NATURFIED: IT starts like this: "what in the" Hell. Hell. Goblins and ghosts and everything ------most.

LOVE.. .love is. What am I supposed to say, here? What? Should I say that I love M___ more than anyone, ever? Should I say that I love her, till death? And, on that beam, should I BANG my fucking head against the wall for not "being there" for her?! Yes. Oh...yes. * I drink; therefore I am. * Through vodka and beer, I weaealed myself out of.... * I thought I had a big, caring heart. I am an asshole. * I am a dick. *

BLOGGIN'--THOUGHTS ON THE BRAIN...

The Detroit Red Wings lost, yesterday, to the Nashville Predators. The Wings lost the best-of-seven series 4-to-1. I think/know they got outplayed. To me, Nashville got a lot of lucky bounces and also it seemed like the Wings were lethargic throughout the whole fucking series. I think it this signifies the end of an era. Then again, we have all said that before.

(True, the Wings'll be good--again--next year, but, in my opinion, they'll not have the services of one of the greatest defensemen ever, N. Lidstrom. Thanks for the memories, Nic. Good luck and Godspeed.)

*

What's worse? A Clunk, a Clink, or a Clank?

*

(a Clank.)

*

once upon a time there was a door
all steel-made and Strong Like Boar

*

CLANK!

*

--What did the automaton say to the cop?
-I don't know, what?
--Like Pinocchio! When can we become real?!

*

What does "grew up fast" mean? As in, "She grew up fast" or "He had to grow up fast"? What does it mean? Of course it is a cliche. But what are people thinking when they utter those words? Is it a badge of honor? Is it reluctant praise? Is it a nod to the buoyancy of the human spirit? Is it anatomical? Is it mental? Is it spiritual? Yes. It is spiritual. I know what people are trying to say: They're saying that the person in question had to make actions and decisions and mental pros-ses-sees beyond their years. That sucks. They had an abbreviated childhood.

*

And then there are some? Who never "grow up".

*

Leave it at "grow".

*

Cats or dogs? I know that they both have their pros and cons. But, seriously, cats or dogs? I have been writing, here, for a minute. I looked up and Cutie Pie (I call him SeePee) was/is lying in the halldway, eyeballin' me. When I hold his gaze, he looks away. I think he and Mister Bubbles are a'scairt of me. For that matter, Oliver is, too. But the question remains: Which is better? A cat or a dog? Forever, I'll say "dog". Forever.

*

And, just like an evil wind, I look back at the cat...and he is gone. (Grammatically, do you see what I did?)

*td

Score one for the Dogs.

*

Seven million to six.

*

On to topics of more import:

*

Where would you, O Faithful Non-Reader, like to start? I have a litany of topics that could be discussed: legalization of marijuana, global warming, the (2000-year-old-constant) unrest in the Middle East, the death penalty, the science of prayer, altruism, the beauty of nature, random acts of kindness.

*

Life is oh-so cyclical.

*

And it trundles, falls down, gets up again.

*

I'm sure you've heard before, "Americans are pigs!" Have you ever really examined the geographical countenance of this great land? It kinda looks like a pig, and Maine is its snout. (No offense, Maine.) And Florida is a leg and hoof. (Offense intended, Jeb!) And, Cali? Unfortunately, you're the pig's ass. Kentucky and/or Tennessee are the pig's heart. Alaska is an afterthought and Hawaii is the pig's curlicue tail.

*

I should have mentioned further above: credit cards are evil.

*

"Imagine" is one of the best songs ever. It really is one of the best. Why would anyone want to kill John Lennon.

*

Why?

*

I am looking at a painting, right now, by Meeg's mom. (grammar) I have bad eyesight and I am sitting 9.73 feet away. It is a painting of a purple rose against a blue sky, interspersed with intimations of cirrus clouds. She painted well. She painted it very well. The flower Booms and I can see so much in it.

When I saw a black-and-white image of her mom from the '60s, I saw her mom as a hippie...better and she was...cool. I wish I'd have met her.

*

Why does Alaska have to be an afterthought? To that point, why must it be ravaged in the Pursuit of Greenbacks? So....

So I guess it ain't an afterthought. Drilling. Monetary versus Political versus Environmental.questions. I understand what I can understand, but I wonder: Whatever happened to the Love of Untrampeled Natural Beauty? I get the Economic boon (read: Oil) that could be surreptitiously garnered by creeping up on the last "American" frontier, but I also wonder: to what end?! Why would we rape Pristine? As humans, cannot we leave "well enough alone"?

This is the problem. As humans, we're destroying the planet.

I think I know what you're saying: "I didn't! It's the politicos! It's the (richer) businessmen/women!"

We're not otters. They are. We're not spiders. They are. We're not dolphins. They are. We're not chimpanzees. They are. We're not cockroaches?! They are. And us, too.

*

Cockroaches are our second cousins. They are! Second to us in this way: We'll destroy the world and--second--they'll own the planet...just like we used to do.

*

Whoops.

*

FOUR-TWENTY420FOUR-TWENTY

Yesterday was April 20th. I don't get the numerology. I know that it is code for...something. But I just don't understand why 420 became a code. Maybe someone with influence had just bubbled up on April 20th and had told the others, "What a hell of a day!"

And, then, maybe, the ideology had spread like wildfire.

Now, I'm not trying to be a buzz-kill, but I think that people ought to know--before we make this a national holiday--that the Colorado Columbine massacre happened on April 20th. Also, April 20th is Adolph Hitler's date of birth.

Groovy, man....

FUNNY STORY...

I know that my posts, as of late, have been, well, a little less than cheery. Here is a funny story.

I picked up a second job. That's not the funny part. I picked up a second job delivering food, this of the hot and cheesy variety. I had a delivery to a hotel. I went up to the room, received a ten-dollar tip and took the elevator back down to the main floor. I noticed the people in the lobby and I saw a delivery guy from a different company exiting his car, ready to deliver his company's cheesy goodness. I figured I'd be polite and open the door, basically a "hey-brother-we're-all-in-the-same-boat" gesture.

