Nonsense Island

The purple footed hills of the Island of Cattygoina are filled with all types of vicious flesh eating plants. They prey on the be-speckled Boobyfish and the Rockbugs with an uncanny bloodlust. Take the violent Kernid plant. Its roots contain a poison so potent that one poke from one of its many spines would begin to melt the very flesh from your bone.  It then slurps up the gooey puddle of flesh with a long fibrous snout.  The Conandum Dogs know better than to prowl any of the grounds near the Kernid plants.

Closer to the beach areas even more wicked and horrifying sites wait to swallow you whole and spit your bones out in to the sea. Under the edge of the sand, where the grasslands meet the beach, lies the Vapor Frog. It emits a dense fog while stalking its prey, much like a broken gas main, in order to confuse and cause it to pass out. Once subdued, the Vapor Frog, which measures two and a half feet across, lashes out with a prickly tongue and pulls the disoriented prey into a mouth filled with rows of jagged, shark-like teeth.  

The Squealbirds that keep their three eyes constantly on the rocky shoals they inhabit are also quite dangerous. They are not great flyers but they are great at quick bursts of speed toward their prey. They use their bodies like lawn darts and hoist themselves skyward and then drop sharply and impale their scalpel like beaks into the bodies of their intended dinner.  They wear their prey around them similar to a life preserver for weeks as they slowly excrete an acid that dissolves the food and then is absorbed through the skin.

There are larger animals on Cattygoina Island but they appear to be the more docile of the creatures there. The trees further inland are filled with the Burry-Burry Squirrelcats. They seem to subsist on a diet of Rockbugs and the various sticky fruits that dangle from the Coocoonabei bushes. The bushes can grow up to seventy feet tall, and the sticky fruit can weight eight to ten pounds each. The Burry-Burry Squirrelcats can dangle from the branches of the Coocoonabei bushes over the fruit and gorge themselves on the sweet nectar inside. However, like most of the plants on the island, if you eat too much of the sticky fruit’s center, or pit, you can become violently ill. There are many Burry-Burry Squirrelcats that had to learn that lesson the hard way after their stomachs distend and explode onto the forest floor below.

As previously mentioned, the other large animals on the Island are the Conandum Dogs. They are similar in size to a Great Dane but share more features with a zebra or other equine. They travel in large herds and roam the grasslands in search of the sweet Cano Grass that grows wild on most of the island’s plains. They have long horse-like faces except for two large tusks that curl in front. They use them to forage and likely during their mating.

The largest animal on Cattygoina is the Dokodragon. It is a constant hunter of the Conandum dogs, but its numbers are very few. It is about the size of a Grizzly Bear but more closely resembles an iguana. It’s has reddish skin to camouflage itself in the tall Argo lilies and huge nostrils, in fact, they are larger than its eyes. Which don’t seem to be much use to the creature at all. The Dockodragon has feelers on its two front feet that scan the ground like a snake’s tongue as it stalks its prey.

We are lucky to have this information about Cattygoina Island. The only researcher ever to step foot on it was Dr. Richard McCallum. He was the only one brave enough to attempt to observe firsthand the incredible life on this ever mysterious island. He was able to transmit his field notes to the Institute for Higher Studies before his death from a sting in the chest from the Kernid root. The last words in his journal were, “I consider myself very lucky to have been able to bear witness to the amazing… Ooooh screw that, this island sucks, come rescue me, ahhhh it burns”.

We all honor Dr. McCallum’s memory and sacrifice for science. 

La Torche

This morning I saw a security guard near the Board of Trade staring up at the tops of buildings. His hands were fiddling with a piece of paper as he looked skyward. There seemed to be longing in his face. Something that said, “I’m dreaming of something far better than this security gig. I’ve got plans”.  I was tempted to look up myself, but was too focused on just getting to cursed work on time.

By the time I got to my cubicle I was already inundated with mindless work and endless monotonous tasks I had almost forgotten about this guy staring hopefully at the sky. I suddenly found myself hating him; which is unusual because I don’t even know him. I was jealous of his skyward hopeful face. There was something in me that wanted to grab him and say, “This is where you are! This is what you’re doing! Wake up!”

I feel terrible for it. I shouldn’t feel that way at all. It was an awful feeling; especially with the Olympics going on right now. And that made me feel even worse. There’s so many young people that dedicated their lives to pursuing excellence in some sport, be it Table Tennis, dressage, or hurling large objects across a field. Someone in their lives told them they could do it and gave them the tools to make their dreams come true. A coach, a parent, an uncle, someone told them it was possible and pushed them to excel.

And here I was imagining myself telling a humble, slightly portly security guard that he couldn’t look skyward with awe and perhaps imagine himself on the parallel bars, winning Gold. It was a horrible feeling and has put me in a very foul mood as I sit here in my ugly cubicle. It made me wonder where I faltered in my pursuits. It made me wonder when practicality got in the way of the achievement of a dream or goal. When did I accept my fate as a worker drone in an ugly cubicle performing mindless tasks for a soulless bitch corporation?

