Non-drunk dazzling talk
We could’ve kissed but didn’t
Friends can choose the when


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Read more!

Read more!

Nothing Short of Perfect

maybe a story in many chapters, or maybe a future unfinished novel.


Danny wasn't perfect, but then no one is. among Danny's many colorful imperfections that made him unique like everyone else was that Danny was a perfectionist. Webster defines a perfectionist as "someone who gazes upon the humbling beauty and wonder of the natural world and says 'gee, I'd really like to landscape that'". but Danny didn't like being defined by his friend Webster Johanson, or anyone else, which is probably the only thing that kept Danny from selling all of his possessions to move to Wyoming and tap Old Faithful for lawn sprinklers in what would then be known as Yellowstone National Golf Course. not that Danny didn't have ample opportunity to practice his perfectionism. as the manager of a local Arby's franchise Danny was fortunate to have a simple and clearcut definition of perfection at his disposal: that which is written in the memorandums handed down from the corporate gods is the perfection that must be trembled before. and though those decisions were frequently subject to contradiction and revision, that too was perfect. for Danny knew deep down in his heart of hearts that, contrary to his personal philosophy, all things in the universe are perfect as they are, and that change and flux, being common amongst all things, does not make them less perfect, but in fact reaffirms their perfection. therefore, to Danny's mind, a contrary order from his corporate masters was if anything the height of perfection. of course Danny's philosophy also allows that his decision to clock the regional manager on his recent visit to Danny's 200 square foot fiefdom after he jumped down Danny's throat for not putting up signage that through no fault of his own (and much fault on the part of the regional manager) hadn't been shipped yet, well that too was an act of perfection.

sadly the corporate office didn't see it that way, and Danny was promptly fired. thus began a magical journey which would take Danny from the wilds of a suburb just outside of town, to the gleaming white corridors of a local supermarket to pick up a can of baked beans. along the way he would encounter strange mystical panhandlers and a spritely supermarket trainee who would aide him in his quest for the baked beans.

after that was over he stopped off at his favorite bar to have a few drinks and shoot the shit with Webster.

2 b cont.
Read more!

Autumn Augury

A certain chanting entered the mind.


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Autumn Augury
Pulled from night is the torch that lovers dream by,
Torn from day is the light that keeps us spinning,
Dazed while summer’s pregnant with a sickly fall,
The rats crawl in circles and cease their breeding.
Soreness of dreams tells of a dirge soon coming.
Hubris warns not to pin prophecies on fear.
Theories rise from the lust to be cheered and known.
Silence keeps council alone and gets stomped on.
Lovers seek the birds but wings have gone to soup.
Songs are saved on screens; time will snuff machines. Read more!

Sweet Misanthropy

Well, what can I say? The Oregon Beerfest was nice tonight.


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Sweet Misanthropy
I’ll spray my seed over any fertile field of flesh and green.
I’ll tear the hearts out of toddlers and transform them to dollar bills.
I’ll torch every business in town and be the Johnny Appleseed of freedom.
I’ll floss with your best ideas and spit out better ones with blood.
I’ll dim the universe in your eye to increase the sparkle in mine.
I’ll divine better testaments than your god while sitting on the toilet.
Why don’t you all shut the fuck up while I flush myself down. Read more!

Ocean of Suffering, Part 4

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post. Read more!

Ocean of Suffering, Part 3

"We've given you a toilet and a hundred-pound bag of Psilocybin mushrooms. That's all you'll need to entertain the . . ."


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE

Gilbert jumped to his feet. Blankets were sprawled on either side of his but no
people. Eleven blankets. Where the fuck! Bile bubbled up and saturated his tastebuds.
A jetliner zoomed past, flying low. The airport tower gleamed with reflected sunlight
from a mile away. Gilbert surveyed the horizon, squinting. Low-lying structures belching
black chimney smoke. Ant-sized figures, silhouetted and walking erect in the distance.
Peggy? Mayor? He started walking, hoping against all intuitive dread that one of them
had a cigarette.

* * * * * *
The Mayor’s mouth tasted like shit. Dry shit. He looked out at a man through
bars who was talking matter-of-factly like a surgeon explaining an impending procedure
to a patient. The Mayor looked above and to the sides. More bars. He was naked but
didn’t care about that. The man had the insignia of Homeland Security over his left
breast. He peered in closer and locked onto the Mayor’s gaze. “You will be a zoo
animal now.”
“Fuck off agent.”
“Now now, calm yourself sir. You should feel honored. The others have to labor,
but not you. You’re a celebrity, you see.”
“Give me a smoke,” the Mayor said with a punctuating grunt. His brain was
pounding.
“Afraid your days of smoking are over. We’ve given you a toilet and a hundred-
pound bag of Psilocybin mushrooms. That’s all you’ll need to entertain the others.” The
Mayor looked at the plastic port-a-potty then to the mushrooms, veined in deep greens
and blues. He stuck his finger into a rip in the bag and caressed a well-sized cap. He
turned back to the agent and spat.
“I won’t give you or anyone else the pleasure of watching me trip in a cage.”
“Oh, have you forgotten sleepwalker? You’ve already eaten a few. Should be
kickin’ in any minute now. Happy onset.” Tribal drums beat in the Mayor’s head, his
guts crawled with worms. He strained to summon his powers to melt both the agent’s
brain and the bars of the cage. The agent smiled. “Give it a rest celeb. What you drank
last night our scientists had been perfecting for years. You and your infected friends will
never be the same again. The mental contagion has been stopped. Your pathetic attempt
to spread freedom has failed.”
“You fuckin’ tool,” the Mayor said. “Bootlicker.”
“Acceptance will come,” the agent said while picking up a sign and pressing it
against the bars so the prisoner could get a good look.
WARNING TO ALL YE WHO DARE TO THINK
THIS TOILET WILL NEVER EVER SHUT DOWN!
The agent hung the sign, turned away and barked into a bullhorn. “The exhibit
is now open and ready for viewing.” The Mayor slumped into the dirt and leaned against
the port-a-potty’s seat. The cage shimmered and oscillated. The dirt crawled in wild
geometric patterns. His ears crackled and opened to strange music like the laughter of
elves, but after a few moments, screeching through the polyphony rose the laughter of
feminine treachery. Samantha! And now the mushroom has betrayed me as well, and
that is gnosis, and now the terror. Aum Mani Padme Hum . . .

* * * * *
When Gilbert reached the village complex it was bustling with activity. Countless
buses brought new arrivals, staggering around weeds and rocks like drunken sleepwalkers
with minds traumatized to silence. Gilbert shouted for Peggy, for Mayor, for smokes, but
no one answered. Hell’s Welcome Center, he thought and walked on past the buildings to
a new sight. Heaps of concrete as far as he could see, and multitudes of dazed men and
women pounding away at them with sledgehammers. Dust filled the air and burned his
eyes. He heard angry shouts, and the crack of whips. The dust thickened as he
approached and the agony grew more palpable. Stepping into a clearing he made out
the individual faces. Miserable faces with eyes of robotic grey and gouged of soul. And
where are the children? All afternoon he walked on as the hours bled into the dust like
sweat from his aching flesh. So tired. Peggy? Mayor? More structures came into view.
Smokestacks. Grey dormitories. Hunched slaves. A smell both sweet and sour that made
Gilbert puke. He laid beside the stink of it and closed his eyes.
When Gilbert awoke it was dusk, smoky and orange. He walked on, nothing to do
but walk, the only dream left was finding his beloveds, his Peggy, his Mayor. He stumbled
on a clump of weeds and heard laughter and the rhythmic clang of a cowbell. Am I finally
hallucinating? Have I crossed over to madness? Fuck it--what do I have to lose. Gilbert
ran to the sounds, crazy with competing thoughts of dread and hope. He came to a
freestanding wall connecting nothing to nothing behind which male laughter gushed and
the cowbell clanged like an invitation to dinner. He stumbled around the wall and cried
out in horror, “Peggy! No!” The cowbell was fastened around her neck. The laughter
was the laughter of guards, lining up before the kneeling Peggy one behind the other,
unzipping their pants with streams more pouring in from all directions. “Peggy?” Read more!

