Curse Words

In the world of curses,

there are numerous words to hex
the  dumbest, the meanest,
and the most rotten among us.
 
Praying for poxes, for ulcers,
for sores, for insurmountable
losses unparalleled in the annuls
of historical tomes upon the accursed.

A curse for the damned,

a curse to damn,
a curse for the unloved,
a curse for the loved.

Curses for fires, floods, strong winds,

blizzards, mudslides, tornadoes,
famine, hail, avalanches,
earthquakes, on the wretched curs.

A cracking open of the

universe to swallow the
soul of the person who crossed
us, who wronged us, for hates sake.

A curse rightly deserved, rightly

earned, even justifiably right, may not,
in the end, be a curse on them at all,
but a curse on ourselves.

The weight of the hex can slump

our shoulders, while the cursed
never knows why their fortunes
are so poor.

A sufferer is only as aware of their

suffering and not the pains of others.

A curse of self-awareness might be

the best curse of all. The Curse of
Empathy. The Curse of Mile Walking.
The Curse of Understanding.

A Pox on their minds, rather than

their bodies, might be the most
righteous burden and the most
likely to produce compassion.

An evil-eye opener rather than a

wrecker of worlds.
A curse, reformed into a blessing,
might be the best curse of all.

The Toll

 

“Oh Man,” said the Reaper, “Not him!”

 

The Grim Reaper tossed his Book of the Dead on his kitchen counter and picked up his fresh cup of coffee. He put the mug to his lipless mouth and poured the hot coffee over his dry teeth.

 

“Ugh, I don’t even want this now,” said the Reaper. He poured the rest of the contents down the kitchen sink and turned around to face the refrigerator. He caught his own morning reflection in the stainless steel exterior. His bony face frowned, or at least he imagined it frowned. It was hard to frown with just a skull for a face, but after the centuries he’d sort of forgotten he was just a skeleton in a dusty robe.

 

                He turned back toward his counter top and pulled the Book of the Dead back toward him and flipped to today’s date. Again he stared in disbelief, or would if his eye sockets weren’t technically completely void of anything resembling eyes.

                “Really God? Really,” he asked out loud. He sighed and closed the book. He hated when he had to collect the souls of so many talented people in one week, or even just a couple of days. He thought it sort of affected the morale of the humans to take the souls of generally loved individuals. Those individuals that transcend the isolation of the human condition and managed to become something far larger than themselves, to lose them was a blow for the humans. A hugely creative rock star and a very talented actor were on the list and Grim felt a pang of annoyance at God’s fickleness.

                Grim moved through his Manhattan apartment toward his bedroom. He hung his morning robe on its hook and took his reaping cloak from his closet and draped it over his bleached frame. He moved to the mirror over the dresser and made sure he looked as menacing as possible. A look he’d grown quite accustomed to since the Black Plague. He sort of liked it, even if it was rather, faceless.  He sighed and looked at the time on his nightstand alarm clock. It was time.

                He went to the front hall closet near the entrance to get his scythe.  Grim remembered he’d left it propped up against the TV stand. He had been watching a documentary about some murderer but he just couldn’t get into it since he was the one who ultimately took their souls. It was sort of boring.

                He grabbed his scythe and took a look around his apartment. He checked his cloak for his keys and cell phone and then pounded the base of the staff on the floor. A thick explosion of smoke billowed around Grim and he was instantly transported to the home of the next soul due for collection. A modest mansion, filled with good to excellent art, music, a nice bar area, a family area neatly appointed with large family photos and the general disarray of a well-loved and used room.

                Grim shook his head and drifted up towards the bedroom of the aging Rock star, where he’d been hiding his illness from the world. Grim floated past the crying wife, the sad children, the helpless doctor and the general hangers on. He stood next to the bed and bent down over the face of the iconic rock star. A rock star so influential that even the Grim Reaper had a few of his albums. Albums that caused the Reaper to play his scythe like a guitar and thrust his boney hips about his apartment.

                “I’m here for you. It’s time,” whispered the Reaper.

                The aging, but not old, rock star opened his eyes and looked into the face of Death.

                “What took you so long mate,” said the Rock Star.

                “Are your Earthly tasks completed, have you lived a life full and right? Are you now ready to pass from this realm to the next,” asked the Grim Reaper.  It was his standard set of questions, used since the very early days of the human acknowledgement of the soul.

                “I am ready mate. I’m ready,” said the rock star as he raised his hand. Grim took his hand in a bony clasp and with a bow of his head, released the soul up in a flash of light. The heart monitor in the room pealed its familiar monotone. The family sobbed and head hung low. The rock star’s face fell into a peaceful pallor. Death stepped away from the bed as the family, the inconsolable wife, fell onto the empty shell of the rock star.  Death took a moment to remember the well lived life of the rock star, the flashes of genius, the exploration of what it meant to be human, and the general majesty of his accomplishments. The true hole his moving on would leave in the lives of so many. It made Grim a bit sad.