Now, this is the funny part. When I had entered the hotel, the door was on the right of the glass vestibule (it is a very large vestibule). What I learned was that the exit door was on the interior right side of the vestibule, kind of like a cyclical thing, a keep-the-humanity-flowing-correctly-type-thing. Now, I admit, I haven't eaten a whole hell of a lot lately and I was tired from recent poor sleep, but I can't really explain what happened next. I walked smack-dab into the glass wall of the vestibule. Mouth-first. Yes, I was bird-like. (You know? Like how birds sometimes fly into windows.)

I mashed my mouth into a glass wall. I mashed my mouth into a glass wall. I heard a gasp to my right, assuredly from the elderly lady lounging in a easy chair. "Oh! Are you all right?" she asked. "Yeah," I said, not turning around, "I'm just dandy."

In the vestibule, I said to the delivery guy, "Watch out for the walls." He was barely holding in guffawing laughter. And, really? Who wouldn't laugh? It's like the shit you see on America's Funniest Videos: Delivery-Bird Flies into Glass Wall. Hell, I was kind of laughing. It's just so fricking...ridiculous.

I walked into a glass wall.

Once outside, I spit a couple of blood-spits out of my mouth and made it to my car. I was laughing by the time I started my car and headed back to the shop. I thought to myself, Who the hell does that?!

I tested my two front teeth with my tongue. They were still there and not loose--good. (Oh, yeah, I hit that wall hard.)

On the way back, I thought to myself, What would have been a good response to the unseen woman who had gasped and asked me if I was all right? One response would have been, "Gosh! They sure do keep these glass walls clean, don't they?" I could have said, "Why do you ask that?" I also could have said, "Usually, I walk right through them."

I walked into a glass wall, walking speed unbroken.

I find that very very very funny.

WORKING TITLE

there is a thread to Life
i see a Purple woman screeching about Jesus and
God
Yaweh
pointing at me through the television screen. her
girl, Missus copeland, agrees
--they both point at me--

and all i have to say to them is
Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.

all i gotta say.

*

i changed channel and the thread of Conversation
minimized Not.
there was a show about
the Shroud of Turin
[seriously, it's that seamless]

*

'twas on charlierose
some dude was saying--
--and he was an art historian--
--
--was saying that the Shroud is. not. a. fake.
noshit. No! Shit!

*
movingon.

*

cut. away...

: "worst tornado season...ever."
yes, sheaths of Tornadic Death are not good things
the Clouds want us, now
we must be Brave.
okay, tell me how; tell me how i can be Brave when i see a
child torn to pieces in Oaklahomatellme.

more than one hundred tornadoes tore through the gut of
the country
this is two weeks after the Same.

wasalgorecorrect

wasalgorecorrect

wasalgorecorrect?!

of. Course.

*

and the polar bear does Dream.

*

i can't hammer a nail straight.
itry, ican't.

*
i'll take that over not
Realizing
what is going on....

*

i'mjoking:worlddomination

*
the faeries fly and the nymphs
fuck
and all we got is this
rotten Luck.

*

Here is a point. There are many threads of Life. Threads of Life. Who are we to say a fucking thing against *anyone*? Every person is a child of God. Truth. I unnerstan, I unnerstan.

Where's the Peace?

Do you know how sick I am of seeing all the crap in the Middle East?!  I'm done.  I'm done.  So fucking many Innocent women and children and men have died.  Right?!  Pull the plug?! We can't say a thing.

*

the night ended well
back to hubris
back to
Creativity

PRECURSOR...STAND...BIRTH. DAY.

You ever have that feeling? I have. I feel lucky. "That Feeling"?

Love.

Keep on the sunny side of Life.

***
keeponthe
sunnyside.
***

She is Meagan. She is the Sunny Side. She *is* the Sunny Side. I love her. I love her mind, I love her soul, I love her face, I love her breasts...I love everything about her.

She is Good.

She islikePitBull--she never quits.

She. Wins.

Friday The Thirteenth is her birfday, lite

***

The computer may want to fuck with me, but I know this: Meagan is cool as hell and I will love her till past the day I die. I. Love. Her.

Forever:

forevertheLove
Flows and then the Collide
forevertheLove
Flows and Then
forevertheLoveforevertheLoveforevertheLove
till
Amanda sings
*
Guess what? you don't love a genius without
receving some motherfucking
motherfucking horns
Horns.
*
horns.
*
there. is. only. ONE. meegie.
ONLY.
one.

***Funny,eh? The rules doan apply? Yes. You'd have to meet her. She's got all the Planes of Existence...in Her.

***

She is special and I love Her.

***

It is her birthday. She turned 29 today.

***

BEAUTIFUL SO HOT.
black sooty ashes
eyelashes in Perfect
formation
wide Beautiful eyes
BrilliantBlueGreenBLUE
strong mind gorgeous body
i love Her every Mecca every
inhalationof
Her
she's Meagan goddammit
she is...
soulful and Beautiful and strong and
Blessed and preternatural and
Creative and intelligent and
Meegie and Loved and
blessed and Blessed.
*
andLoved
*

***

It is Meagan's birthday!

PRECURSOR....STAND.

Think Positive.

Think.

I woan cry, I woan cry, no--well, yes. I'll explode like a Tear-Ball.

***

Stand By Me

How? she'd asked

it's the Soul, he'd said, It happens everywhere

How? she'd asked

lemme show You the Colours, he'd said, and she saw them--Them--blues and yellows and Greens and Reds

the Purples caught her fancy...she made them Dance like bubbles, she

shelaughedwithDelight

(she lay her hand over Her face as she laughed with)

Delightshe wasDelighted

**

the waves froth and

the mountains do rock and

she is loving and caring and good and she is

Excellent

she exudes Love that has no Quarter. She

has preternatural Heart

Loving and caring and good, yes, oh yes

the mountains froth and

the waves do rock and roll

*

"WHEN THE DEVIL KNOWS YOU'RE DEAD..."

The Ouji board "game" is (finally) outside. Maybe it is bullshit, maybe it is not. I just think more clearly, now. And the computer is working as it should. Is that a coincidence? I think not. There is a whole hell--HELL--of a lot of crazy shit that one wouldn't expect to happen...that happens.

I think I fucked with the Ouji board before. I think I was pompous. I think, now, I am not pompous. I think I also know the concept of "flying beneath the radar." I am not quite sure--I have never done this before--of the half-life of demons. I also don't know that, if I open the door, will they flood back in?

[And, yes, I am drunk.]