Tough Bitch with a New Iron

TYPE YOUR SYNOPSIS HERE
Pissed off

THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Tough Bitch with a New Iron

Lookin’ to press your wrinkles
Straight outta your head
Drip Dry that musty heart
To prevent undue shrinkage

Steam heat pre-
Heated hissing holy
Epitaphs round the buttons
Ne’er searing the hole

Creases don’t come cheap even
If I do mean tough Bitch with a new Iron
And a few thoughts of my own.

Iron Man melt my wax
Reserve warm setting
Fearing not the burn
Searing smoothed
Starched with Soul

This tough new bitch
believes Permanent press
is such a messy hoax. I make my own smooth.


Kelly King
7/20/07 Read more!

A Certain speed Limit

TYPE YOUR SYNOPSIS HERE
A poem

THE REST OF IT GOES HERE

This is what 55 looks like:

See these eyes, they have seen scenes
Unspeakably horrific and beatific.
Lovers leaving slamming madly
Others arriving with two bottles of good wine.
Parents splitting like miscreant cells screaming
Parents laying wasted in bed, skinny, bald toothless again.

See this mouth, it has spoken
Lies to husbands, judges, doctors
Grounded pubescent offspring , broken oaths
Projected lines in a play for praise
Sang along with the Supremes in a ’65 Mustang
Quit good jobs, whispered to Priests
Raised the rent and lowered the cursing voice.

See these hands so recently penned poetic
They have slapped faces, twice, and hard
Served Montana Governors Prime Rib
Voted for Carter, Clinton and Gore
Hand cuffed finger printed and wedding ringed
Rang doorbells for Tupperware and lovers
Late at night shakily holding a hankie.

See these ears pierced down to the drum
They have heard foreign trains announced
Door bells Wedding Bells Death knells
Black cat moan puncturing the heart:
I love you, Darling. I love you not Crazy Bitch
Best of all: I love love you Gramma.
Bagpipes, ancient Hammond B2 organs
Homemade mandolins , a daughter with no ear
Learning the violin and voices in the night
Cheerful introductions
Crushing news of violent deaths.

And so fair folk---Let this happen to you:
When you are old and dotty and nodding my the IMac
Take down your thoughts and slowly write
And pass your sage age all along the way.


Kelly King 7/25/07
Read more!

Common Ground

if you ever find yourself in an argument and you see now way to resolve it, here is at least something that everyone can agree on.


we've different point's of view
and on little can we agree
this very point to you may seem
contentious and profane
and if I knew what you knew
just maybe would I see
your point and hold it in esteem
but to me that seems insane

but let's put down our axes
just for a moment
to find some common ground:
surely Green Apple is the worst artificial flavor
that anyone has ever found!
Read more!

Poem For Another Season

this is what I write when I listen to INXS.


naked trees on a hill in fall
over's cast the sky above
but the air is not too chill
puts one in mind to think ahead
to dream and plot and plan
on the ground the leaves are dead
and so the future is at hand
but in the summer possibilities
have all but been exhausted
everyone knows a cake's not as good
once it's been baked and frosted.
Read more!

Little Red Dinosaur

everyone needs a little red dinosaur sometimes.


little red dinosaur
put it in your pocket
keep it close to you
put it in your pocket
cause that's what it's there for

tell it all your fears
tell it all your dreams
squeeze it if you hurt
if you're angry, give it screams

it's the little red dinosaur
it's there to lend an ear
it's there to hear your tale
it's there for you always
and everyday without fail

so put it in your pocket
hold it to your ear
let it tell you all the things
that sometimes you forget

like that the worlds not so bad
and you will be alright
with a little red dinosaur
to protect you in the night

Read more!

gonna make it -

*i was startled when realization came
that you were average ( just like me!!!)
i decided to love you anyway
Read more!

Ending a 6-Year Sentence at a Shitty Job

Illness aids and abets the writing process


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
I suspect it’s like quitting any other bad habit like smoking or drinking, neither of which I’ve done yet. It may be comparable to escaping from a bad relationship. It’s not quite like beating a death sentence. I’m not free to retire. I haven’t won the lottery. But there’s pride in putting away foolish, humiliating things forever: my mustard bottle; my tomato slicer; my 5 shirts (one black, one yellow, one maroon, one evergreen, one olive) all bearing the same corporate logo that made me feel like such a tool. No more little girls in communion dresses screaming “I said mustard!” No more need for deviant fantasies of squirting “Fuk U” on said dress where one day her haughty breasts will be. No more rich high school kids yelling, “hurry up!” (as my back hurts) before baiting me with a non sequiter like, “I’ll never have to work--my dad said so” with a smug look. No more boss who blows into the store for five minutes a day to count his money then threatens to take free meals away for some mysterious, never articulated reason. No more sickening parmesan odor infecting my clothes, my bag, my soul. No more Nazifarian co-worker making me miserable every goddamn second he’s on shift with hourly outbursts of “I hate this job!” or “Fuck this . . . fuck this . . .”--all within earshot of the customers who then cast their ignorant derisive looks at me. It feels good to let these things go forever. Damn good. This burden is lifted. May the next be a little lighter. Thankyou, God. Fuck you, Sandwichland. Read more!

Gargling ginger ale
Beer and smokes taste like failure
Nasty summer cold


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Read more!

Squirting mustard sucks
The universe expects more
Goodbye Sandwichland


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Read more!

The air looks angry
Soul’s monologue says, stay in
Anxiety wins


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE

Read more!

review

haiku inferno
the funniest shit ever
i cant wait for more

Read more!

