the government lie to us? Every single time the Sun rises. Thank goodness that we can all choose to believe the bits and pieces that we want. If you pounded the pavement until you got "the truth" in this matter and found that WE did this in order to launch a war against our "enemies," how would you feel? Wouldn't it make the world appreciate us more? Even if you did not vote for those responsible, did they not grow from our culture? Aren't they products of our society? We produced them and we produced you. You are them and they are us.

I am okay with the story of the devil I know. It helps me peacefully remember my friend Ruben Ornedo, who had the misfortune of being on a business trip that ended when his plane crashed into the Pentagon, while his pregnant new bride waited at home for him.

Okay, you want the truth? Think you can handle it? I have always known what really happened but I didn't think the world was ready. You asked for it, now you've got it!

Rod Serling faked his death and he and Leif Garret are the semi-masterminds behind 9-11. Rod, Leif and other celebrity luminaries (I'm still investigating who the other conspirators might be) staged the whole thing because they were contacted by the Kellogg company and told to create a diversion and a war while Kellogg secretly sneaks high levels of Zinc and Sodium Benzoate into Corn Flakes and Rice Krispies.

Now that you know, beware of your breakfast.

...

Pursuit of the Maladies

At the gym recently, I went to my locker after a nice long Jacuzzi. Felt like a hundred and forty-seven bucks. Warm, relaxed, on top of the world. When I got to my locker, I saw that it was surrounded by three older gentlemen. Coincidentally, they had returned to their lockers simultaneously and the gym gods placed their lockers at odd and uncomfortably close angles to me and mine. They were at various degrees of undress or dress - I couldn't really tell what was going on. All three were north of seventy and seemed not to notice one another or me.

What the hell, I squeezed in there somewhere and began dressing. I was one leg into my underwear when the man to my left seemed to drop every stitch of his clothing all at once. He was unbuttoning his shirt one minute, the next he was stark naked. I'm not sure about the existence of God but I do know that God didn't make this guy in his current form. From his waist to his toes, he was painfully thin. This waist-down-man appeared in dire need of a combo plate of something fattening with a double dessert thrown in for good measure.

From his waist to his chest an anomaly of Biblical proportions was going on. It is my belief that he was smuggling three watermelons and sixty-five pounds of rice in his mid-body cavity. His stomach wasn't distended because distended is a 9 letter word and that doesn't cover what was going on there. I have no idea how his spindly legs supported the mass above them. Then, like some Penn & Teller illusion, he tapered down and had the most sunken chest and gaunt face you've ever seen. I looked into his eyes and wanted to order that combo meal again.

I shouldn't have done the eye contact thing though. He smiled and said hello, then turned full on toward me and I saw the world's biggest outtie belly button. My gorge tried to rise but I fought it off. Obviously, this guy has some horrific tumor or a three hundred foot long tapeworm doing naughty things down there. I don't want to buy a tapeworm a combo plate, so I smiled back and concentrated on getting my underwear in place.

I looked to my left and met the kind face of old guy number two. Normal belly, not too thin. Soothing actually. I sat on a stool to get to work on my socks, then it happened. While looking down at my own feet, I happened upon his. They looked eerily like two eggplants. At least 30,000 blood vessels had burst on each foot and they looked like bruise. Not like bruised feet, like bruise itself. Before I could look away - I tried, believe me I tried - I glimpsed one purple big toe. It was headed East on a footlike bruise that was headed North. The toenail was pointing directly at the little toe, three toes away.

If I had to guess his age, I'd say that he was 74. His feet were at least...Pleistocene. On top of that, with everything the guy did, he made a loud comment. He pulled on a tee shirt and sighed, "Oh boy!" Put on his watch, "Good heavens!" Little dab of deodorant, "Whoa!" Every movement came with a statement.

Okay, get those socks on and get moving, Brian!

I closed my eyes and put my socks on very crookedly. I stood up, pulled on my pants and began to hurry in dressing. Something wasn't sitting right in my head. I wasn't grossed out and trying to escape this surreal moment. I...I don't know what it was. I needed to get going. That's when I noticed for the first time a rhythmic whistling behind me. I don't know how I had gone so long, taking it for granted. What did my brain convince itself the sound was? A strong breeze in a pinwheel factory? Why didn't my brain alert me to this sound before? Was it overloaded with other subject matter at the moment?

Okay, turn around and look at the last guy. Shit, you know you have to have the full compliment of aged men, so get it over with. Decrepit trifecta, here I come.

Completely gray, sweet looking guy just getting dressed. Extremely old guy. Probably near or on top of 90. Probably once had skin covering his body instead of this ancient parchment. Apparently unable to admit or emit air without problem. Lung issue. Damn shame. Still...one might expect wheezing, not whistling. Hard to breathe, I get it. Pursing your lips with each inhale and exhale makes a whistle though. Who am I to judge, especially when I have no idea what the guy's issue actually is? Still...

All I could think about was, "I'll bet dogs are friggin' following this guy all day long." Cruel thought. Stupid thought, bad boy. Awful really. Still...

Okay, get the hell out of here now. Throw on the shirt and hit the road. The unknown feeling had crawled up my back and was preparing to strangle me from behind. The locker room was feeling crowded suddenly. Time to go.

Old Guy #4!!! What the hell? Where did he come from? He'd somehow mingled his way into the middle of things and he was staring right at me. Gray head and full tangled beard. Kinda like Rasputin without the evil scowl.