Why didn’t anyone hand me a torch and say, “Go”? I know I received the greatest encouragement from my family, my mother; I’m not criticizing the support they gave me.  I love them for what they tried to encourage me to do. I just wish I knew that moment when I gave up. When the accumulation of money to buy food and beer became the motivating factor in this meagerly survivable life I have built myself. How did I lose sight of the lighting of my own Olympic torch and wind up in this damnable cube, typing away about things I do not care about?

It’s a mild self loathing brought about by the realization that I hated someone else’s dreams. Even worse, I don’t even know what that chubby security guard was actually thinking about; I was merely projecting my own insecurities and thoughts into his fat brain. Which is just as damnable as this cubicle.

I’ll finish my mindless tasks and then continue my search for something better. Something to smile about as I look skyward.

   

Late... again

The first blog I ever wrote here was about my inability to hear my alarm clock and wake up in the morning. You'll be pleased to know that nothing has changed. I have been working on my internal alarm clock, repeating to myself as I start falling asleep, "6:48 am, 6:48, am", but that doesn't seem to work either. I almost immediately diffuse it by mumbling, "I'm an artist.". And then falling asleep.

I know I'm really a Joe Punch Clock, but I'd rather believe otherwise.

I was late and have a lot of catching up to do.

Maniac

Larry hung his chainsaw up on the wall of the shed and wiped the blood and hair from the chain. He chuckled to himself remembering the faces of those teenage campers as he drove the saw blade deep into their bodies. After all these years of slaughtering drunken or high sex crazed teenagers the thrill was still there. He was doing God’s work after all so why shouldn’t there be some pride in it.

 It wasn’t always the vicious slaughtering of teenagers that got Larry excited. He was once a used car salesman; which to some doesn’t sound like much of a step up from completely insane serial killer. But he did enjoy selling cars to people. He felt like he was helping them, even if he had to turn a blind eye to all the injustices in the world. He just happened to be in the right place at the right time when God spoke to him and told him to purify the wicked with blood.

He was driving a pretty beat up pick-up he’d borrowed from the used car lot so he could get to his nieces birthday party when it happened. The pick-up truck just lost power in the middle of the woods and just wouldn’t start. This was just too much for Larry. All the things in his life always seemed to go this way. A car stalling. A missed train. A girl rejecting him. The rent going up. His paycheck too small. His ceiling leaking. His parents rejecting him and moving out to be Amish. His sexually abusive priest. The crime. The guns. The stabbings. The rapes. The wars. The bickering politicians. The world.

Larry snapped. He left that pick-up on that two land road and just walked into the woods. It was then that the light came to him. The blinding light of the heavenly Father who commanded Larry to take up the sword of St. Michael the Archangel and become his wrath on Earth to begin the great purification.

He was initially a little resistant. He wasn’t sure why God commanded him to only purify half naked post coital teens at their summer camp but he did not question his holy charge. So he began. So far it was going pretty well. He’d only been shot three times, electrocuted, set on fire, stabbed, run over and drowned and still the Lord kept him moving on his quest.

Larry closed his shed and headed up toward the cottage he’d found and had been slowly restoring. It was a true labor of love and since he knew he couldn’t ever go into town he had managed to do a pretty fair job using the materials available in the woods and from the summer camp. He was just about to settle down into the armchair he’d made from the bones of two teens he’d caught smoking grass when he heard a familiar sound.

“Come in the water Johnny”, giggled a woman from the river.

“Oh my god Sarah, you’re naked”, said an excited male voice.

Larry sighed. His work was never done.

Distracted

There’s a thought I

was looking to

complete but I just

ran out of….

It was something about

beauty,

or grace,

or maybe something

something…

There’s other things

on my mind

keeping me from

focusing on the

something…

It was,

She was,

I was,

We were,

It was…

It’s a good distraction.

A pleasant diversion

from the hum-drum

beating I take every

something…

I was saying?

Something?

Oh, my thought, I

can’t seem to complete

it something…

Storm Cloud

Aaron woke up in his dark bedroom to the sounds of water pinging and clanging on the exposed portion of his window unit air conditioner. Thunder rumbled in the distance and bolts of lightning flickered through clouds, briefly illuminating the bedroom. He tried to check the time on the alarm clock but its face was black. Aaron guessed the storm had knocked the power out which meant he would have to get up and check his cell phone for the time.

Aaron leaned up on his arms and looked over at Eve lying next to him. He could only make out her ever expanding figure as a deep breathing, slightly snoring, silhouette. He sat up with a minor groan and then chuckled at himself for being mean to Eve about her weight. Aaron hadn’t exactly kept himself like Adonis in their 24 years of marriage. He thought about waking her up, maybe fooling around a little. He still loved her very much. He considered that it might be time for both of them to start getting a little more active and maybe eating a little better. Lighting flickered across the walls of the bedroom and Aaron started counting the seconds as he was taught. The thunder finally rumbled when Aaron got to thirteen one thousand.