More Oceans of Suffering

Part 2


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
grey glove like broken fingers. Guess we could camp here tonight. “Meredith sweetie,
he said. “How ‘bout a little rest. Would you--”
“Ah! Help me!” screamed a girl no older than twelve scampering past, flashing
a look of terror, naked and bleeding head to toe from angry gashes before speeding out
of sight. Meredith cried. Champ started to yell after the departed girl but a commotion
to his right seized his attention. Two old men emerged from the trees, sporting rifles.
With a thick Bostonian accent one of them said, “Well, well Ronnie. Got some
sweeties here.”
“Appetizers before the virgin Jack,” the other said in a rich register immediately
recognizable to Champ. The men approached cheerfully like old hunting buddies
enjoying a weekend of camaraderie away from the wives. Champ stood speechless
till the two were near enough to be certain.
“Did someone drug me?” he whispered. “Reagan? JFK?”
Reagan chuckled. “You perceive correctly young man. We’re synthetic
robotoids. I’m Ronald Reagan model 23, and this is John F. Kennedy number 32. Seems
like you’ve stumbled upon our favorite game, the Most Dangerous Game.” Reagan aimed
his rifle at Champ’s left knee. “My turn for the goodies Jack.”
“Wait there a minute Ronnie!” Kennedy demanded. “You goin’ soft in the wits?
It’s my turn.” Champ spun around. Meredith was gone.
“Don’t you worry ‘bout her,” Reagan drawled. “She’ll get a head start while we
attend to you, then ‘ol uncles Ronnie and Jack will reel her in.”
Champ fell to his knees. “All presidents are monsters. The Mayor was right.”
“Well don’t pin the whole monster thing on presidents alone young man,”
Kennedy said while lighting a cigar. “Before we flip a coin for your balls I’m gonna let
you in on the biggest secret, the mystery of the ages if you will.” He took a drag as
Champ rocked in mental duress on his knees. “We elites are just one big blood-guzzlin’
tribe. It doesn’t matter what political party we show to the herd, or what corporate
board we sit on, or what television station we anchor for.” He held up a hand to Reagan,
who was salivating and polishing a butcher’s knife with a handkerchief. “We’re all
connected you see. What your Mayor calls monsters we call family.”
“Guh, guh, guh,” Champ said from the fetal position.
“Ah, what a pity,” said JFK. “Here lies another Ronnie, who dreamed of
slipping to safety through a hole in the net. When will these dumb domesticates realize
the truth: the net is everywhere: there are no holes.” JFK pounced on Champ, ripping off
his khakis with preternatural viciousness and strength. After triple-twisting a rubberband
around the loose skin connecting the scrotum to the base of the penis, the former Prince of
Camelot paused to admire his handiwork. “Like baby plums in the moonlight Ronnie.”
“Heads or tails Jack?”

* * * * *

Fresh autumn air, smoky and cool. Songbirds joythroated their morning music.
Gilbert’s eyes were still closed, lapping up the sweets of half-sleep, reliving the loveliest
dream of his life. Peggy’s long dark hair was adorned with tiny blue wildflowers. Her
brown feet were slender and bare. She was walking by the river, and the river was clear
and schools of silvery luminescent fish darted happily just beneath its surface. Peggy wore
a simple tan-colored dress, woven from hemp and tied comfortably about her slim waist
was a hemp-braided belt that Gilbert had made with his own hands. Peggy bent to pluck
up some wild blueberries. She held one up to sunlight, smiled and put it in her basket.
Her dream-self spoke, “Good pies tonight my darling. Good pies for the good tribe.”
Gilbert felt healed of all the former things he couldn’t remember, and nobody’s heart
was troubled. It was his and Peggy’s anniversary, and everyone near and dear would be
there to share in the celebration. Even the Mayor, who’s worked so hard in distant wilds
once covered by concrete to teach the others about the essential elements of their feral
selves. Tear-ducts overwhelmed by joy. We cry only for joy now, and the lion shall lay
down with the lamb.
Gilbert rolled onto his back, eyes still closed and smiling with a blanket over him.
I am outside. We did it. Must’ve tied one on at the bash last night. Peggy’ll fill me in
on what the blackout deleted. We felt free to sleep outside! Better rise and be briefed on
how the spreading is goin’. Mayor’s a goddamn savior. Who knew? Hope there’s
coffee. It’ll be the best cup ever. The Age of Un-domestication starts now.
Gilbert opened his eyes and blinked rapidly from the brightness. Overhead jet
noise. Something crawling on his arm. Ants, damnit! Gilbert shot up and slapped at them.
His glasses were beside him but not his bag. He put on the glasses and his guts cramped
then slithered nauseous at what he saw. A high fence of barbed wire. Attached to it was a
plastic makeshift banner:
WELCOME SLAVES TO FEMA CAMP 23
SLACKERY IS SORROW,
NO HAPPY TOMORROW
NOW LET’S ALL GET TO WORK!


Read more!

An Ocean of Suffering

The Final Chapter (Part 1)


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE

An Ocean of Suffering
We’re all niggers now!
--The Mayor’s Journal
Champ applied medicinal lotion to Meredith’s diaper rash. He blew on her
feminine gash while making a funny face. She giggled and squirmed. Finally the clean
diaper was on. Backwards. “Ready to go back to Mayor’s party?” Champ said while
tickling Meredith’s belly bulge.
“Mayor’s potty?”
Champ brushed back the fine platinum strands from her forehead and kissed her
there. “He’d find that pretty funny, kid. Think I’ll keep you around awhile, feed you raw
food, watch you bloom.” Champ took Meredith’s hand and grasped the door handle with
the other. “Yep,” Champ said. “Pretty damn funny.”
“Damn thummy,” she said and stuck her thumb into her mouth. Champ turned the
handle, then stopped. Eerie humming, clicking sounds like those made by exotic insects
in a shitty movie he’d long forgotten. He remembered the sounds. Scared the shit out of
him as a kid. Champ flicked off the light, clicked the padlock, clutched Meredith to his
chest, whispering “sh,” smelling of smoke. He pressed an ear to the door. Competing
noises. Louder. Louder. “A herd of thundering boots,” he said.
“A bird of hula hoops?”
“Yes, honey. Take a nap with Champy now, and then we’ll play.” Champ
slumped down away from the door crack, closed his eyes and listened. Meredith
snuggled in his arms and soon fell asleep. The liquor’s done its work on her just in time.
Boots thundered past and down the hall. Boots slowed then stopped. Squeaking door.
Boots clomping in. My friends, Champ thought. Rabbit-like vibrations of Meredith’s
toddler heart against his. God help us all.
A woman’s laughter, unfamiliar, haughty. Rough gruff of men’s voices.
Intermittent buzzing and squeaking, anomalous and evocative of primal fears, though
broken at times by the woman’s twittering peals, equally anomalous in context of this dark
concert of sounds and evocative of primal fears of a most different sort. Bad mother
sounds. Turncoat giggles. Nothing indicative of struggle. No noise or sense of Mayor,
Peggy, Gilbert. Competing scenarios jousted mightily in Champ’s mind but none was the
victor. What is happening here. He patted the small of Meredith’s back. His family long
forsaken. Boots clomped again, cooperative, regimented. The woman spoke with words
close and clear the voice of hubris.
“That special brew worked like witchery. I’m a born actor, damnit. I’ve always
known.”
A male bellowed, “They ain’t gonna break, men; and they ain’t gonna wake
till mornin’ whether ya knock ‘em against walls or not. We got a damn busy night ahead.”
“I did good, didn’t I Dale?”
“Yes agent Williams. Don’t worry. You’ll be famous for your contribution. The
masters are well pleased. Tomorrow everything will be made clear to the world. The age
of the game has ended.”
“You will see to it, won’t you Dale, that my father--”
“Yes. He’ll be anally electrocuted in the most excruciating manner possible.”
“I’d like a video tape Dale, or at least an audio recording of his screams, and I
want him to know who his daughter turned out to be.”
“He will know, Samantha.”
Meredith slept content as Champ crouched by the heating vent kicking around
various plans of escape. Minutes later the girl stirred, and opened her big innocent eyes.
Champ tweaked her nose which sent her giggling. “How would you like to go to the
forest with uncle Champy?”
“Foh-west.”
“Yes honey. West to Forest Park.” They made their way slowly. Due to the
unprecedented police presence, Champ decided the back-alley approach was best. After
three hours of sweating behind bushes and detouring through backyards and thick brush,
of running from blue shadows and unknown buzzes in the dark, the winding dirt path of
the Wildwood Trail lay before them. “We’ve found our yellow-brick road kid. Hope
there’s an Oz shining with friends at the other end.”
Meredith, sitting astride Champ’s shoulders, said nothing, just occasionally batted
her uncle’s head like a drum as they moved on. The moonface, cadaverous as ever.
Unseen helicopter sounds made Champ think of spotlights. He doubled the pace. After
another hour all signs of the city were gone. Stars bright and numerous like hippy
campfires on the beach. Friendly fires. Champ took the symbol to heart and made a
choice. He lifted Meredith up and swung her around so she dangled over one shoulder
for freer locomotion. They left the path and ducked into the wild. On they trudged past
shallow streams, past hilly terrain and tightly clustered pines, up and down and over the
obstacles till finally they came to a clearing. Champ set the child down. She clung to his
leg. Surrounding the clearing were gnarled fairy-tale trees, twisting out of the ground’s Read more!