But, sometimes? Being drunk is beneficial. Have you ever had a book fly off the shelf, by itself, and land at your feet? And when you look down, you see that it is a book based upon the chillun of alkies? I swear to God, it happened. There have been Spirits, everywhere, in this house. Everywhere. I am not a parapsychologist--I understand their trade--but I do believe that there has been an "asshole spirit" in this homestead for the last...who knows? Weeks? Months? Months.

I think the Ouji "board-game" had something to do with it. Crazy, right? Maybe? Not.

We as Humans have No. Fucking. Idea of what lies Next.

***

I know this: For some people, Alcohol is the Devil.

I am one.

This is the "funny" part: Sometimes it is not just hyperbole.

***

My computer was not working earlier. It has done this shit in the past--just like today--where it flat-out refused to "boot-up." No shit. I often feel that way. But I am not a collection of uber-small electronics. Though all humans are electric. I was getting so fucking--FUCKING!--frustrated. (My life, as of late? Not so good. Only myself to blame.) I was looking at this laptop saying, "Just. Fucking. Work." It refused to work. I tried everything. I tried the power cord; I tried starting up and setting it down and starting it up...to no avail. My frustration reached Red Zone levels. I thought to myself, If this motherfucking computer does not start working, I'm-a gonna kick it out the fucking window.

The furnace kicked on. To me, it sounded like the Howls of Hell. I felt the Devil crawling over me, my mind, my Soul. Anyone who has worked with natural gas knows the sound. Pitiless. Overwhelming. Frooooooooozin-in-in-in-in. Sixty pounds of pressure? From gas, natural gas? C'mon. I used to do it, but I say this, anyone who deals with that Danger is a motherfucking Superstar. It is a snake; it can rear back and bite.

The furnace kicked on. To me, it sounded like the Howls of Hell. And I was inordinately angered at my laptop. There was perfect--I mean, purrrrrfect syncronisity, symmetry. When I last lay down the "lid" of the laptop, the furnace was howling from the basement. When the "lid" connected with the "computer"--the laptop--everything went silent.

***

I don't know what was more special. Me cracking another beer full in the face of demon-infestation or me realizing what maybe perhaps yes is the motherfucking reasons for the paranormal activities and the bad bad BAD BAD dreams that Meeg and I have felt for a long long time.

The Ouji board. I ain't joking.

***

Goodness gracious. It is true. There are parallel planes, all about us. Sometimes, it is scary.

***

I think this: No matter what, God looks after us. Listen: I know. Who am I? I have been known to inhale too may beverages and, thus, my Word means Spit. I also know this: The last three songs, on random, have said exactly what I was saying...before they came on. Stupid. Stupid? Oh, sure. I also know how...and this is going to sound Krazee....

***

I think it is a playing field, actually. Who're we?! We're secondary. I think that there is a war being waged, right now. I am not sure of whom the combatants are. I think, though, that it is bigger than the manatees and the squirrels and the deer and the humans and the ants and the spiders. I think, actually, it is the battle of the Ages. Personally, I think we are all pawns in a great chess match between Evil and Good. It sounds stupid, it sounds cliche, but I believe this is the last Battle.

***

I am not baptized. I went, through my parents' good grace, to a superior school. In that school, they emphasized writing and reading. (Also, I'm smart.)

***

I believe this is the last Battle.

***

"When the Devil knows you're dead, eH Pounces."

***

Oh! The Devil pounces. He has already taken out about three motherfucking paragraphs of mine--well-written--and the motherfucker wants more. Maybe? Maybe it is the computer. Maybe it is super-sensitive to "touch". I'm pissed. Apparently, none of my appendages can come within three inches of my computer keyboard. I am trepidatious...I doan wanna piss off either the Devil or his compatriots. I juswannatype.

***

I just wanna type because I am a typer. Verbal diarrhea.

***

With this motherfucking laptop and also all the damned psychic activity around here? I think I am doing okay. I do not want to call on the demons. I really really do not want to do that. But, they've had their fun. ENOUGH. ENOUGH! And then, the song on the shuffle? "People Are Strange," by The Doors. By Jim Morrison.

***

Jim Morrison. Great. Great "world-changer." Here is a funny fact: Four of my favorite artists fit this shit; three of them were the same age. Tell me it is a coincidence. Dead at the age of 27: Jimi, Jim, and Janis. As for Stevie Ray? Not quite sure of his age. Guess what? They all also have four syllables in their names.

You do the Math. (Not to mention: Three of their names started with the "letterJay.")

***

Um.

Son House. "Death Letter." Old-school Mississippi Delta-blues. Check it out. His style told the Beets and the Stones and Hendrix what the Blues meant.

***

I test Fate. Every day.

***

And the trains Howl in the Distance.

THE POMPOSITY OF WIG

Tell me: what is a judge? No, I know the standard answer: a man or a woman in a black robe who pwactices jurisdiction and jurisprudence. This knock-off dumbass Harper-Collins POS dictionary that I have defines a judge as "a noun." That about sums it up, for me. A "judge" is a "noun."

As I hold no respect for the intangible noun, I also hold no respect for a judge. May I retract the statement? Oh, no? Well, I'll do it anyway. The only respect I hold for judges is that they were intelligent enough to lie and scam their way into that position.

The Bible sez: "Judge not, lest ye be judged." (And, now, I guess I'm a hypocrite.)

Where do judges come from? Better said: Whence do judges come? What gives a human being the thought, the right, that they are holier-than, that they can "cast down from high" the ruling of the day? How arrogant does one need to be to see that as a career choice?

Where do judges come from? Are they ants, busily stomping in formation? Are they the queen bees, resplendent in fat and hypocrisy? Are they birds of a feather, always flocking together? Are they learned women and men? Yes. Does that and a law degree make them any better than the people they are trying? Uhno. Um...wellno.

No.

I understand that there are horrific cases and trials, situations in which people's wills and desires got the better of them and landed them in Jail and then...Court. I understand that. I just wonder why a single person can--pretty much--determine an other's fate. Cuz they have more degrees? Cuz they have more money? Because they blew their way to the top? I don't know.

Judges wield Power. No shit. Judges hold people's Lives in their hands. (Let us pray.)

Let us pray that the judges are sober. Who knows? They might not be. They're humans, after all, just as susceptible to the foibles as anyone else.