He stood up from the bed, looked back at Eve, and smiled a little as he was sure she just farted a little. She only farted in her sleep. He slipped his slippers on and started toward the hallway and downstairs.  Aaron had forgotten how hard the hall was to navigate when all the power was out. Usually a street light outside kept the hallway lit enough that you could see well enough to make it to the bathroom with running into that damn end table. Which Aaron promptly walked into just as he was thinking about it. He muffled his cursing and reached down to his big toe. He was just glad he was wearing his slippers or he could have lost the toenail.

After working his way around the damn end table, which was a gift from Eve’s long dead Aunt, he found the top of the stairs and carefully made his way down holding the banister, still being mindful of the light throbbing in his left grand toe. He wondered how humans ever became bi-pedal walkers with the threat of stubbed toes so ever present in their early world.

He made it to the bottom of the stairs and squinted through the darkness trying to see the clock on the fireplace mantle. The darkness was impossible to penetrate. Aaron reached out with his hands in front of him, trying to find the corner of the living room wall so he could feel his way to the dining room table where his cell phone was plugged in. Eve and he had developed a talent for piling things on the dining room table. There were bills and papers and books and more clippings and a laptop and Eve’s sewing kit. Aaron had asked her to please put the sewing kit away two years ago but she just never got around to it and Aaron just sort of stopped seeing it was there.  He couldn’t remember why she took it out in the first place.

Aaron found the dining room table without smashing his toes into anything again. He found his cell phone, just because he always put it in the same spot without exception, and he hit the little button on the top; 3:47 AM, it read.

That didn’t seem too bad to Aaron. He might actually be able to get back into bed and sleep for another two hours. He turned the cell phone toward the room so its bright screen could illuminate his path back upstairs when he heard something clang in the basement.

Aaron was not a fool. He knew better than to go investigate that noise in the pitch blackness of the basement during a serious thunderstorm. Plus he was afraid it was a monster. It was always a monster lying in wait in the murky darkness or some kind of flame engulfed hell beast ready to drag his soul to hell for that time he accidentally kissed Sherry at the company Christmas party 18 years ago while Eve was in the other room.  Aaron wasn’t going to fall for it. If anything, he’d check it out in the morning, in the daylight, when the evil spirits of the night couldn’t get him.

He pointed the cell phone toward the stairs and made his way back up toward the bedroom. He avoided the damn end table with ease. He walked into the bedroom and sat on the bed, kicking off his slippers. He set the alarm on the cell phone and placed it on his nightstand and laid back down into bed.

“Everything alright”, sleepily mumbled Eve.

“Everything is fine. Go back to sleep sweetheart”, said Aaron.

He nuzzled the back of her head and she patted his leg and they both quickly returned to sleep while the storm raged outside.

When in Rome

This morning was exceedingly difficult to get motivated to come to work. I had Friday off and then a pretty swell weekend so Monday morning seemed like the most horrifying, death inducing, and hell drenched experience of all time. That and I kept having terrible dreams about the Zombie Apocalypse which kept me from getting a good night’s sleep. I can see how being a worker drone, shuffling mindlessly about the streets could make me think about zombies, and the toils and troubles of the day to day skullduggery.

With that sort of thinking running through my head this morning it was no wonder I noticed certain things this morning. The first thing was a woman drinking her coffee from a big cup capped with a big white lid. The woman had been sipping and sipping her coffee for so long that a huge red lipstick ring had formed around the mouth of the lid. I watched her take drink after drink and I couldn’t help but think, “Ick. That woman must be dead inside if she is just mindlessly sipping this lipstick flavored coffee”. It looked as if she had been drinking pig’s blood for her breakfast snack.   

The next thing was the kid sitting next to me eating an apple. It seemed so strange to me that someone would be chowing down on an apple on the train. It wasn’t cut up into slices, he was just eating it, bite after bite, “chomp, chomp, chomp”. It was disturbing. I kept thinking about his sticky hands, touching everything. I could imagine him biting into the lady’s skull in front of me and hearing that same, “Chomp, chomp, chomp”, sound. I couldn’t wait for him to get up.

It wasn’t till I hit the sidewalks that the real horror show began. I continue to blame the slow walkers for most of the congestion Downtown. They really do just shuffle like the living dead and seem not to be aware of anything around them. I swear I heard one on a cell phone, “Brains, ba-brains brains? Braiiins, ba-ba-brains”.

So I was rather surprised when my mind shifted gears once I walked past the statute of the god, Ceres, on Jackson. I found myself thinking about Ancient Rome. I started thinking about the congestion on the streets of Rome on a day like today. I imagined everyone in togas or in similar ancient world garb, all shuffling along to get to their respective businesses or do their shopping. It made me remember that this day to day rat race we call a life has been going on for thousands of years.