Conspiracy of Poetry

either mike or robyn came up with this line. so I built a poem around it.


from every grassy knoll
to every pentagon
a commission trilateral
the masonics of phonics
top secret, file under 'X'
watch out you may be next!

Bilderberg's line up in groups
on lumps in football fields to see
this conspiracy of poetry

the walls have keen ears
and "they" are watching
they control the papers
and they control the net
but they can't touch the verse
no, not yet.

in fifty-one different areas
they stop dissecting greys to see
this conspiracy of poetry

so you have a theory, do ya?
Agent Orange juiced the magic bullet?
that's nothing, not compared
to the secret of iambic pentameter.
they don't want you to know
lift that rug and sweep it under.

even though we act alone
don't mistake us for a patsy
we're the CIA, the KGB
the FBI taps our phones
to learn the secrets in our poems
if we tell you we'll have to kill you
because we can't let the world see
this conspiracy of poetry.

Read more!

Copulation Explosion

an intentionally misheard phrase. I gotta stop intentionally mishearing/misreading things.


hot sweat and hot breath
on hot bodies
on a hot night
on the hot asphalt of the sun-baked streets
they writhe
writhe up and sing
is it something in the water?
is it something in the air?
is it nothing in particular,
that's making this happen everywhere?
perhaps an instinctual response
to the knowledge that the earth
is damaged beyond hope
and so why not fuck it all
I mean literally, all.
cause there ain't nuthin' left to lose
'cept bodily fluids
and yourself in the moment.
it's a copulation explosion
before the world ends
like it's 1999
let's go out with a bang!
and in the morning
the world wakes up
and everyone re-attires
and goes back to work
and no one looks anyone else in the eye
cause it turns out, oops,
those calculating made an error
and doomsday is actually
this time next year.


Read more!

Drops Fall

Trust that the drops will fall,
Where they fall.
When the drops fall,
Trust that I'll be there.
But when I fall,
Can I trust you,
To drop everything?

Read more!

Happy Birthday, Megan From The Future

a sign intentionally misread because it's more interesting this way.


Happy birthday, Megan from the future!
how old are you now, 25, 78, 654?
it's so hard to keep track.
is it really your birthday, Megan from the future,
or did you just travel back for extra gifts?
what's it like in your time, Megan from the future?
do you still celebrate birthdays then?
oh Megan from the future,
how deftly you avoid temporal paradoxes.
how lucky you are, Megan from the future,
to have come back to this more innocent of times.
say, Megan from the future,
have you met Glen from the past?
I think you two will really hit it off.
and then who knows?
maybe you'll have children from the present.

Read more!

Garland Me

Garland me with blossoms from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil,
I’ll plant you a garden,
Not guarded by angels’ fiery swords, but open,
Where all fruit may be freely eaten.

You be the serpent, and I the new Eve.
In the shade of a new Tree of Life we’ll cleave.

Read more!

4 Cents Short (You Bastard)

Life in the Clem



A strange thing occurred today...
Time skipped a beat,
The world missed a rotation,
And someone broke into my car.
Rifled through my stuff.

I don't know what they were looking for,

But they passed on my books,

Passed on my music, my pens and my paper

And dove into my glove box and into my center console

And found napkins, pictures of my wife and my daughter

And yes, more pens!!!!!

This must have been truly disappointing,

no valuables to speak of, no even any good music to steal.

But he did teach me one thing about life, liberty and thievery...

If you steal someone else's money: cash...change...whatever

The pennies just aren't worth it, so put them back from whence they came

(p.s. I hope the son-of-bitch was about 4 cents short for whatever he needed)

Read more!

New Sketchbook

scribbles


artificial snakeskin cover
plain white pages waiting
waiting to be filled
with scribbles and doodles
and composed images
masterpieces for me alone
and those I may show it to
the cover is redish
redish brown
and neatly bound
upon which the markers drawn
the Sharpies
black and silver
a black band across the front
to contain the title
"The Book Of The Sketch"
in silver lettering
of varied types
and the spine, simply
"sketchbook", date and sig
nature, probably little
not much for drawing trees
but it will be filled
with what I cannot say yet
yet I can say it will
it will be filled
with flights of fancy
and scribbles
lot's of scribbles

Read more!

help!!!

need some instruction


how do you invite new people to our blog?
Read more!

Loaded Questions

A list of board game answers (non-fiction) Punctuation added for effect


Social Security Offices, Iraq,Nothing to Regret
I wish to fly...6 hours
Time; or lack of...
boobs, hot (curvy smiley)
Ob/Gyn=Shopping
Grey, Pharmisucical (spelled wrong)
SMOKING PEACHES/Chocolate Read more!

STOP!!!!!

A mumble, a stumble, a mentally driven rumble


Stop!
This pattern of wisdom heeds no warning,
Where the fuck is my bookmark,
Where on earth is my place.
My eyes cannot direct me to the past
because no one cares about dusty angst
the angst of a middle aged teenager
Or the voice of a washed up rock star.

This time, all of life is real
crumbling below me like ole Detroit's sidestreets
or Maybe an artists dream of floating through on merely words
or crooked fucking smiles, laughing at society..loudly..proudly
without thinking about groceries or insurance or family or tomorrow

How am i gonna sell this idea to anyone
Can I speak with anyone ever listening?
Why do I write?
Is it only because no one knows how to shut up...ever....
and just listen?
Read more!

Remembering Once I Was a Husband

Funny how time obliterates the agony. Glad I chose life after all.


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Remembering I Once was a Husband
I had nearly forgotten.
Then recalled the ring locked up
The obligatory fucking
Cooking and breakdowns
The hamster’s bedding stunk
O the times I wanted to die.
You must be twenty-eight now.
I write more in the city
Beneath a naked light bulb.
Our roses smelled ambivalent.
You flip flopped, craved money.
I had nearly forgotten.
O the times I wanted to die.
Arguments sparking genitals
Stained aprons, punishments,
Duties like soul’s chloroform,
Hospitals and nightmares
I had nearly forgotten.
I’m a little worse, a little better.
Attachment was exhaustion
Your long strawberry hair
Your smooth vanilla neck
Your tits like gallows
O the times I wanted to die.