So why do we kiss their asses? Short answer: Judges wield Power.

It just seems like a slanted game to me.

There was a situation back in the early-2000s in which a professional basketball player was called in front of a Grand Jury (uh-oh! sound the horns!) to testify about any money he might have received as a college player. It was said that he lied to the Grand Jury. That's a bad thing, right? The only problem I can see if he lied is that he did it after placing his hand on the book of God. That's it. As for the blowhards on the Bench? Fuck off. Who're they? Were they back there in Time when the man in question was a little boy in an urban city? Were they there to pick him up when he fell down in a junior high basketball game? Were they there when he was in college, not allowed to even work for money while the NCAA made billions of dollars off of collegiate sports? No. They were only there when he was a professional, who had millions of dollars with which they could caterwaul for. Like a bunch of fucking dying hyenas.

***

What is a judge? I'm sure, back in the 1950s a judge was a respected member of society. "Oh! Look at Daniel O'Hare! He's become a Judge! Be smart, little Bobby, and soon you could become one as well!"

[Don't look here, see....]

***

And judges are still respected. I just don't know why. Who in the hell respects a kid that pullllls wings off of flies? Who in the hell respects a kid that ozones ants through a magnifying glass? Don't we--haven't we all looked as those kids as weird? As though they were living out a God-complex?

***

What is a judge? What is a judger? (caststones) What is a judgement?

***

Don't we all put our pants on one leg at a time? (Yes, but not judges. They're preternatural; they're superhuman.) Oh, no, they're not!

***

Back in the day--maybe just in England, maybe not--judges used to wear white powdered wigs. (And the barristers did, too.) How do you think the accused took the verdict? Coming from a fucking dandy megalomaniac, how do you think the accused took the sentencing? I'm sure he would have been thinking, "C'mon, me and you. Outside. No witnesses. No lights. No weapons. Just me and...you. I'll stuff your Power right up your ass with the wig."

***

The Pomposity.

RYAN LEAF: A SOB-STORY

I am watching ESPN, earlier, and, on the crawl at the bottom of the screen, I see that Ryan Leaf was arrested in Montana on charges of burglary and drug possession. I think to myself, Yeah, that's about right.

And the thoughts continued to his "legacy": Coming out of college into the NFL, who is better? Ryan Leaf or some dude named Peyton Manning? Well, that has been answered, eh? As a professional football quarterback, Peyton Manning had a better career.

Ryan Leaf has often been said to be the "biggest bust" in NFL draft history. I agree.

I was all ready to pile on. I remember his childish blow-up with a reporter (who was just doing his job). I remember the bazooka God gave Leaf...that he wasted. Hypocritically, I was all ready to say, "See? The dude is...not prepared to lead a team of NFLers."

Then I Googled Ryan Leaf's name.

His life has swirled into the toilet. In 2008, as a quarterbacks coach for Texas A&M, he had a problem. He was accused of robbing a player's home. It turned out that Ryan Leaf also had received about a thousand pain pills from pharmacies in the area...in about an eight-month span. In 2009, he plead guilty to eight felony drug charges. And, last year, he had surgery to remove a benign tumor from his brain stem.

I retract my statement. Dude needs some help. As a practicing psychologist, I think that much of his troubles may stem from being the odd-man-out in the Manning-vs-Leaf Draft Debate. I think, psychologically, to be nationally skewered and dissected takes a huge toll on a psyche. I think that his trials and tribulations in his short-lived NFL career threw him into a tail-spin.

I think I should not pile on.

In his defense, he had a friggin' gun for an arm. (And Swiss cheese for character. And oatmeal for a brain.)

ON DAVID LETTERMAN...

He had a deposed leader of the Maldive Islands. The dude was little and brown. He looked like a darker-colored leprechaun. But he spoke the truth! Global warming!

His (former) islands were/are in danger of "going under". The Sea. The motherfucking Sea.

Announcer's voice: "Perched off the southwestern coast of the Indian sub-continent, the Maldives are most definitely prone to swells in sea levels and tsunamis and the effects of global warming. If the clock could be set back fifty years, they could be all right. But! The clock cannot be set back. These people are going to have to find new places to live. Because the village they used to live in? It's gone baby gone, underwater, reduced to fish food."

No one listens. No one listens! No one gives a shit (if they're doing all right.).

Imagine how tough it is to move. To leave an abode in which you have lived for the last year, ten years, one hundred years. Memories and all that? Multiply it by Infinity. Imagine having to leave the USA because the rest of the (rich) world didn't give a shit about your (un)natuturally-occuring circumstances. How would you feel?

Morose, I'm sure.

***

I think it is like this. I think I can break this into three groups: One, dumbasses. They don't know or hear the Logic that is out there, every day. Another group is a collection of BigBirds. They know, but hide their heads in the sand. (Yes. Like ostriches.) The third group is a secret group--oh-so secret group--of multi-billionaires who hold the World's balls in their ever-more-grubby fingertips. CEOs, politicians, entrepreneurs...criminals....

***

And but so.

So the huuuuuge majority of people wake up, shower, go to their job. For what? Why continue in the rat-race when you *know* it's skewed? Self-preservation? Of course. A sense of purpose? Of course. Responsibility? Yes.

But when does the Rich .00001 Percent show a damned bit of responsibility? When?!

***

On to sweeter news: I think puppies and kittens are cute! I also think that rainbows come after tornados.

***

I also think this: I think it's a slanted game. I think that it ain't a level playing-field. I think that the Have's are gonna kick the asses of the Have-Not's (myself included).

***

I think, that even with alllllllllllllllllllllllllllll the evidence in place, honored, there are High People (Those That Shall Not Be Named) who will *disagree* with the evidence, the sureity, of global warming. They'll say, "No. Uh-uh. You're Wrong." Why would they do that?!

I'll call it the Fossil Fuel Probe. Petroleum industries, like natural gas and coal, have their exceedingly long fingers on the prostate of politicians. "You'll feel a leetle pressure. Nothing to worry about. You vote our way, we'll withdraw our foul-smelling appendage."

Does that work/of course.

***

Backtrack away from American po-po, I mean polygamy, I mean politics for a moment.

*What* about the people in the Maldives? Christ! For that matter, what about the indigent and the poor and the Less-Than's in the good ole U Ess of Aye?! Do we matter any more.