It wasn’t that I was afraid of Zombies or that I was bothered by the mendacity of a steady job. It was the trap of history I was in. It was that I’m so much a part of the history of the world just by doing what I have to do every day. It made me want to stop, turn around, go home, get in my car and never come back. But then I thought, history is also replete with idiots who did that too and rarely does history even remember them, unless they were pals with a conqueror like Alexander the Great.  

Life is too short and I should make a more concerted effort to live one I can be happy and proud of. I’ll have time for the daily grind once I am a Zombie in Rome. 

Thirsty

Henry woke with a powerful thirst burning in his throat. It felt like he had been crawling through the desert in his dreams. He tried to clear his throat but he nearly choked on the sudden rush of saliva that filled his mouth. He smacked his lips and tried again to relieve the dryness in his throat.

He got out of bed, still working on his dryness as he gathered his things for the morning ritual; underwear from the top drawer, tee-shirt from the middle dresser drawer and then back to socks in the top drawer. Henry gathered these items and laid them out on the bed. He cleared his throat again but there was still a serious scratchiness he couldn’t get rid of.

He went to the bathroom and turned the handle for the hot water in the shower. He just needed to gargle with some water and soak up a lot of it. He didn’t think he was that dehydrated. He’d only had three beers last night with some of the boys. It took Henry a second to realize that the water had not come out of the spigot.  He cleared his throat again and it seemed like he’d just been eating crackers and sand.  He reached down and tried the hot water handle again and got nothing. He turned it off and tried the cold water handle and a burp of air escaped but no water.

Henry turned to the bathroom sink and tried both the hot and cold water. There was another rumble of escaping trapped air, but no water. Henry cursed but the sound of his voice was reminiscent of his pubescent voice cracking. Henry went to his kitchen and tried the water at that sink. He flipped up the handle and a deep farting noise came from somewhere in the water pipes and then nothing. Henry flipped the handle up and down several times but nothing worked. There was no water.

Henry’s throat was burning now. The saliva he’d built up just wasn’t working. It felt like he had been chewing on glass through the night. Henry went to his refrigerator and checked inside. All he had on the shelves was ketchup, mustard, garlic pickles, a half eaten brownie from two weeks ago and an empty milk container. The water purifier had stopped working ages ago and he never thought to replace it.

Henry closed the fridge door and went back to the sink. He tried the handle again but nothing came out. His throat was feeling closed and he started to have a little trouble breathing. His breaths were mere whistles and rattles. He felt himself starting to panic a little and that only made things worse. He tried to swallow again and this time there was a serious searing pain scraping and dragging all the way down his throat. It felt like a like a small space ship was using a claw on Henry’s esophagus to moor itself to the barren and hostile landscape.

Henry thought he should maybe check the television, perhaps there was some sort of water crisis or emergency. He went to the living room and turned the TV on. Static and color bars and more static flickered across the various channels. Now he was deeply concerned. Henry’s throat was on fire now and he felt desperate for water, for any liquid.  

He went to the window and pulled up the blinds. Ferocious light filled the room and an intense heat blasted Henry. He tried to shield his face but his arm started smoldering in the intense illumination. He took a quick glance at the outside world smothered in white hot flames. He tried to swallow but all his spit was gone. There was a flash and Henry’s wall disappeared along with Henry and the contents of his front room. 

For Sonya,

The applause in the trees

as they rustle in the breeze.

The pain in the rain as it

falls, dampening the walls.

The troubles in the bubbles

blown by summer girls in curls.  

The fun in the sun

browning beach sands and lands.

The heat of the street

cooking sandal clad feet.

The time to make it rhyme

so Sonya won’t drown me

in ammonia or send me to

Macedonia.

She’ll snicker,

She’ll snort,

She’ll sip her liquor,

and contort.

Perhaps she'll be sated

and I won’t be weighted

with

this

poem.

There.

In A Word

As

simple

as

that

sounds

there’s

just

no

way

a

single

word

can

express

what

I

think

I

feel.

It’s

never

that

easy.

Unless

that

word

is

Damnitcrapshootpiss.

Two more stops

Howard rode the train this morning blankly staring out the window, not even watching the world flash by. He was an empty vessel. He was a shell of a man. You could have probably cracked his husk with a stick and he’d shatter into hundreds of amber shards. He just wasn’t home. Things had been getting strange.

It wasn’t an out of body experience, as he was still aware of being in his body. He was just in his mind. He was in there, opening old doors and drawers, blowing dust off the great tomes that contain the details of his life. He was perhaps, in a great retrospective warehouse, very similar to the one in Indiana Jones. He felt like he had to be there at that moment, like something was going to happen and he needed to be in the bunker of his mind. He just needed to make sure the things that made him his were still there. 

