Mind Nuggets
By
Brian Montgomery
Copyright 2011
Brian Montgomery
Published by Brian Montgomery at Smashwords
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook 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 or 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 step ladder, 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.
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