***

Do we matter any more.

***

This is funny. The banks got bailed out. Yes. The car companies got bailed out. Yes. How many people, with their house mortgage upside-down, with the Poverty Ghoul sizing them up...how many Americans with many mouths to feed and no food with which to feed...how many mentally-unstable people...how many of the lower Less-Than's got bailed out? Survey says! Not even *close* to enough.

The rich get richer. America is turning into a country in South America. There is an abyss between the Rich and the Super-Poor...and nothing in between. This is old news, right? People have been saying for twenty years that this dichotamy would rear its head. Wake up. It is here.

***

In better news...wait. I've got it.

***

In better news...people have learned how to bury their heads in sand. Just like large humanistic birds.

***

In better news...there *is* no better news. Here in Michigan we were subjected to highs in the 70s and record-highs in the mid-eighties. We were lucky. In mid-March there was a SWATH of tornadic activity that blew the guts out of the center of the country. We're talking E-4 tornadic activity. Lives were lost and towns were decimated. All around the world there are mudslides and earthquakes and volcanoes and tsunamis.... Did this *always* occur? Is it just the speed of the internet that brings news to all of us, lickty-split? Or? Is this a new Dominion. Is this a new world?

***

I don't WANNA sound like Chicken Little, but, c'mon. Open your fucking eyes!

***

I just have a very bad feeling about the direction of this city, of this state, of this country, of this continent, of this very WORLD. Things *may* work themselves out, but I am really not holding out too much Hope. Or my breath. I think that the dye has been cast, I think that the writing is on the wall. I think that a lot of politcos are backtracking, trying to assauge their constiuents, all in vain. Personally, I think that God's pissed at us--Humanity. I think...I, personally? I think it'll be Bedlam, Soon.

***

On to better thoughts. Here is one! I have been working in an admittedly low-strength job for the last few months. For the last month, I have been working with a fractured elbow. (I fell off of a porch.) In the early daze, the pain was immense. If anyone brushed my elbow, or bumped against it, the pain LEAPED through my arm to the neurons in the brain. I appeased with this: "Everyone who is on something has had some physical ailment that deterred them for a "minute". I had a broken arm? I'd adjust. It just seemed that it was in the "proper way". I went through a whole hell of a lot of pain. With urgings, I went to the doctor. She, an attractive Indian, took my blow-ups. Nuttin'. Nothing, right! But! "There could be a hairline fracture," she informed me. "There's that white line. But it seems like it is healing."

So? I went to a doctor to know what I already knew sans X-rays?! Blimey. (What is your point?)

Here is my point....

Fuck it. The computer has a mind of its own. I choose not italics. I choose my own showing of words when I want to. But! The computer seems to be fucked. What a fucking surprise.

Anyway, back to my point. The kid who was supposed to do the closing at the store came in to the store and said that his finger was jammed and he couldn't work. Bango-Bonzo! Wha? I am thinking to myself about the multitude of times that I had jammed my fingers, my thumbs, my ankles, my knees, during Sports. I know this kid is a high-on, but c'mon. Right from then, I wasn't "on his side". Then my crocodile bwane took o'er:

----With him out of the picture, I would make more money. I'd be the only driver. The GM of the store asked me if I could handle it. I hope I didn't, but I do believe I rolled my eyes. For a delivery driver, this place is a motherfucking morgue. I'd said, "Um, yeah. I'll do fine."----

***

The beleagured GM of a store that "does not" shrugged and said, to all effects, "Whadevoure".

***

This is another inkling of the Have's and the Have-Not's. Some high-on motherfucker, back in the day, created a sub-shop. (Good for him.) His intention, at start-up, I believe, was to create a high-quality sub. I think? In the beginning, he did. But, oh, then, he had some success. And then a little bit more. And then a WHOLE lot more. And, I believe, he got cocky. I think he got GREEDY. In fact, I know. I have seen hourly positions and I have seen salaried positions and there ain't a whole hell of a lot between them. The ridiculously-rich man grinds EVERYONE beneath his knuckles.

I've asked this a few times: How does the man sleep at night? (Call the BBB on his ass. He ain't working fair. Not by a long-shot.)

Do I retract my statements? Why. The. Fuck. Would. I?

***

I HAD FORGOTTEN.

I had simply forgotten how much fun--and how soul-soothing--writing can be. It is bliss. It is an extension of Self. For a "writer", without writing? They curdle. They shrink. Intellectually and physically, they die. They become a husk.

Long live the keyboard.

Long live the keyboard!

I have been reading over my my blogroll and I have to say that I have LOL'd more than thrice. I

find myself funny.

So. What?

It's a motherfucking start, at least. It is a motherfucking start. I'll dovetail this bullshit into a lucrative six-figure income, I'm sure.

I'm sure.

Put it this way: Some people are born to lead...and others are just there for statistics.

Here is a statistic: How many 39-year-olds work at sammich shoppes? Not too many. I am one of the .007%. Kudos for me.

Now, I am not trying to make this a sob-story. It just kinda happened on its own.

To all the kidz out there: NEVER DRINK! AN OUNCE! A BOTTLE! DRINK NOTHING!

Will that work? Hell no. But it is worth a shot. Learn from me. LEARN! from me! I know of what I speak.

***

Tears fall. A lot. Emotional tears, sure, but also physiological tears from holding the puke in. Why would I want to keep the puke where it should reside? Answer: Because it really really really is a pain in the ass to vomit. It takes too much time. Gotta kneel there, heavin' up...nothing and heave and heave and heave again. It is unwieldy.

In a perfect world there would be a Heave-A-Trom. Or a Puke-A-Trom. Then again....

Then again, in a perfect world, there'd be no Addiction or Famine or Drought or Misplaced Nature or Rape or Killing or Mental Illness or Government. Wouldn't that be perfect? Sure it would. Just up to the time when Humanity would fuck it up. Fuck up Perfection. Because you know it would happen.

Am I a pessimist? Yes. Am I also a realist? Yes. Humanity has had tens of thousands of years to "fix" things. Have they? Not a fucking bit. There is still a powder-keg in the Middle East, there is still famine in Africa and the good ole Ewe Es of Aye, there is still greed and corruption.... There are still psychopaths who call themselves "American Soldiers"....