He remembered seeing the people and things around him but felt somehow abstract from them. That he wasn’t really part of the world they all were participating. He didn’t hate them, or love them, or feel anything for them really. But he was aware they were there. His eyes were dry as he sat unblinking. He felt as if he was seeing through the curtain or backstage at the show that is life. The people who were so real a moment ago now seemed to fade away; or at least their bodies did. All that was left were hovering red glowing souls.

There was a purple hued pulse of electricity swirling and sparking through the air. It reminded Howard of plasma, or maybe the lightening that shot from The Emperor’s fingertips in Star Wars. There was a heartbeat somewhere. The walls of the train were neon green and the floor was like water flickering in the sunlight. Fantastic explosions of light burst in the windows and the train, or what used to be the train, seemed to be moving at an incredible speed. 

Howard wanted to move but couldn’t seem to find the will to stop this transcendent experience of riding the train. Maybe the rhythmic beat of the steel train wheels over the tracks had somehow hypnotized him and he was now trapped in his mind or maybe transported him to a new dimension. He started to feel afraid. He felt the eyes, or rather the eyeless holes, of the other commuters on him. He could feel their stares. He just wanted to move. He wanted to move out of his mind and get back to the real world.

The train came to a hard sudden high speed stop and the doors opened. A new commuter boarded the train wearing headphone, that weren’t actually doing much to deaden the music coming from them. Howard was snapped back into the real world, he felt his body relax as the music blared in the head of the guy now sitting next to him. Howard was able to turn his head and look at the young man, this human stereo. Howard felt himself breathing again and could hear the coughing, sniffling, breathing crowds around him. The glowing was gone. The people were people, the train was the train.

Howard blinked to moisten his eyes, moved his arms and readjusted his legs. Two more stops to go and he could get off the train, maybe never ride it again.

The 13th day

Clark strolled into work like the summer sunrise. He was buoyant and glowing and filled with good morning cheer. There didn’t seem like there was anything that could slow down his easy going gait and song laden heart.

“Good morning”, he smiled at the receptionist.

“Good morning”, he waved at the mail room kid.

“Good morning”, he winked at his cubicle friends.

Even while having to make more coffee he was bubbly and effervescent. He was like a glass of water with an Alka-Seltzer dropped in it. Churning and popping with good cheer.

With fresh made coffee in his hand he returned to his cubicle now ready to make the most of his glorious day. First thing he had to do was phone his wife and wish her a marvelous good morning. Clark had missed his usual good morning with her due to an early morning meeting she had to attend at her work. He didn’t wake up until she was gone. So he was eager to wish her the best on this fine day.

He smiled again at his co-workers, specifically complimented the smart shoes his nearest cubicle neighbor, Maggie,  was wearing and then dialed his wife’s number. Her phone rang. And rang. Clark smiled as patiently as a daisy waiting for rain. The phone continued to ring. And ring. Julie’s voicemail came on. Clark smiled at the sound of his wife’s voice. Sweet Julie at the Beaver Creek Souvenir store. Clark had come into her store for directions and ended up with a wife. He’d always marveled at that.

Julie wasn’t perfect. She’d never had a boyfriend and was nearly a shut in, but her dimpled face and long stingy brown hair was too impossible for Clark to resist. Since they’d been married she’d only gotten better looking, in fact, he was quite sure she was down at least two sizes.

“Darling, it’s Clark. I didn’t get a chance to wish you a good morning”, he said, “I love you very much and I can’t wait to see you tonight”.

Clark hung up the phone and looked over at his co-worker Maggie.

“I didn’t get a chance to speak to her this morning”, he said.

Maggie nodded and looked at the photo pinned to Clark’s cubicle wall of him and his whale of a wife. It was nearly cartoonish. A thin, balding 40ish man being nearly swallowed by a 20 something with big blue eyes and an even a bigger face.

“That’s nice”, said Maggie.

Clark turned his attention to his computer and started his work; sipping on his hot coffee he had a strange flash of memory. While picking out a tie, which he still wore every day even though the office was business casual, he noticed Julie’s suitcase had been moved. At the time he didn’t think anything of it, but now it seemed he couldn’t remember seeing it anywhere else.  He picked up his phone and called Julie again. Her voicemail came on again.

“Hi Julie, my darling. I just was wondering where your suitcase was. I didn’t see it in the closet and I know it’s actually your mother’s suitcase so I just wanted to be sure that you knew it wasn’t in its usual place in the closet. So… if you think of it… let’s just make sure we get that back. Or is your mother going on a trip? Anyway, I love you snookums and I will talk to you later”, he said.

Clark hung up the phone and looked over at Maggie. She had turned her back to him and was looking intently at her computer screen. Clark thought to maybe explain why he called Julie again but then thought better of it because it was clear Maggie didn’t really want to know.

But maybe she did want to know and was only pretending not to want to know.

“My wife must have moved her suitcase. It was weird because she never moves it”, said Clark out loud.