Read more!

One March Night

Twas the worst of times. I imagined my soulmate dead because we were incommunicado for 3 weeks. Life is very long!


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE

One March Night
A waxing gibbous glittered through the pine tree
Your husband had planted,
And I was then too green to know misery.
You went to another room
And returned in your white nightgown,
Lit the incense, smiled and sat,
And kissed me for the first time.
I was young enough to think passion could save,
And you, spirited from Delphi, did not dissuade.
The pine stood watch outside.
Your breast in my mouth a moonlit plum.
You are gone and the birds still fly.
I slouch through days, circling old shadows.
It’s sunny now, too sunny.
The sun still tans the living as if you never mattered.
A waxing gibbous glittered through the pine tree
Your husband had planted,
And I was then too green to know misery. Read more!

Coffee Keeps Me Regular

double-entendre kept to a minimum here.


when the morning comes
and I crawl out of bed
with my bleary eyes
set in a zombie head
coffee keeps me regular

when I lack in energy
and I'm short on zip
with my forced shuffle
at a snail like clip
coffee keeps me regular

when my mind molasseses
and the motive is uneaten
with a slow-lane wit
that knows not where to begin
coffee keeps me regular

when I'm racing with thoughts
and they aren't on one track
with chaos and confusion
and I need to step back
coffee keeps me regular

when I lighten my load
and my step does spring
with urgency and purpose
and I need to do my thing
it's cause coffee kept me regular

Read more!

Justifying Loneliness Haiku

dollops of butter
deformed in love’s microwave
better off single
.


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Read more!

Fodder

Another hot Portland night.


THE REST OF IT GOES HE
Anger is the throat I chose to slice
When I chose to fly with you then fold you up
In love: ideal made flesh made words to save
On disk for life's reading when it comes to me
Again with hissing and heat and will to write. Read more!

Death of a Keyboard

another day, another computer borkage.


hot day, soda glass and ice
set down on my desk for now
I crawl in to my captains chair
my left knee too high, too in
slight nudge is all it took
green apple wave crashes over
the first few drops scout
the alpha-numeric landscape
they flash the thumbs up sign
to give the rest the go-ahead
over the rim goes the neon liquid
followed close by icy boulders
splashing onto the keys and beyond
a whole glass full the board absorbs
'cept for that which went further
the instrument drowned in wet sugar
say hello to my new black keyboard!
Read more!

Remembering

I guess I've always been a morning person...mornings give me hope...



I spent the early hours
remembering
what was lost
due to the drag
of the day by day death that we lead,
poison by slow-burning poison.

Startled from a dream
that flutters still
in the corners of my eyes,
I watched the sky begin to glow
and recalled the days
of crisp apple mornings
and gentle twilights,
when beauty was more than a word,
and every door was open.

And I realized
I've been living life backwards,
forgetting,
unlearning,
catatonic and cold.

But this is spring,
and now it's morning,
and I remember
what it's like
to feel.
Read more!

Unbroken

The fragile...



Upturned wrists, showing
the skidmarks of teenage angst,
brittle hair that speaks
of too much dye
and low self-esteem.

Size two pants
hang loose
from hips not meant for children
or cuddling.

Startled eyes that might say
either “anime,”
or “frightened.”

Such tiny shoulders to carry
the weight of the world,
such a breakable little doll.

And yet,
her voice rings strong,
and those thin little fingers are calloused,
and though small,
her shoulders are squared.

With a heart of gold
and an iron will,
she remains
fragile,
but unbroken.
Read more!

Camera Whore

Ever wonder what the beautiful people really feel like?



A click of the camera,
a flash of the light,
a toss of the hair,
to the left, to the right,
and a sultry smile that says,
“I’m what you think you want,
but all you’ll never have.”

A look full of heat,
a lick of the lips,
a glance under lashes,
a tilt of the hips,
and a lilting laugh that says,
“I’m what I know you want,
but all you’ll never have.”

Off come the clothes,
take a look in the mirror,
heart full of secrets,
eyes full of fear,
and a little voice that says,
“What they think I am
is all I’ll never have.”
Read more!

Filler Haiku

forty written works
I told someone I had here
this makes me honest



Read more!

fun!


*******************
haiku is hot shit
everyone is on a roll
lets keep it comin
Read more!

Beyond Understanding Haiku

Bouquets from heaven
Tossed down in bunches with shit
God's ways are not ours



Read more!

Wave Buddy

sacrelicous and the elderly russian neighbor.


old russian neighbor
she speaks no english
I speak no russian
our cigarette addictions
transcending language barriers
in that once every day
she waves at me from her porch
and I likewise from mine
like primitive signals
across the asphalt stream
that is the road between us.
no words to drive wedges
of ideological rifts.
no mispeakings to speak of
just friendly waves.
no real communication either
mind you, but that's not the point.
it's just like we're saying:
"hey, I'm still alive!"
"that's awesome, me too!"
Read more!

Branch of Sweetness

I hereby declare my copy n' paste career over (heeding Sacrelicious' admonition). I write only new stuff for blog now!


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Branch of Sweetness
Fingers clinging bitterly to the branch of sweetness,
Married to back and forth musings, writing tidbits
In notebooks while the bank account slips to shit,
I wish my soul to be sealed in a lovely envelope
Addressed to future misfits in the handwritten script
Of my latest love with a stamp bearing my likeness.
For giving back to my clique’s posterity in this way
May my ears be licked clean by higher beings now,
May the music of the universe be received with joy,
Then surely I’ll cease giving voice to juvenile hubris
And the eternal sag of exhaustion may finally lift,
And the drizzle against my days may die at last. Read more!

Beep

quoth the raven: "beep"


beep
what's that? nevermind
beep
I heard it again, did you?
beep
see? hear? that? listen
beep
okay, THAT I heard!
beep
where's it coming from?
beep
is it the oven timer?
beep
nope, not the oven timer
beep
the microwave maybe?
beep
nope, not the microwave
beep
THIS IS DRIVING ME NUTS!
beep
like Pulp Fiction edited for TV!
beep
okay, let's all stand in corners
beep
and point to where it's coming from
beep
it's called triangulation!
beep
okay, NOW
beep
okay, it's gotta be that corner
beep
but we unplugged everything there!
beep
this has been going on for an hour!
beep
hey, what's that behind the toaster?
beep
okay, who's cell phone is this?

fin
Read more!

what if?


**********************
we ran out of word
will our souls die instantly
could we find new love?
Read more!

Haiku Inferno Book Haiku

Haiku Inferno
has a book out now, you know
eight bucks at Powell's



Read more!

Without

Round and round


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Without

I don't trust the validity of your stigmata,
And loving success more than I you don't trust mine.
Even so, the lunatic sun leaps out of her nightie.
Birds gawk, people squeal, as usual.

Circling memories that keep me stuck,
Remembering words that prop me up,
Reading our sad epistles,
Reading our sad epistles.

Read more!

Sentences do not end in periods

A poem, or a poem


It is legitimate, to me at least
To see the words fall all over
Recongregate and reconvene
Leaving a sentence without thought
An idea without meat
And a thought without....thinking?