***

Women? Children? In a village in Afghanistan? Murdered? By the man in the White Hat? No. The 15 or 20 women, men and children (CHILDREN) were shot to death by a deranged U.S. soldier. But?

Yes. Go ahead and say your piece.

No, um, I was just sayin', um, I thought we were the good guys?

Well.... No, we're not. In a lot of their minds, we're infidels. We drink, we smoke, we watch porn. We're just assholes.

Okay. So. What about that soldier who took it upon himself to kill as many "towelheads" as he could? Do you chalk it up to PTSD or do you chalk it up to tyrannacism or do you chalk it up to jingoism or do you chalk it up to the Hero Complex?

Hero?! Hero?!

No.

This jacked-up individual set the Process back five years. Maybe they didn't trust us; I wouldn't either. But this stupid crazy motherfucker took it upon himself to murder women and children in a non-combative sitcheeashon. First off? My heart is heavy for every villager who lives "over there". Second, I want this dude dead. I'm sorry. Capital punishment seems acceptable. It HAS to be done. It has to be done for a myriad of reasons. The guy's gotta go. I am truly sorry. To him, his family, the U.S. of A, and, most important, the survivors of the families he tore apart.

Good job, soldier.

Well done.

(Fucking jack-ass.)

***

In more soothing news, the weather is...krazee.

***

Trouble ahead. Trouble behind.

***

Casey Jones? I've just lost my motherfucking mind. Kapoot. Kapoot!

Kapoot.

***

Learn how to love and forget how to hate. (Thanks, Ozzie.) That is for the crazy soldier who fucked up multiple fam-damblies in the Middle East and also fucked the U.S.'s tattered Integrity. Thanks for that, soldier. The line is: "Next time you see a soldier, shake his or her hand." I agree with all of that. The next time I see him, though? Does a head-butt count as an accessory?

$

HI, MY NAME IS ADAM...

Life is life. Sometimes you get the good end of the sheep, other times you don't.

I could write a story. I could. I choose not to. There is this story about a sheep...you can fill in the rest. I am a sheep. I am also a wolf.

I'm an alkie.

And so on.

You think that you have the world by the balls, but it turns out that the World owns you.

I am not bitter. (Well, maybe a little bit.)

***

But, listen: I did it to myself. Consciously, subconsciously...what is the difference?

***

I had the World by its "short-hairs." I fell to the wayside.

That is not to say that I cannot come back. I can. I will. But...it's just kinda disheartening, sometimes.

***

Oh! Sure! Get yer ass to a meeting! Um...no. I have been to meetings and, let me tell you, they're always an uplifting occasion. Seriously. They just are. Now, while that would tell a whole hell of a lot of people to "sign on, sign in, let go, let God," I pretty-much refuse. Why? Because I am a stubborn baby. (And that is not the best way to be a 38-year-old man.) It gets old....

***

Do you know what else gets old? Trying to circumnavigate Addiction. There is absolutely no way around it. It'll getcha every time. You try--sometimes--to be "normal." Then? Then your Addiction rears its ugly motherfucking head. And you acquiesce. You give in. There are people out there who declare, "I am my body. I am my mind. I am my Soul. I give the grace of my Life to God and Jesus Christ!" And? They stop. Their little minds cannot get used to the fact that God (Yaweh) made us as we are. Every person. Every person.

***

That is why it boggles my mind, sometimes, when people act "out of line."

***

I am not trying to get a gold star on my forehead, but I will tell you this: With money in my pocket, with a slightly-skewed vision of the world, I was more than happy to give a person on the street a twenty-dollar bill. I had more; he or she had much much much less. Is that egotism? Perhaps. But you know what most of it was? Helping someone in trouble. Case closed. Because...you know? Helping someone helps your own Soul. It just does....

***

And we move on to...today. I am not asking for sympathy--I think I burned that to the ground a long long time ago. What I am asking for, though, is tolerance. When in the fuck did the human race lose capacity for tolerance? When? Where? I am faaaaaaar from perfect, but I believe in my gut, in my Soul, that everyone deserves a fair fucking handshake. (Sorry about the cussing--no, I'm not.) I just think that there are Have's and Have-Not's. (And it is getting worse.) Should I belly-ache about this? Oh! Oh, hell, yeah. [Shudder-shake.] Who am I? I just said a lot of stuff about the rich and the poor. Should I not tolerate the Rich? They are human beings, too. So! You caught me--in a hypocritical moment. Good for you!

***

And the moons shrivel; the Sun doth Shine.

***

And the leaves from the trees fall all glittery-goldilocks. Loch? No. "Locks." But? There is a monster, yes? Call it the Loch Ness Monster. Do it, if it makes you feel good. Whilst you're feeling good understand that we don't know it all. There absolutely could be a prehistoric organism living in Ness Lake. Absolutely. And who is anyone to "disqualify" a man who says that, on the full moon, he--uh--changes. Why not a werewolf? There is scientific evidence to the pro. So.

***

It is All Hallow's Eve. Halloween.

***

This is what I believe: I believe that peeps have their eyes closed. All the time. I believe that there is a--no, many--plane(s) of existence that we (unless we are a medium) are not privy to. I believe in ghosts. I believe in vampires. (But! You have got to take into consideration all the maladies that prey upon human beings. Werewolf might be a dude who is hirstute. A vamp may be a man [or a woman] who is hemophilatic.) You never know.

***

You never know.

***

What else do I believe in? Aliens. Why not? Who in their right mind thinks that we are the ONLY? Seriously.

***

This is all to say that sheep are the best option. All they'll do is "Baaaaaaaaaaaah."

***

SOME SONG

So, I heard this song. I've heard it before. Some the lyrics go like this: If I die young/ lay me down/ at the river/ cover me with roses/ never clearer.

I say this: If I die young, fuck the roses, just hustle me down to the river and dunk my fucking head. That should wake me up.

***

Have you ever drank/drunk so much water, so fast, that you thought your belly might burst?

Me, either.

***

Life is good, the house is looking great, my relationship with my girl is going swimmingly, my job is fantastict, I have lost some weight, and the skies are not cloudy all day!

There is also this bridge in Brooklyn....

***

And so it goes (KV)....

***

Do you remember that Uncle Remus story about the "tar-baby"?

Me, either

***

If you bring up the subject of Jesus Christ and the Lord to some people, sometimes, you feel like you have a bulls-eye on your forehead.