“What”, absently asked Maggie, instantly regretting it.

“I was just saying my wife must have moved her suitcase from our closet. It was just an observation”, he repeated.

Maggie nodded and returned her attention to her screen. Clark was creepy. She could always feel his eyes scanning her, watching her as she crossed her legs or adjusted her posture in her uncomfortable chair. She opened up an e-mail and tried to focus on her work.

Clark sat for a moment looking at Maggie. He wanted her but she didn’t have enough meat on her. She was sexy, but in a thin sexy kind of way. It just wasn’t what Clark liked. He wanted folds on a woman, places to explore. He found that he was getting aroused thinking about Julie’s rolls of womanhood.  He picked up his phone. He got Julie’s voicemail.

“Julie”, he half whispered, “It’s me. I was just thinking about you and I can’t wait to see you tonight. There are so many things I want to do with, to, you. Okay, back to work. Love you”.

He hung up his phone with a little sinful smile on his face. That skinny Maggie had no idea what she was missing by being so skinny. Clark checked his text messages and started to wonder why Julie hadn’t sent him at least a morning message. Maybe there was some emergency at the souvenir shop that she had to attend to. Maybe she was doing inventory. Maybe he’d better check. He called her again.

“Hello”, answered a heavy male voice.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, who is this”, asked the voice.

“Um, is Julie there”, asked Clark.

“She’s in the shower”, said the voice.

“The shower… the shower”, trailed Clark.

“Yeah, who’s calling”, asked the deep voice.

In the background, behind this heavy male voice Clark could hear a subtle moaning, a moaning he was familiar with. It was the sound Julie made when he was trying to arouse her.

“Julie, is in the shower”, asked Clark.

“Well, if she keeps doing what she’s doing she’ll be in a shower soon”, said the voice.

Clark froze. He then heard her faintly through the phone.

“Oh my God! Why are you on my phone…”, and the line went dead.

Clark felt a cold shiver run through his body. A sweat broke out on his forehead and he stood up in his cubicle. He dropped the phone to his desk and started to walk out of the office.

Maggie looked as he passed her.

“Are you okay”, she asked.

Clark’s sunny morning demeanor was now replaced with a dark and angry cloud.

“Up yours”, he said to her.

He continued to walk out.

“Up yours”, he said to the mail room kid.

“Up yours”, he said to the receptionist.  

The phone dropped to his desk started to ring. 

You must be joking

You’re a real kidder aren’t you? You’re a real joker; a hilarious anecdote teller. You must make all the girls swoon with your impressive ability to weave a comedic tale. It’s amazing how incredibly, amazingly funny you are.

What?

You’re not joking? You’re not just telling a funny story to amuse us all? You really believe that? I mean, that’s sort of shocking.

No, I mean, we thought you were kidding around. I mean, you’re never serious about stuff like that.

Oh, you were always serious about it. About everything.

Well, maybe it’s me and my totally warped sense of humor. I just thought we had, you know, similar interests in what was funny.

I’m sorry, what? You’re saying you don’t have a sense of humor?

Well, again, I’m really surprised. I mean with the way you belittle everybody and make fun of just about everything we all do or say I merely thought you were being, you know, like a Dennis Leary funny guy shtick, thing.

No. Not at all. You actually hate everyone and everything.

Wow. I mean, …wow. I am just… I mean, we shared a toothbrush. Ugh, that’s just… I think I’m going to be sick.

So you’re going to go then? I think that’s probably best. I mean, I can’t believe how much I believed in you.    

And you never believed in anything. Great, that’s just swell. Well, don’t bother to write. Just go. Just go and… What’s that? Even when you go you’ll still be there. You’re just sort of always there? Awesome. Awesome.

Well, Life, I guess we’ll just have to learn to get along. While we’re here you might as well tell me that story about me again. There’s some laughs in there I guess.

Oh, ha-ha Mr. Funny Life. I hope you’re proud. 

Shoes

It’s a new taunt.

A new device designed

to drive me into an even

further frustrated state.

She teases me with her

high heel shoes and long

legs. A short skirt and a

twinkle in her eye.

She knows it makes me

crazy. Her legs crossing

and uncrossing as my eyes

follow the lines and

curves of her body.

I want more. I want to

see more. It’s a palatable

hunger searing my blood

and boiling in my brain.

Those shoes. A huge variety

of high heel shoes to tantalize

my eyes. I never knew I was

such a sucker for them.

Or maybe I did. Maybe I

always knew, but it’s been

so long since I’ve met a

woman that likes them more

then I ever knew I did.

It’s wonderfully painful to

be tormented by a beautiful

woman and her sexy shoes.

A sinful joy of anticipation

to see them again.

I am a sucker for them,

her,

heels,

legs,

kisses.