Perhaps this is far out of reach
Collapsing spasms of regret with laughter
I see the trepidations of this idea
combining with glimpses of stardom
And a rusty fork I call my own
Heading, alas, towards a home without windows
And a dead tree in the backyard

Read more!

Night of a thousand 'splosions!

I must be getting old if I'm writing this.


let's light em all off, cause we won't live forever!
fire off all the mortars and rockets you mortals!
they will see our display for miles and miles!
the gods this time will hear us and give us big smiles!
nevermind that we'll regret this nights revelry and noise
when in two days on the 4th we only have sparklers left.

it's the fourth of july
and we can't be patient
to save our vast armories
much beyond july 2nd

chicken and ribs, and corn still on the cob
it's bbq time in a backyard with family and friends
the flame licks up on the fat and the foil
and also the fuse of a nearby roman candle
sets off a chain reaction in a bag full of fireworks
and the house catches fire and they all feel like jerks.

it's the fourth of july
and on our spirit lives
so we will cook by open flame
right next to high explosives

bombs burst in the air, and the air smells of sulfur
loud noises and bright light and flashes and fire
an M-80 goes off and just half a block away
a man jumps ten feet straight up and then has a coronary
and somewhere nearby crouched in his unlit bathroom
a sweaty guy with a rifle prepares to beat back insurgents

it's the fourth of july
it's that time of year again
when we do our patriotic duty
and traumatize veterans
Read more!

Poem For Someone Who Doesn't Like Rhyming Poetry

from your tone of voice I gathered that you might need some encouragement.


if trepidation has got you down and you think there is no one around who cares and sympathizes the whole world round, do not forget that you have found people that will help assuage your frown. so in those dark moments when fright abounds and the rain beats down and the heart does pound just close your eyes and you might hear my whisper sound from all the way across the town:

you're afraid of things you need not fear
and I know you can slay any demon that dare come near
but if you be short on strength and long on tear
just lean my way and lend an ear
and I will give you the courage to persevere.
Read more!

Please Don't Waste Your Time Reading This

run on you crazy sentences, run on!


this is a long form story. I could split it up into chapters for easy reading but I won't. I could serialize it overtime so that I don't end up shozing other stories off the front page like a, um, guy that shoves things or something I guess. heck, I won't even use paragraphs, and I honestly don't expect anyone to read this in it's entirety straight through in one single solitary sitting while munching on microwaved popcorn and taking the phone off the hook which I realize is an outdated phrase in this day and age but I don't really care and besides you can get these cool old rotary phones nowdays that have been retrofitted with cellular technology so that you can use them anywhere like for example sitting in a bar wearing a fedora while typing away on an old remington typewriter with your old style phone with moder technology sitting right there ext to you like some archetypal image of a crime writer in like the forties or something which you can't do with some silly iPhone that doesn't have any buttons on it so you can't even dial it by feel like you can with just about every other phone out there which is ridiculous if you ask me because we were born with these things called fingers and part of the way in which we relate to the world around us is by tactile sensation so I generally oppose touch screen technology on that basis but also because it is kind of uncomfortable because buttons have more give which reduced the impact on fingers unlike the touch screens which leave your fingers feeling as though you've gone ten rounds finger boxing with george foreman which I realize sounds kinda dirty but it isn't unless you turn the term "finger boxing" into a brand new slang term or sex act which I do hope you don't. but I digress. anyway, like I was saying, I don't expect anyone to read all of this and in fact I don't even approve of that because you should have better things to do than read the entire rambling text of this piece and if you did I think you would find that I have even cheated in places for example sitting in a bar wearing a fedora while typing away on an old remington typewriter with your old style phone with moder technology sitting right there ext to you like some archetypal image of a crime writer in like the forties or something which you can't do with some silly iPhone that doesn't have any buttons on it so you can't even dial it by feel like you can with just about every other phone out there which is ridiculous if you ask anyone of high position in modern society such as that one guy that I saw riding a segue once while decked out in a spandex cycling suit with rearview mirrors on his helmet and a sleak pair of sunglasses cause I guess he's training for competitive segueing or something, anyway I bet that guy was first in line for an iPhone, am I right people? but please do yourself a favor and don't read this entire thing because it is my hope that I will be able to bury secret communications to the CIA in this which i just realize is probably saying too much and I may have blown my cover but until the hit squads come for me I want to relay the following to miguel: the penguin flies at midnight and it is indeed a lovely day as long as you have the microfilm hidden in the heel of your shoe which is by the way the laziest code phrase I have ever seen in my career in international espionage for fucks sake people! so if you're just joining us, don't read that last part unless you are miguel in which case do read that last part or your whole mission is in jeopardy and speaking of it's on right now, oh wait it's not because it's sunday. damn I hate it when that happens. this part right here was added on monday morning at ten twenty four AM, no, actually ten eleven. I don't have any idea where the twenty four came from that's really weird I think. I burnt my upper lip on a chimichanga last night which really hurt and blistered up but of course I had to pop the blister because if I didn't I wouldn't be able to hold my breath under water because the blister would prevent my lips from sealing and water would leak in and presumably I would drown all because of the good people at El Monterey frozen chimichanga and burrito company which on the one hand I feel like a traitor for supporting because Reesers is local but their chimichangas aren't nearly as good even though their frozen burritos are about equal but I don't feel too bad about it since I saw a thing on PBS once about howthe El Monterey company is a responsible corporate citizen and treats their workers fairly so it's not like I'm supporting a company that is really evil and who knows maybe Reesers is one such company I don't know about that but I can say that I did jury duty once and this guy on the jury worked for Reesers as a mechanic maintaining the factory equipment but he didn't have anything to say that was negative about them so I guess they're all right. so anyway I really wish robyn would write more for the site don't you all? c'mon people, tell robyn how much you all like her stuff cause maybe then she'll write more of it so we can all read more of it because it's damn cool, so let's hear it for robyn! I think she's a little turned off by all the posting of stuff from peoples archives that are totally inflating the post count around here which I can understand cause it does kind of make it a little intimidating and I imagine that she's not the only one around here that feels that way but I for one have only posted one thing that I had on file and every other one of my pieces has been written specifically for the site which I don't mean to come off as bragging or anything but rather just to let you know that I have way too much time on my hands which if you have gotten this far so do you. so my goal with this is to reach the novelette level like mike did earlier today but so far I'm only at 889 words which means I have 6605 words to go until I reach the 7500 words needed for a novelette and some of you might be thinking that those numbers don't add up right but they do if you take into account the running tally like I did so there! the grasshopper crows at 8 am in the afternoon. now I realize that this is not even close to finished but this sure is getting tiring so far so I think I'll fill some space with a bold-faced act of plagiarism. ISBN: 0-440-21415-7. see that there, I'm a rebel! watch as i flagrantly do it again: newly translated by Stanley and Eleanor Hochman. I am such a risk taker! but it's like the man once said, "a quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog", which I quoted only because I wasn't sure if I would use a "Z" or an "X" in this and I wanted to make sure because I am obsessive compulsive that way however not in the way that I would notice that I used both "Z" and "X" in explaining that which is wierd and kinda offputting when you think about it not unlike when people don't uses punctuation often enough like I am doing now or, use, punctuation, too, much, like, right, here, or even use: it* wrongly? is all this messing with your perception of reality which as some would say is and illusion anyway particularly if you subscribe to the notion that this is all a dream and there is no way that we would ever know it in it's own context except that things are in color but I tend to dream in color so I think it's just the colorblind dreamers that say that but they always say "well you may think you're dreaming in color but it's really just your mind adding the the colors" which is total bullshit because isn't your mind adding the whole damn dream in the first place?

