truth slain and random thoughts over ice cream 8.14.17


Truth Slain on a TV Stand

The morning bell was met head-on
And each child followed the trail as winter won
To where truth then was set upon and promptly slain
For sadly truth had gathered thinking it safe
As if fearing safety it mattered simply not
The rot that had grown up in Webster’s lot
While all about the dreamer’s world came that
A web of cotton thread all wound about
That hid the learned from the learning there
With great gashes to the bone through grisly hair
I watched as torment swept up the path
To claim that which was left of the day
Coiled in self-incriminating powered doubt
For none was there with whom to share
And none was there to take the classic dare
But, instead, the gentle waves of sympathy rose
To climb aboard the train of memories
Before the closing bell had rung and
Students filled with nonsense about the world around
Ran home to watch Kukla, Fran, and Ollie
On the small black and white TV screen
That had come to land in a place of pride
An altar of electronic marvel to stun the world
The twisting movement about of rabbit ears
The frantic swirling the antenna about
In hopes to get the camera shot
Before the ending of the show
In search of the spot, the spot, the spot to find
To make the frazzled snow look more real
Where Lucy, Desi, Ethel and Fred would be
Along with an accordion player had earlier graced the day
Making life appear as easy without pain or torment
They lied, the lied, they spun and twisted the thin posts
And they lied, they lied, while we ate cold beans in a pouring rain
While children we ate Tomato Soup with thick buttered white bread
Prophesied to help us in at least 8 ways
Enriched (we found was putting back that removed) for us
Only to be told so many years later that
White bread will kill you as it brings on the fat
And that Lucy and Dezi, Ethel and Fred
Didn’t get along, but we never knew and so
We twisted those damn antennas round and round
Until we found the spot, the spot, the damned spot
And certain ghost like creatures appeared in scattered form
Focused on the glass screen as if the world was somehow going right
While war was off in a foreign land
And so we searched for the spot, the spot, the spot. 8.13.2017

TWISTED: FAIRY TALES FROM A DARKWOOD (not your typical childhood book)


TWISTED: FAIRY TALES FROM A DARK WOOD
(This isn’t your basic children’s book so beware.)

The land of Darkwood was bathed in a constant drizzle. It had been so for over a hundred years. Once the island had been a place of beauty, but then….the terror came. It arrived in the middle of the night and when it did it came as a destroyer, touching all that was beautiful with an angry curse. There was nothing that could be done, or so it seemed, for anyone who even looked as being opposed to the rule of Talia was imprisoned or executed immediately upon her request. How strange it seemed, she had been the most loved Princess in the land and then the change took place and she went from being good to being the most evil woman ever known. There were sections of The Castle Ur that reeked of the smell of blood; some said she bathed in the blood of young women believing it was good for her skin. There was always a parade of girls coming but never leaving. Even the Seven Dwarfs that were always by her side seemed a bit, er, put out about the whole issue but they too risked their lives if any insolence was determined to have occurred. As it was the King of the Dwarves was a prisoner in the South Tower and had been there for six months. But on this day he was allowed to go for a walk…..alone.

 

An Improv Everywhere Video


Another day, another confusing conversation with self about life and things relative to that which we think is relative. Okay, so maybe this is a bit too much of a thought process but I have to ask why is it that when I had over 500 followers here and over 500 followers on Facebook and then consider LinkedIn and Twitter why is it that I totter along with 4 visits on a daily twit? Can anyone explain that to me? Any answers?

Eric the Tiny Field Mouse contin.


Eric suddenly realized something was wrong. The hay smelled stale, rotted actually. How long had he slept, he wondered? Hours? Days? No, impossible, he had never slept for more than a few hours and if he had someone would have woken him.

He heard shuffling and mumbling coming from off to his left and then to his right. Suddenly, little brown noses poked into the cavity. Field Mice noses. Then he saw an eye blinking at him. “He’s awake!” a mouse voice said to his left.

“No.” A mouse voice said to his right.

Then the noses and the eyes suddenly broke out of the hay and there he sat being studied intently by two field mice, one from the left and one from the right.

“It’s impossible,” said the mouse to the right.

“Well, it is what it is,” said the one on the left. “I told you he was waking up.”

“Yes, you did but….”

Eric suddenly sat up. “Who are you? I don’t recognize either of you.”

“Good God, he can talk,” the mice said together. “I think we should tell the Queen,” said the one on the left. “No, I don’t think that is wise,” from the right. “She’s been bashing people on the head with her club. I don’t even want to go near her,” said the one on the left. “Besides we need more information,” they said together.

 

 

 

Eric the Tiny Field Mouse Chapter Two


So it happened that Eric fell asleep for what appeared to be only a few minutes, but the reality was it was hours and days and months that had passed in a twinkling when Eric finally yawned and sat up in what was now a pollution of rotted hay for he had been left there as the others were unable to wake him. But then there was a shuffling noise in the far in of his den and out popped the faces of two who were his own age, except you had to consider he was actually over a hundred at the time, but not physically. Physically he was only 3 or was it 4. I’m not sure, maybe 5. Yes, let’s say he was 5 and be done with it except…..well….plus a hundred.

What are we?


I often think of us, you and me, in terms of who we are. I have never come up with an answer to suit me.

What are we? Again, the same problem. Oh, I suppose we can talk about material items, flesh, blood, molecules, that sort of things but does it define us? I think not.