First Leg

The Presidential race has entered its true first leg. I know so because on Sunday I was watching The Walking Dead marathon on AMC when I saw the first national Presidential campaign commercial for President Obama. I sort of shuddered with the thought of how quickly we’ve arrived at the near completion of President Obama’s first term as President.

I’m a fan of politics, in the purest sense; I consider it a sport of the mind and admire the cerebral pugilism of it all. I like hearing all I can about the facts and watching two sides battle their ideals and visions for a more perfect union. I like intelligent debate, based on what each candidate can supply as a justification for their leadership.

I am a middle class liberal. I will fully admit that. I believe in the middle class of America and I don’t think one of the wealthiest men in the country, Governor Mitt Romney, has my best interests at heart. I don’t believe he will enact legislation that will benefit me in the long run. I am distrustful of his beliefs in morality, religion, and financial responsibility.

I can also say that President Obama has had a lot of difficulties enacting the change he previously promised, but he does more reflect the interests in my heart. I think President Obama has attempted to defend the Constitution of this nation as is required by his Presidential oath. But he has not been as forceful as certain situations needed him to be.

The candidates for President are both good men. I don’t believe either man is the Devil or is going to pull the country down into the 8^th layer of hell. They both have good intentions based on their own understandings of how this country works. However, only one of them seems to care what happens to me and my possible progeny. The other seems to think of society like a Darwinist, which would make sense since only 900 of his religion’s followers get to go to heaven.  

Social reform is always a big issue for me in these elections. I want to see the smart get smarter, not the rich get richer. I want a leader who will encourage Congress (where real power lies in this Republic) to vote for legislation that will indeed benefit the actual people and avoid any cronyism or backwards thinking.

I want to insure that my current imaginary children have a better chance at success in this country thanks to affordable education, accessible healthcare and feel safe on the world scene. So that’s the way I’ll be voting. It’s no longer about me and my needs, but what will be good for the future in 20 or 30 years.

I want a leader who is interested in the people of this country and is interested in seeing them succeed much like a parent is proud of a child. Sometimes that parent has to put the child in a corner, and tell them that what they did was wrong, but then hug them afterwards and explain how to learn from their mistake. I will vote for the leader I feel is most able to teach me to fly and then shove me off a ledge and smile as I spread my wings and soar into the sky.

I also don’t want any more Presidential commercials during The Walking Dead, because that just makes me think Zombies are headed to the polls. And I fear in some States that might be true.  Although wouldn’t a great commercial in that time slot be something like,

“President Obama prevented the Zombie Apocalypse. Vote Obama”.  

Or even,

“President Obama wants to give you braiiiins”.

The Big Back After the Break

It’s good to get back to the daily writing. I had taken a little time off over the Fourth of July Holiday to get my head on straight and make an attempt to be reinvigorated. I hope I was missed terribly.

So to dig right in I thought I’d scrape up a story idea that was rattling around my brain last night as I tried to ignore the coming stresses of the work week. So enjoy it and I’m glad to be back. This might be a little continuation of Collapse I think.

                                                                     -----

Sandy tapped her pencil restlessly on her notebook as her boss continued to drone on about the importance of workplace dress requirements and the importance of keeping a clean desktop. It wasn’t new information to Sandy. She’d been working in various offices since she was a teenager. She actually started working back when typewriters were more common on people’s desks than a PC.

Her co-worker Mary tried to stifle a yawn and she looked over at Sandy. She smiled a little out of mutual appreciation of the nonsense they were both stuck listening to. Sandy returned to her notebook and started making a grocery list for after work while her boss started repeating herself about the importance of data accuracy.

She didn’t notice how dark the sky was getting outside the windows. Tendrils of thick clouds were writhing their way through the cityscape; the windows rattled. Sandy casually looked up when she realized her boss, Ms. Conner, had stopped speaking.

“What the hell is that”, asked the Mailroom employee Stevie.

The building stated to rumble, as if a great, starving dragon was rising from its depths. A crack appeared in the conference room wall and raced across the floor. The room started to shimmy and shake and Sandy grabbed the edge of the conference room table, her pencil rolled off and onto the floor. She looked over to Mary just as the floor dropped out from underneath. Mary looked back at her then plummeted from Sandy’s sight.

Screams filled the conference room as glass shattered and bricks fell from the walls. Sandy was still gripping the edge of the conference room table with all her might, still blinking and wondering where Mary had disappeared. Sandy felt something crawl over her legs and she looked back. Ms. Conner was scurrying toward the conference room door along the floor. Sandy decided to follow her and let go of the conference table. The building was slowly righting itself and the shaking was slowing to a mild rumble.  

Sandy was at Ms. Conner’s heels as they crawled through the doorway and into the rest of the office space. Ms. Conner looked back at Sandy and was about to say something when a steel girder swung down from the missing ceiling above and obliterated Ms. Conner. Sandy finally screamed and started panicking her way forward as the building started the shake with a renewed fervor.  The floors around her seemed to be crumbling as a new sound was emerging. It sounded like a chainsaw.