intermission

is a pretty good irish movie I saw awhile ago that stars colin farrel, cilian murphy, and that guy that played the engineer on star trek: the next generation but they seem to play it way too often on cable so I'm kinda burnt out on it but if you get the chance you should check it out because it's pretty cool. are you still reading? how many times do I have to tell you not to read this whole thing? what is wrong with you? I mean, McG goes and posts a whole coherent story of nearly ten thousand words (which btw I haven't gotten around to reading, sorry) and you have to go and waste your time reading this meaningless tripe right here? well to each their own I suppose. and if you're keeping track I am only up to 1364 words right now so thing could take awhile. with that in mind I think I will take a momentary break and post this with the plan being to come back later and edit this post to add more useless run-on sentences like this one but except for will not necessarily add to it consecutively because right now I will go in and slip a whole bunch of shit into the middle of it so I unfortunately won't be able to do it serially that way, sorry mike. I have noticed that there are a fair amount of typo's in this so far and I don't really care because I want the fossil record of this post to reflect my haste in writing this because otherwise what is the point of writing endless streams of nothingness with all the artistry of a two-year-old that won't shut up because he just wants to hear his own voice? so did anyone read the part I added about the stuff and things and junk? well if you didn't I'm not going to tell you where I put it so you're just going to have to go back and read that part all over again and while I know that is about as enticing a prospect and a root canal that is the price you pay for not heeding my warnings and by the way don't you just hate it when your pinKY FINGER ACCIDENTILLY HITS THE CAPS LOCK WHILE YOU'RE TYPING BUT YOU DON'T WANT TO STOP TYPING SO YOU JUST LET It slide for a little bit with the intention of going back and fixing it later which is a pain because you have to type it all over again and if you make the same mistake then you're caught in an infinite loop which is perhaps evidence of a temporal paradox which I have to think would mean the end of time as we know it so that is why I oppose time travel unless it's through a some sort of dimensional conveyance like how they say that maybe there's a separate dimension for every possible outcome of every possible event so that somewhere there is a dimension exactly like this one but with the only difference being that a temporal paradox doesn't cause the end of time as we know it so that is why I oppose time travel unless it's through a some sort of dimensional conveyance like how they say that maybe there's a separate dimension for every possible outcome of every possible event so that somewhere there is a dimension exactly like this one but with the only difference being that a temporal paradox doesn't cause the end of time as we know it so that is why I oppose time travel unless it's through a some sort of dimensional conveyance like how they say that maybe there's a separate dimension for every possible outcome of every possible event so that somewhere there is a dimension exactly like this one but with the only difference being that a temporal paradox doesn't cause the end of time as we know it which it does in this dimension and that is why I get pissed off everytime I watch Back To The Future and speaking of which did you know there is supposed to be some warehouse in texas that has all of the unused delorean parts and that you can have them build you a brand new delorean from those brand new leftover parts for something like twentyfive grand which I think would be pretty cool and I suspect that if you were to slip them a franklin they might even trick it out to look like the one in the movie but even if they wouldn't do that I would still have to make myself a little flux capacitor mockup and stick it in the back because why the hell wouldn't you unless you didn't like that movie for some reason in which case you have a heart of cold black stone I mean I can understand not liking the sequels although I actually think part three is pretty damn good but what was I getting at I'm totally lost here I think it was something about nothing but I can't be sure. to be continued like I am doing right now so did anyone read todays paper because I know I didn't but I probably should except for thAT DAMN CAPS LOCK AGAIN DID i MEntion how I hate it when that happens because I'm pretty sure I did so that was just a test to see if you're still with me and if you are reading this part right here that I am writing now than you have passed or failed I'm not even sure which at this point so just define your own standards for victory over this monster of a post that I am making but I'm fairly sure that you'll get sick of it by the time it reaches three thousand words but that hasn't happened yet so stop yawning will you because that is kind of rude. and speaking of ostriches did you know that the first draft of the script for the film Planet of the Apes was written by Twilight Zone autuer Rod Serling well you probably did know that if you know me in real life because that if one of my favorite pieces of trivia to bring up in conversation because I am such a big fan of rod serling and the twilight zone but back when I was a kid twilight zone was long cancelled and rod serling was long dead so I watched alot of Tales From the Darkside even though the opening credits sequence was always scarier than the rest of the show, but it never failed to give me nightmares on the strength of that alone and if you think I'm talking about Tales from the Crypt then you are wrong because that was a completely different show but tales from the darkside was pretty cool and one funny thing was that they had this episode starring Jerry Stiller as a talk radio host and he kept getting angrier and more foaming at the mouth during his show and started sprouting horns and hoof and by the end of the show it was clear that he was in hell and then the funny thing is that some years later his son Ben had his own show called the Ben Stiller show and he spoofed that Tales from the Darkside episode which I thought was pretty good but probably explains part of why that show got canceled because how many people would have seen that tales from the darkside episode and got the reference but I was just reminded of it because writing this thing here kinda feels like that in a way but nevermind that because I had such a big crush on jeanene garafalo back then cause she was so cute and bitter but the funny thing is is that I was a moderator for the Air America message boards a few years ago and she had this show on there with this other guy and a posting I made actually got mentioned on the air by janeane herself which I think is pretty cool cause that means she noticed my existence and acknoledged it which makes me happy. but back to the business at hand, I was reading recently and article about how they have invented cloaking technology except that it only works on some obscure band of the light spectrum that is invisible to the human eye but once they figure out how to do it in the visible spectrum they can hide shit in plain sight like for example buildings that might otherwise be blocking a view which I guess would kinda suck if your view of choice is the city skyline or if you have a meeting in that building so that when you get there you're all like "hey where is the building I'm supposed to go to?" and people are all like "it's right there, duh!" and you're all like "don't be fucking with me like that I know there is not building right there and you are lying to me for your own amusement which is very annoying so I think I will will walk away from your right now and not waste my time and instead go to a restaurant and order a nice filet mignon because that sounds really good to me right now and I'm here out of town on an expense account so why not right unless of course they have invented cloaking technology which is hiding the building that you keep insisting is there in which case I apologize and please take this twenty-five dollar bill as a token of my apologies even though you doubt the existence of a twenty-five dollar bill but it is the future today so who knows, right?" and that's exactly what you'd say. more to co-

Read more!

Halien, the conclusion

All work and no play makes mc a dull boy, all work and no play . . .