So I have decided that what we are is a collection of memories. We are thoughts. We are not future as the future doesn’t exist. We are not present (even though we think we are) because present is both past and future and future doesn’t exist so you cannot have present. Therefore we are past, and past is memory pushing against the present and the future which are both indistinct and perpetually indistinguishable. In writing I am dealing with thought about the future but the future doesn’t come into being until the present when I type or think out a thought that then becomes past as in memory. Even typing the word out. It doesn’t become until AFTER I hit the key and then the letters fall on the page but this is after and not before. Before is thought but doesn’t exit in the here and now until I help it materialize. The future is undefinable. It exists only because we think it does and yet if you die right now that future you thought about is not here.

And yet, time is accessible past and future to an extent with present being the focus. In essence we are time travelers without the awareness that we are.

 

Field Notes For The Mentally Unprepared # 2


I recall that I gave a slight sigh at his comment, feeling a minor depression forming somewhere in the back of my mind, deep in some rift of grey matter, and I turned to go. It was best to simply go at that point. To leave. To retreat. To leave this man alone before he confused me even more with his ability to see when he was blind and to know without being told. Odd, I thought, How like him he was to the rest of the world in many ways and yet completely unlike the world in many other ways. Too complex for my wee brain to handle and so I turned to go just as he spoke.

“Do you know there is little difference between a white piece of paper and a black piece of paper?”

Man with a Cane.


I was at the Tampa Library earlier today and I stepped outside for a moment to check the weather. There I found a very thin, grey-haired man standing alone leaning up against a pillar near the front door of the building. I noticed that he held a white cane with a red tip on it that informed me that he was blind. We both stood there about twenty feet apart without speaking. I noticed that the cane was held lightly in his right hand and his left hand was hanging loosely with nothing to do . I looked again at the cane and, being someone interested in math, I was curious about the angle that he and the cane formed.

“Forty-five degrees,” he said without looking in my direction.

“What?” I asked, surprised by his comment as I had said nothing to him and wasn’t even sure if he knew I was standing near him.

“Forty-five degrees,” he said again, and then added, “You were wondering at what angle my cane was set from my body. It’s forty=five degrees.” He sniffed and wriggled his nose as if something had irritated it.

“But I didn’t say anything to you.”

“I know,” he signed. “But it’s a common question by those, like you, who are curious about angles and such.”

We stood in silence for several moments and then I added, “But I am the only one out here.”

He turned his head to the left and then to the right and said, “Yep, you’re right. I haven’t seen anyone out here for at least twenty minutes.”

 

 

TWISTED Section Four Chapter Two


CHAPTER TWO

The three dwarfs found themselves stumbling through a heavy fog on the slopes of Desperation.

“I don’t suppose it matters to any of you but,” began a voice tinged with a bit of sarcasm.

“Are you complaining about the mist again?” another spoke from somewhere in the moist film that surrounded them on the mountain trail.

“Well, yes. I can’t see a bloody thing. Can either of you?” The voice had turned angry.

“Well, get on with it, Grumpy. What exactly is the problem? You always seem to have more than one problem,” a third voice joined as its owner tramped forward stumbling over a small bush not seen by the speaker.

“Well, to begin with, my feet hurt. And, and my ankles are tired of being twisted this way and that by the unevenness of the path, not to mention the gravel that is everywhere along through here.”

“Be grateful for the gravel,” a third voice replied, coming up from behind the first two, “if you don’t hear it beneath your boots then you will know you have strayed off the trail and that, my dwarf friends, would be bad I think.”

“Well, I am tired of the whole thing and I want to sit and rest, maybe eat a cake or two. Anybody got any coffee left in their thermos? How about you Doc? Got any coffee left? And, for God’s sake, Sleepy, did you have to take a dump so close behind us with the wind at your butt?”

“When a dwarf has to shit, a dwarf has to shit,” Sleepy replied and cinched up his belt.

“Did you remember to button up your pants this time? I don’t want to walk into town with your pants unbuttoned as a greeting for all who might see you.”

“See us, not just me, you dope,” Sleepy corrected. “And, yes, I buttoned up my pants, thank you very kindly.

“Wind?” said the first.

“Yes, wind, I can feel it. Maybe it will push-off the mists. I actually think I can see the two of you now.”

“Maybe she did that.”

“Well, it would be about time she did something for us,” Dopey snarled.

“I’d be careful of what I said, Dopey, she well might be able to hear us and would retaliate by turning you into a statue.”

“Ha, I’d like to see her try!” And, with that statement, Dopey suddenly let out a very strange irk sound and froze in his tracks.

“Holy shit,” Doc said as he jumped back. “Holy shit.” He looked over at Grumpy who also was staring at their companion who had oddly gone rigid and appeared to be stuck to the ground.

 

GOD WENT FOR A WALK — Title Poem


GOD WENT FOR A WALK is a soon to be published book of poetry. It follows on The Widow’s Cliff and on Rabbit in a Box.  Currently there are 129 poems in this collection. I will be adding and editing and posting here.

God Went for a Walk

I woke to hear a rooster throw

Its head back to announce

The coming of the dawning day

Before a hungry cat did sudden pounce

And ran off all the silly school children

Who squealing terror passed me by

For they had ventured out with games to play

But could not stand to watch the rooster die

Nor understand as nature went her natural way

And watching wondered then I about it all

What place within this lack of walls

Should shelter me from asking then

For certain someone told me way back when

I thought it odd with all so very wrong

That God should simply take a walk

And fail to ask me to come along.                                                      June 19, 2013