You know how someone gets your attention and they hold it and you can't look away because you know something's about to happen? Like they're about to tell you something of great import. Yeah, well he had me like that. He took a step closer and smiled.

"Five more fucking days until fucking Christmas! Whuddya have to say about that?"

Well put. What could I possibly say about that? There is no comeback for a statement like that in a room filled with mostly naked, infirm older versions of myself.

That's it! I now knew the name of the creeping feeling that was stalking me in this warm and moist room. The belly and bruises and curved toes and crap lungs were the contrary gifts of age. All I have to do is keep waking up and these things will finally catch me. None of us can outrun the pursuit of age and illness. One day, not too far from this moment, a younger man will look at me and feel the need to run. I hope that he is as fleet of foot as he thinks he is. I know better but I wish him speed.

I nodded to the "fucking Christmas" guy and walked slowly out of the locker room and up the flight of stairs to my car. Those stairs are still my friends now but the day will come when I will dress slowly in the locker room too, trying to avoid the not so easy trudge up those stairs.

Five more fucking days! Christmas is coming for us all.

Merry Christmas!

...

Good, Better, Best. Then More Good, More Better, More Best

This is a bit of a clear minded rant here. I admit that I took half an Ambien but that was only two minutes ago. I'm firing on all of the cylinders that still work.

What I'm about to say, is not directed at you. I'm writing this for you, not you. I mean, you. Okay, I think that maybe you think that it's about you but it isn't. If you don't know what I'm talking about, it might be you.

Why are we who we are? Why do we become someone else to get someone else in our lives, then change who we were in the beginning in an attempt to turn them into who we wanted them to be when we first met them? We all want to be somebody's somebody. The human is lacking a stable fulfillment gene and that is sad.

Those of us who desire stuff with our heart and soul, forsaking all else, generally get it. The problem is, there are never enough stacks of the stuff to quench the hunger.

Those of us who seek a fulfilling love, may find it - with the help of the demigods. When we find that person and revel in all the beauty and wonderfulness that they are and that they bring with them, we are elated enough to declare that our lives are finally blessed. We see them, we wink, we smell them, we kiss them, dream them, want them, desire them, can't live without them, embrace them, and make them an integral part of our lives. Our now mutual life.

As you know from experience, it generally plays out like this -

Because we are the creatures that we are, we realize that all of the lovely glory that we'd been cooing over now needs a tweak here and there. Well, don't think you can tweak a little something without having your partner tweaking back at ya. Soon, the Valhalla that you'd been lounging in and loving to your utmost becomes something a little more distant.

What the hell happened to you? What the hell have you done? Don't you realize that life is lived - in its most remarkable state - in those little moments of perfection and the love that you feel for the other person? It only gets better if you can see that love bouncing back to you from their eyes. Everything in between is the grit and grime of life. Grit and grime are a must and dealing with them to the best of your ability makes you a stronger better person. You lose your euphoria when you bring that grime home and spread it all over her/him. That's the surest way to get grimed in return. In grime, you both lose and lines are drawn in the sand. Grime don't pay. Conversation dwindles and the house gets chilly. Now, you're frosty and you're not sure why but it had something to do with her/him not giving you what you needed.

And there we have it. What "you" need. What just happened between the two of you? I know exactly what and how it happened. One of you, perhaps both of you, wanted more. Remember three months ago when all you wanted was to be in her/his presence? Maybe a smile and a kiss. One of those hand-holding sessions that warmed every cell in your body. If she/he came over and held your hand right now, you'd wonder what he/she was up to with this obvious impending ploy. The "I need/want more" got hold and now you're in a combative stance.

It's not only your fault. You live on a planet with others like you, who taught you these "skills." In fact, most of the others walking on the face of this celestial body are even more greed oriented than yourself. You are catching up though. Careful. Ah, the others. Your fellow planeteers are working on "more" at an alarming rate.

Look at that big Godforsaken, abnormal, mutated, larger than any deity intended Cow. Mmm Mmm good! Makes your mouth water just looking at this genetic monstrosity that we're hoping to get bigger better burgers out of and who will also give off enough methane to open some REALLY REALLY BIG holes in the ozone layer. Ozone layer? Wonder why they stopped talking about that? Oh yeah, OJ killed some people and Michael Jordan won 6 championships and the World Trade Center went down, then the ensuing wars, and isn't Justin Timberlake dreamy? Your mind is somewhere else now. The ozone layer wasn't magically repaired. We just moved on. Hell, it hasn't killed you yet, right?

Know what happens when we start eating bigger stronger animals (that we played god with)? You guessed it, baby. We become the things we want to be. Play God and you could actually become God. Well, our twisted logic says so. Who's to argue anyway? The cattle? No way, we've conquered and reconceived and tailored and redestined them.

If you say this isn't what we all want, you're either lying or you're an oddball who isn't on the right track.

You would think that because we know how good being with that special person is in the beginning, we'd do all within our power to figure out how to keep it new. If we can make a cow the size of a Mammoth, make our bodies unreasonably outrageously muscled, change our faces/bodies to the point of non-recognition and/or sublimely ridiculous, why has no one - of the 6.8 billion people living on this blue/green wonder - sought to find a way to sustain this most important thing that all 6.8 billion of us constantly seek? Is it really that hard or could we ever be happy being satisfied?

If I could make you completely and utterly satisfied, would you be?

************