Sandy coughed in the haze and saw the glowing sanity of the EXIT sign hear the fire stairs. She made up her mind that she’d make it and without any further hesitation made a break for the door and jammed it open. She started running down the stairs faster than at any time in her life, faster even that the time she did the staircase marathon for charity. She was dropping down the stairs by threes. It had the appearance of flight as she whisked her body downward.

The building groaned as the steel frame twisted and shook. Sandy re-doubled her efforts and made it to the lobby. She made it to the threshold before the sidewalk outside just and the building decided to start its final crumble. It went dark.

The Shade and the Start

It’s hot out there today. It will be all week long. 236 years ago it was just as hot as a delegation of men worked to put the finishing touches on a declaration. The British soldiers were already on the shores of New York by July 3, 1776 and George Washington was urging his fellow founding Fathers to act. A vote was taken regarding independence and it was a tie. The representative from Maryland had yet to arrive so they decided to wait 24 hours and then take another vote on the Declaration of Independence. So the Fourth of July could have very well been the Third of July, if Maryland’s delegate hadn’t been delayed.

The thing I remember most about history, about this moment, is how terribly hot it was. I seem to remember stories from my grammar school days wherein the teacher stressed how brutally hot it was in Philadelphia as the Declaration of Independence was being worked on. All those men in their puffed up finery, sweating through their clothes and wigs, trying to establish how a new nation could be formed based on the ideals of freedom from tyranny. I sort of remember imagining myself as a young boy, sitting on a tree branch outside Independence Hall, trying to stay cool under the shade of the leaves, peering in the windows, trying to get a look inside to see what was happening.

I could see myself in a little blue tri-corner hat, a slightly dingy white shirt, a brown vest, knee length dark breeches and little black leather shoes. My feet, dangling from the branch of the tree over the heads of all the other interested people that slowing milled about in front of the hall, wondering what those men inside were doing to direct the fate of a nation. I wonder what it would have been like to actually have been there; to actually bear witness to a moment when a tiny colonial nation decided to take on the largest superpower in the world at the time.

I can imagine the conversation:

“Can you believe it sir, a new country, free from the King, on our very own”, I would say.

“It is any cooler up in the tree?”

“What’s that?”

“I said, is it any cooler up in that tree?”

“Um, yes. A bit cooler, there’s a slight breeze”, I would say.

“Nice”.   

Simply a momentous moment in history I assure you.

As you are out and about tomorrow, blowing things up while trying not to spill your drink I think it’s important to remember that our little country had a very rough and hard birth. There was immense sacrifice to get to this point of harsh political contention between the two parties. It’s just amazing that we do have this system of government at all. All based on a radical idea, worked on in a really hot day in Philadelphia, that all men are free.

Have a very Happy Fourth of July dear readers!

I’m not positive

As I have been quite the downer lately, what with all my groaning and moaning about the condition of my employment, I felt that it was time to try and write something a little more positive and uplifting.

Nothing came to mind however as I’m still running in the gerbil wheel of hell. I understand that happiness is a choice and a person has to choose the things in this life that will make them happy, however I don’t think I understand how to even make that choice.

I’ve also been a little uninspired lately. Writing is a muscle however and you have to keep exercising it no matter how you feel. It’s a lot like actual exercise, without all the gross sweating through your clothes and cramping. So I continue to write even though I’ve been sort of a sourpuss as of the last few weeks. I can’t imagine that is all that entertaining.

Although we are a wonderfully voyeuristic people and will always slow down to look at the scene of an accident, why should my accident be any different. There I am, standing along the side of the road, a flaming wreck flickering in the night behind me. I’m holding my head in my hands, maybe a little blood trickles from my forehead and I sway back and forth trying to remember how the car flipped up into the air so many times and then wrapped itself around that stone pillar. How am I still standing?  Where’s my shoe?

I think some of my days are very much like that and I get home and wonder, “How the hell did I survive that”? I was just doing what so many other people in the world do and yet I made it and they didn’t. I’m starting to wonder if I have some form of survivor’s guilt.  I seem to know that my life isn’t terrible simply as an idea but I can’t seem to convince myself of it. Like I was the only survivor of a terrible bus or plane accident and I feel bad that I can’t get my life on track, you know, for all those who didn’t make it. Like I owe it to them to have a good, fulfilling life or something.

I know that is a silly thought, you can only live for yourself (maybe your kids for a while if you have them). I’m not sure what it is that I would have “survived”. Maybe it was my childhood. Maybe it was that time I went left when I should have gone right. Maybe I let my imagination run away with me far more often than I should have. Maybe thinking about it too much is in and of itself the debilitator.

I should get back to my initial point though. Trying to be a little more positive and upbeat. Okay, I only have work for two days this week. Thank goodness for the Fourth of July and vacation time. Maybe after that time I’ll have something to be more positive about. I hope so, for both our sakes.