                Grim’s iDeath started buzzing in his cloak. He had no time to mourn the passing of the human icon. It was morning in Chicago and the toll was already rising. He sighed and tapped his scythe on the floor and vanished in a plume of black smoke and ash.  “The actor can wait a day,” thought Death, “I can at least do that.”

Snow Mob

Snow Mob,
came to get me in the night,
I owed too much to get out,
so I got pulled back in.

Wise Guy Snowmen,
bustin' up the joint,
sticks for arms, leaving
puddles all over the hardwood.

Mafiosnow, taking control
of the neighborhood,
blanketing the streets with
crystalline blood.

Winter's man, the Old
Jack, vying for a piece
of the Snowmerican dream
through old winter tactics.

Huddling for cold,
spreading it all around,
no care, no kindness, no
pithy rejoinders.

Snow, man. Snow. Always
out to get you, underfoot,
sneaky and slippery,
extorting joy.

They'll wreck your car,
get you sick,
break your ankle,
or hold you hostage.

Snow Mob doesn't care,
frozen hearted lot,
They'll get you,
they got me.

Brrrrrrrrr...

Good Coffee Day

This is not an advertisement
for coffee. I am not endorsing any
particular drink. I am not
advocating consumption or
debating the merits of its
production or marketing.

It’s just good this morning.

It’s just a good cup of coffee
that I made. Sweetened and
stirred to perfection. It’s not
oversweet or too bitter.
It’s a good cup of coffee.

The kind of cup of coffee that

makes you want to stand on some
wood cabin deck that overlooks a
giant lake, maybe hear a loon, just
as the sun cracks the morning sky.
A blanket shawled over your shoulders.

The kind of coffee that feels like that

special person in your life will love you
just a little more for making it. They’ll
kiss you with a little more passion, and
squeeze you a little tighter before they
head out the door to face their day.

Just a good cup of coffee to take you

away from the daily terrors of crime and
murder, rape and genocide, if only for a
little while. A little while to marvel at
this spinning mud ball and think,
“Thanks Third World Slave labor.”

“Sluuuuurrrpppp. Ah.”

Noise

                “What’s that noise,” asked Cameron.

                “Noise,” asked Dan.

                Cameron pointed up toward the ceiling and cupped his hand around his left ear. Dan looked at Cameron and then up at the ceiling.

                “Yeah. I don’t hear anything,” said Dan.

         
                Cameron dropped his hand away from his ear and slammed it on his desk.
             
                “How the hell can you not hear that? It’s like a cricket with a violin dancing on a chalkboard with ice skates and spurs,” said Cameron.
                “Yeah, I just don’t hear it. I don’t really hear anything like that,” said Dan.

                Dan wiped his nose with one finger and turned his attention back to his computer screen. He typed in the next sequence of numbers that flashed along the bottom of the attached spreadsheet information. All day was spent keying in number sequences. Dan didn’t know where the numbers came from, what they meant or where they were going. All he had to do was sit for eight hours a day and punch in numbers. It was all he really needed or wanted.

                There was a commotion as papers fell off of Cameron’s desk. He’d pushed them to the floor and was now standing on the top of his desk. He bent his head to the side as he listened.

                “I’m serious. There’s a noise, like a mouse with a grinding wheel making pencils out of glass or something, I swear. It’s making me crazy,” said Cameron.

                Dan bent down into the aisle and started picking up the papers that had fallen from Cameron’s desk.  He looked up at Cameron who continued to arch and crane his neck to turn his head to where the alleged noise was coming from. Cameron’s face was strained and red. He was sweating.  Dan put the papers on the corner of Cameron’s desk.

                “Hey, Cam, maybe you should get down. You’re not looking so good,” said Dan. He reached his hand up toward Cameron who gently smacked it away.

                “I need you to come up here Dan. I need you to hear this…crazy noise,” said Cameron.

                Dan sighed and looked away from Cameron’s pleading face and toward Mr. Skelter’s office door, which was still shut and had been all morning.

                “C’mon, he won’t even notice,” said Cameron.

                “Fine,” said Dan.

                Dan reached up for Cameron’s hand and stepped up on Cameron’s desk. They stood very close together and without actually touching each other.

                “Shhhh, now just hold your breath for a second and see if you can hear it,” said Cameron.

                Dan held his breath and listened. He could hear the faint typing of Carol in the lobby and the gentle low hum of the ventilation fans, but he did not hear anything that resembled Cameron’s high pitched noises.  He looked at Cameron and exhaled. He shrugged.