Other times? It is as cool as a cucumber.

***

And so it goes.

***

Have you ever felt the urge to take a coach's whistle and sneak up behind people on a busy street and shrilllllllllllllllllllll as loud as you could?

Me, too.

***

I broke my compter chair today. The left arm of it had been loosey-goosey for a while. Today? When I tried to shift my (over)weight?

The thing broke clean off.

***

And so but we adjust.

***

Here is a newsflash: Hospitals suck (ass).

In them, you often feel like a prisoner.

***

End of story.

***

Back in the '80s and '90s, there was a brand of clothes called, shockingly enough, B.U.M. Athletics. Who would want to wear that?!

Who'd want to be a bum?!

***

NINE-ELEVEN--TEN YEARS LATER...

I remember where I was. Who doesn't? I was reading the numbers of gas meters in Bloomfield, Michigan. It was a meter that was inside, in the basement, and, as I climbed back into the hallway, I remember a young woman walking past me, in her hands a portable radio. "They're attacking us," she chirped. "We're downing all the planes, now."

I looked at her and went on my way.

Later, when I was in my car, the normal morning show was uncharacteristically bleak. We, the United States of Apathy, had been attacked. And, unfortunately, it had been a resounding success. The Twin Towers had fallen and there'd been an attack thwarted that led to a commercial jet-liner nose-diving into a Pennsylvania crop field.

More than 3000 people had been killed.

More than three thousand people. Murdered.

For no reason other than fanaticism.

As time went on--I watched the planes slam into the Towers every chance I got--it became apparent that some Islamic people hated the United States so very much that they would kill themselves to further the Jihad.

(A day after the attacks, a Muslim man in New York was beaten to death for the simple reason that he was a Muslim.)

And so it goes.

***

We had a cowboy for a President, ten years ago. He had won his post by cheating. He told the American people that if they (fill in the blank) and (fill in the blank) all would be fine; if the people did not (fill in the blank) then the terrorists would win. I am trying my hardest not to belittle the Cowboy, but it is tough.

Ten days after the attacks, the United States of America invaded Iraq, a Middle-Eastern country that was led by a tyrannical despot. It had been ascertained, through intelligence, that he had capabilities for "mass destruction." (These vehicles later became known as WMDs.)

We didn't find any. Whoops.

And so it goes.

***

Tomorrow, September 11, 2011, is the remembrance of....

***

There are terror alerts in New York and also Washington, DC. Citizens are told to go about there daily lives, pretend that nothing is amiss. Please let me tell you: Everything is amiss. We, as a nation, are a cunt-hair's width from mass destruction. That is not a wide margin.

Every day, I read a newspaper blurb that reports Thousands die in Iraq: Suicide bomber kills himself and thousands and Peace talks between Israel and Jordan stall and The new bomber: woman. Every time I read those stories, I think to myself, well, why not here? How tough would it be to strap explosives around yourself and go to a mall or a baseball game or a fireworks show and blow your ass up? Simply-said: It'd be simple.

***

I don't mourn, anymore, for the thousands who were killed. They were innocent. I still believe that. Innocent in a couple of ways (as was I): First, they assumed America was unassailable. Second, they had their heads buried in their asses, oblivious to world news and immanent threats.

We, as a nation, got a rude awakening.

***

All that said, I want to kill fanatic Muslims. I may chop their heads off and post it on the internet, a la Daniel the Reporter. I would waterboard their asses till they told me some intelligence, bogus or not. I'd shoot 'em in the kneecaps and then the stomach and urinate upon them as they lay writhing to death in their own piss and shit and blood. And I would have a clear conscience.

***

I was raised to love all people. I have that instilled in me. I also grew up and learned that hate is not always such a bad thing. If my family members had died, I would be even more of a nutcase. And, but, seriously, though? Isn't that the be-all end-all: Love one another. I try. But sometimes it is tough.

***

So...here is the "anniversary." Not a lot has changed. After a brief brief brief period of bi-partisanship, we're back to the same ole Washington. After a brief period of "all for one and one for all", we remain, as a nation, considerably divisive. What'd we learn? Nothing, I reckon.

***

Except for this: We learned that peeps want us all dead...cuz we're infidels.

***

To which I say, "Bullshit. I'm not an infidel. Getcho facts straight, motherfuckers."

***

Tomorrow is 9/11/2011. Ten long incongruous years. Fuck. We're screwed. I want to end this with a simple 5-7-5:

the Towers did fall

much confusion abounded

we learned about Death

BRING ON THE NF-MOTHERFUCKING-L

It's football time, again. I had a draft last night with co-workers and, while I may have made a couple of bone-headed picks, I am thinking that my team has a chance to do well this year. A lot of the responsibility rests on the strong shoulders of Adrian Peterson. As his backfield-mate, I selected Matt Forte. I'm a little concerned about M. Martz's pass-happy offense, but I think Forte'll still put up some good numbers. I got the stud receiver L. Fitzgerald out of 'Zona--I just pray that Kolb will know to pass to one of the best catchers in the league. You throw it anywhere near Fitz and he'll snag it. I also got B. Lloyd--he's a question mark. You want a bigger question mark? I drafted Plaxico Burress, fresh outta the clink. I think this: He has something to prove, to both fans and himself. I think he'll turn into Sanchez's number-one option in Jay-Ee-Tee-Ess-land.

But who cares, right? Well, obviously, I, for one, give two shits. I love football, the NFL in particular. I. Can't. Wait.

I picked up the Philadelphia Eagles defense/special teams. First, I think they're gonna terrorize the league. (But maybe I'm buying into the off-seaon hype? Perhaps.) I know this, though: They have DeSean Jackson returning kickoffs and punts--he's always got a chance to break one for a touchdown. So. I'm covered.

I called my team the Galloping Ghosts, an allusion to Red Grange, one of the the best--if not the best--collegiate football players in the history of the game. He was nicknamed the Galloping Ghost. I really don't know that I have ever heard a better sports moniker. Oh, he was a beast. Google him, if you want to. Even a non-sports fan can recognize that the dude was head and shoulders above everyone else. I kinda fricked around with a picture of him: It's in the upper-right corner; I added some color to it. That's my logo. (I'm proud of it.)

Anyway. Bring on the football! I can't wait!