                “I still don’t hear anything at all Cam,” said Dan.

                “I think it stopped when you got up here. I think I knows we’re looking for it now and it’s hiding,” said Cameron.
                “Okay, that’s enough man,” said Dan, “there’s absolutely no noise!”

                Dan started to step off of Cameron’s desk when Cameron grabbed him by the shoulder.

                “Shhh,” commanded Cameron.

                Dan pulled his shoulder away but there was something. There was some very faint whistling noise, like a gnome blowing a dog whistle on some rickety railroad tracks. There was a noise. Dan froze with one foot  poised to step down.  

           
                “There. There is something,” said Dan, “like a…a faint carnival ride that needs to be oiled.”
                “Yes! That’s it exactly,” shouted Cameron, “an ant picnic cheering for an ant college football team.”

                Dan stepped off Cameron’s desk and looked up at the ceiling. Cameron also stepped down. They stood at the edge of Cameron’s desk, staring up at the ceiling, just imagining what that noise could be, as numbers streamed on Dan’s computer screen and the sun started to set in the West.

The Next One

The drinks have been had,
the corks popped, the kisses
passed (some better than others),
the well wishes and kindnesses
forwarded.

Back pats, hands held, glasses
cheered, toasts made, some
people probably even had sex,
or just did their best not too
feel so alone.

The laughs had, the stories
told, the hearts broke,
the messes cleaned, the messes
made anew. The tears wiped,
hugs given and received.

Glitter swept, noise makers
tossed, decorations down,
stowed in boxes for another year or
hauled to the trash next to the dead
tree we kept inside our houses.

We've started it over, in all
earnest belief, that this year
will be better, maybe the best,
than we've ever had before.
Our optimism bubbling over.

There's no shame in hoping,
no reason to be afraid as the
thing starts, it'll go as it will,
as it wants, and we'll go with it
to judge the results and value its worth.

Compare it to others,
wash it off,
clear the corners,
straighten the frame,
just in time for next year and all over
again.  

Scream 2015, Scream

                2015 reminded me of those really cheesy exploitation films of the 1970’s. You know it’s a terrible movie, bad plot, poorly filmed, terrible editing, all the colors are slightly off, there’s a hair caught in the reel, but you watch it anyway and have a hard time pulling your eyes away.  It’s a movie you’ve seen a hundred times at four o’clock in the morning when you can’t sleep because you’re too worried about all that terrible real world shit that’s constantly happening all around. Yet there’s something awfully soothing about how bad it is.

                You think, “Well, some jerk made this movie, so I guess it can’t be all bad,” and you settle further into your sofa slouch. That’s exactly how 2015 has been for me. It was something I swear I’ve seen before and no matter how much it disgusted me or made me wish for some of that awesome Avid movie editing equipment, I couldn’t stop watching. It just kept happening and I was transfixed.

                Here’s the plot/imagined trailer of my terrible exploitation movie titled, “Scream 2015, Scream”.

                An unemployed insurance claims examiner who fancies himself a writer wakes up on New Year’s day 2015 to find himself still unemployed and wallowing in debt. He’s drunk. He’s unhappy. He’s searching for something to find joy in. He’s dealing with anxiety and depression issues, unresolved childhood traumas, and wondering why he can’t get a date. He’s getting older, hairs are graying, ear hair is growing and he can’t remember the last time he had to run anywhere.  And this time, nothing is going to change. (Cue record scratch) This year, Michael is going to discover, that being miserable most of the time, isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. (Cue cut scene of Michael smashing his car, slipping on an icy sidewalk, swearing at crying children, standing, sitting, eating, smoking, taking a shot, slipping on ice again, taking another shot, smoking, bonking his head against a beautiful woman’s head, taking another shot, and sleeping.) Michael hopes… (cue explosion) to make it out alive… (Cue laughing Vampire) of 2015. “Scream 2015, Scream”, coming to theaters.

                That’s just the first movie too. Wait until the sequel, “Scream 2015, Scream Harder”.   I do hope a sequel isn’t necessary though. I’m sure the original cast won’t be interested in reprising their roles. I’m sure they’ll have moved onto bigger and better projects, like cat wrangling or having babies. I do hope that 2016 is a better movie, slick budget, special effects, purpose, joy and a little love. In fact, if there is a sequel, I would hope it’s the classic story of redemption;  a real tear jerker about overcoming adversity, strife, bullies, financial ruin, and coming out on top.  

                I hope that movie is titled, “I Know What you did 2016, and I LOVE IT”.  With all that said however, I would like to wish all of my faithful readers a serious and hearty Happy New Year. I sincerely hope 2016 brings you all the things you’ve been wanting and wishing for (as long as your interests don’t collide with my interests, of course.)

                Have a very safe and Happy New Year!