YA WIN SOME AND YA LOSE SOME

This is the picture of a camera carcass. I have given up with this one. It is a Nikon Coolpix s6000 and it is--and pretty much always has been--a piece of shit. The price wouldn't tell a person that. I bought it for about three-and-a-half bills about two years ago, but the results I have had with it render it pretty much the brown organic stuff civilized persons flush down a toilet.

It belongs in the toilet.

I'll keep it in the desk drawer just to remind myself never never to buy a Nikon point-and-shoot ever again. (And, also, maybe I'll be able to export the pictures from its memory card, many of which are from the Kid Rock Concert in Detroit. Another thing the Nikon Corporation took away from me.)

I have a thing about technology: I want it to fucking work. With this particular piece of machinery, I have had nothing but problems. Listen: Three-and-a-half hundred dollars is not a gold mine. I know this. But, damn it, it was hard-earned money, and the least, the absolute least, my purchase could do is give me at least a year (maybe two years) of harmony. The Nikon Coolpix s6000 didn't. Did. Not. In fact, damn-near out of the box, it gave me problems. Our marriage has been oh-so-much-less-than harmonious. Its latest malady is a ubiquitous "lens error" message, a situation in which I press the power button, through the view the picture is nothing but BLUR and then the lens closes its eye, goes to sleep, says fuggit. Um. No. No fuggit. Work.

But it simply refuses and I have had it far longer than the warranty (that I probably never purchased, anyway) and the receipt is long-lost and its idiosyncrasies have forced me to turn my back on Nikon and its products for the length of my God-given life. I spurn Nikon. And that gives me great pleasure.

It'll reside in the computer desk's center drawer, now. Now and forever.

You know the funny thing? The image of the camera in the drawer was taken by my Canon PowerShot SD630, a four-year-old camera, a relic, a camera that spent a year of its life in the side door compartment of my mother's PT Cruiser. It stayed there for damn-near a full year, through 105-degree-greenhouse-summer temperatures and the biting freeze of a Michigan winter. Does it complain? Does it go to sleep on me? Does it give me nothing less than its best effort? No, no and no. It works. End of story.

***

But, of course, it's not the end. Is it ever really the end, with me? No. I like to type. I like to spew keyboard diarrhea. I'm loopy, that way. Does price matter? I believe in my bones that, most times, yes, you get what you pay for. I spent three bills on the Canon about two years before I lost it and purchased the Nikon. It has been steadfast in its reliability. The Nikon boasted great zooms and stellar HD videos. Tell you what: Take the HD videos and zooooom them up your ass. I'm a Canon-man from now on.

The devil's advocate may whisper: "Hey, man, maybe you got a lemon." And maybe I did. If that is the case, it sucks for the Nikon Corporation, because I am a lost consumer. I think that is just the way it works. People become loyal to products that work for them. The ones that don't? Well, consumers turn the other cheek to them. (And I'm not speaking biblically.)

This is not supposed to be a manifesto, but maybe it turned into a mini-manifesto. In my gut, I don't feel bad that I excoriated the Nikon Corporation. I am angry. I feel that I just gave my money to them and they wiped their collective ass with it.

Shout it loud and proud from the rooftops! Shout it! Nikon sucks! Nikon sucks! Nikon suc--

And Canon should be hereforerafter-known as Old Reliable.

(In my estimation.)


(And I am only one little ole blogger...but, damn! It feels good to write again! [Even if most of it was a vitriolic rant against a highly-successful electronics company.])

(Parenthetically? Good night, godspeed and God bless.)

By the way...I'm thinking about buying a DSLR camera sometime soon. Guess what? It ain't gonna be a Nikon.

WORKING TITLE

***

"Slap me."

"No."

"Slap me!"

"No!"

***

laziness precedes the fade

so-be-it attitudes rear

their Dragon-Heads

throughout life, we all humans realize these emotions:

love

trust

pleasure

addiction

pain

betrayal

forgiveness

resignation/resolution

their fucking Dragon-Heads.

there be many again there before me

who'd lived his life as though he's free

but then in the end, he had realized his gaffe

that all that all Life is is a big ole Laugh

***

I smoke too much. I have been known to drink too much. I don't eat the most healthful foodstuffs. I possess, however, a great big ole heart. I care. I empathize. I'm no fucking saint, for sure. But I get down-and-outedness. "There but for the grace of God, go I."

Whistle past the graveyard, if'n it pleases ya.

***

It was windy in the graveyard. Every breath and gust of wind brought the smell of decay.

***

Decay. Sure, bodies decay. But, too, emotions and relationships decay.

***

The dreaded red pencil plays a part in a majority of Life. I always wonder--and do believe--that the red pencil comes equipped with an eraser.

THE TITALODGE.

Once upon a time, there was Peace.

There were good times and randily-drunk brews.

There was...Nothing.

The Nothing has returned.

There was a "goodboy" and there was Silence.

The Nothing has returned.

[cue V. Price, cackling]

Have you ever heard the phrase, "Between a rock and a hard place"?

Me either.

I'd like to be a rock, but I am just a frail human man, warts and all.

There *is* no game. Everything is as serious as a heart attack.

I have Faih, but my Faith is splintered.

I love God and I know he loves me...for whatever reason.

[If the sheriff tells you to jump, you jump; he holds the cards.]

Then again, if God looks at me, he'll see my good. Do ya know?

Have you ever heard of the "tortured artist"?

***

My gun snucked him clearly in his left temple. It--the gun--is a .45, a big gun. He died. His name was James Oliver. The left side of his skull was dented, in a way. Someone else did it to him. I'd not had the power.

***

Someone had stolen my gun.

***

My gun? The death weapon? It'd been stolen.

***

thru feudal fielded flecks we froom.... anger is at no premium; i hate it; it sucks. there is a jank-o-lantern. see it Fire! i rest. thru feudal frocks...we hide.

***

I asked him straight-out: you take my gun?

***

"Who died?"

I said, "Jummy? James Oliver? He died."

"Jummy was a piece of shit." Allen stretched out his six-six frame. He lit a Pall Mall. He cleared his throat. He made it known, non-verbally, that he has no idea of Jummy's demise. Al sent mucus flying.

"Al," said I, "I do believe you're full of shit. The party was done. man! Only you knew where my gun was!"