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
experienced before. The city was not in sight. Neither were the twin sapphire suns. They glowed in setting mode from behind a tall sand hill in the distance. But the sky was green and Chuck smiled at the reacquainted sight of it. But not for long. Haley was in his face, and she was holding a baby.
"You're here to receive a final warning, Chuck. Don't spill my family's secrets!"
"Haley, why'd you leave me?"
"Shut the fuck up, Chuck, and you listen to me good." An angry squeak from beneath the baby's swaddling. "I was confused during our times together, but now my true identity and purpose has been restored. This is my home. You need not know its name. What I tell you now I tell you so that maybe the truth will satisfy you enough to go on with your life, and so that you won't be tempted to do something stupid like try to get that story published."
"But, but, Haley--we loved each other!"
"No, Chuck. We did not. I manipulated your feelings the whole time in order to steal your seed. Here's a little secret, Chuck. You have alien blood in you. My royal family's blood. Weak and watered down with the human taint, but there nonetheless. You were chosen by the others to breed with me for the purpose of continuing the bloodline. I would've bred with my father, but he died before I could reach mating age. I would've mated with my brother, but he was congenitally doomed not to reach sexual maturity. My family has a proud history in this galaxy, but the males started dying out. Within you is ancient family blood, and though it's human-DNA-tainted, it's free from the recent contagions that have decimated our males. It was decided that mixed with mine there was a good chance that a healthy male would result. And it happened, Chuck. My strong pure alien blood, when combined with the alien in you, has produced a healthy male of my species. And when he reaches age I will breed with him until enough healthy male and female offspring are produced, so as to insure the bloodline's continuation in perpetuity. Do you understand what I've told you, Chuck?"
"No! Let me stay with you here!"
"Can't, Chuck. You are ninety-nine point eight percent human. You're not really one of us. As a matter of fact, I don't really look like this. It's an illusion. You were a tool, Chuck. You were uprooted from your mediocre life, and used by us. Now go away and shut the fuck up about us. There are principalities upon the earth who wish to do my family harm. If they get a hold of you they may learn things they could use against us. You may wonder--"
Chuck's back in his apartment. His body had shuddered so violently that his hands
were able to free themselves from the imprint-portals of the letter. Oh, Jesus Christ! Fuck
you to Hell, Haley! And goddamn right I'm gonna tell about you and your sick fami--
Brrrrrrrriiiinnnng, droned the phone. Brrrrrrrrrriiiiiinnnnnnnng!
"Hello, Chuck here."
On the line, the sound of snakes hissing, flapping leathery wings and a singsongy little baby boy's voice but unlike a little baby boy's voice the enunciation was perfectly delivered and perfectly evil: "Don't fuck up, daddy, or every night I'll eat you in your dreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeamsssssssss!"

















Read more!

Halien, Part 9

A little voice inside says, you're not writing enough mc blogger


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
caressed the stubble of my sand-encrusted cheek. We rose from our sand-angel impressions. The sky was indigo, and sputtering on with a beckoning plenitude of stars, white and red and blue and yellow.
"I think we know what's next, my darling Chuck," she said
I scanned the immediate vicinity. Driftwood everywhere. "Shall we make a fire, Haley?" She nodded to my rhetorical, and it was quick work gathering enough wood to last well into morning. She said she was an expert fire-maker so I dug out a pit and let her arrange the logs and sticks into a perfect flammable pyramid. I offered my lighter, but she waved me off; instead igniting a match on a rock and touching it to the smallest bit of kindling in the pit's center. To my astonishment not only did this work, but the flame immediately spread throughout the structure into quite a conflagration. She jumped
up and down, and clapped like a little girl upon doing her first important thing all by herself, and I joined her in the joy. We laid beside the flickering, tempting heat. We laid on our backs in awe before the stars. Now and then I'd name them, and she'd give my naked chest a little congratulatory rub. "There's the Summer Triangle, Haley!" I pointed. "Vega, Deneb, and Altair." Her hand descended to my navel. "And there's Arcturus at the bottom of the ice cream cone, and straight up from that is the handle star of the Big Dipper, and in a line up from the bowl pointer stars is Polaris, and true north, and--"
Her hand dipped into my shorts, and as her light warm fingers gently drum-tapped there I stiffened instantly and instantly rolled onto her yielding softness. Without thinking of anything else, of any fear or consequence I plunged, first to her mouth then to her neck, teasing my tongue along the white course of it. She sat up and tore off her top. She allowed me the pleasure of unclasping her satin, indigo bra. Her breasts were petite flowers of flesh and strawberry-sweet to my suckling. They were all that, and the agony of now is their absence. It was she who tenderly nudged me further down, down to the cinnamon-raison navel, down to the incense-fur as she slid her bottoms off, and how she gasped! I was swimming in a hallucinatory ocean of bliss in which all of our usual senses are so heightened as to lose all rendering into language possibility. But I can tell you this: She tasted like everything good. She tasted like healing. She mounted me amid the violent crash of night waves, and as I lay back facing her, the full moon was bobbing in and out of view at her right shoulderblade. Obscured and revealed as she bobbed upon me
and I thought curiously that it's so much like the vital needs of our souls: obscured and revealed; obscured by ego things perhaps, and perhaps revealed by our all-too-temporary ego-transcendences.
It seems crazy to have thought of anything during that crazy, buckling moon-beamed, star-dusted and tide-applauding conjugal. At the moment the vacuum-suck of her loveliness received all essence and seed her eyes flashed indigo, but it didn't bother me. Somehow it seemed appropriate in the surreality of it all. She collapsed upon me. Between her strawberry breasts I felt the joy-hammering of her heart answering mine, life-affirming beat upon life-affirming beat. It was our God-hymn of oneness, it was our song, the song of two Gods made one on the sand alone beneath a dazzling sky-dome, and I buried my nose into the vanilla-sweet coils of her ear, and I whispered, "I love you, Haley;" and she started to whisper something, but then I realized they were sleep sounds. She was asleep on top of me. I gently rolled her onto the sand and curled an arm around
her. Wasn't long before I was out as well. My consciousness knew bliss then, and I know it was a night of no dreaming, perhaps the only deep dreamless sleep of my entire life.
And then I woke. And Haley was gone. The embers of the fire still glowed a deep red and still gave off hand-warming heat. The tide gently lapped against the shore. It was early dawn, and the sky was the thin pale color of watered-down milk. At first I thought she must've risen early and went for a walk, but as I picked up my boxer shorts I learned otherwise. A note, and the strange nine-petaled clover I now twirl in my fingers, bereft for missing her. The note was succinct. It destroyed me.
I got lucky Chuck. I've been summoned home. Don't try to find me. I'm far, far away. Haley.
It made no sense. It didn't matter to me that I was stranded on the coast with no ride and no shoes. My God had gone, my God was inaccessible now, and even took the trouble to tell me not to try to find her. How did it go wrong? It couldn't have gone wrong, but she was gone, and the dread’s dirge-beat within my heart and head funereally blackened my soul knew that there was no finding her again. I found my way home. I quit my job. I moved out of the city and away from friends, and that brings us to now, and the unopened letter before me. Well, guess I'll open it now.
Chuck tears the envelope carefully and pulls out what first resembles a folded piece
of tin foil. But upon opening it the creases vanish and two shallowly-indented hand
imprints become manifest. Charles' arms tingle with electrically-charged expectation.
Ok, Haley. I should've expected this. Chuck superimposed his hands on the imprints and immediately found himself transported to the indigo-desert world that he'd






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Halien, Part 8

On my tombstone I want only one word: blogger.


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bother me, so under the enchantment was I. All that registered was the triumph: the monster is out of the way, and now what with Haley?
"I'm so sorry for your loss. Maybe he'll get better."
"Not a chance, Chuck," she said shaking her head, sadly but with acceptance. "Too far gone beneath the waves. His brain drowned, but at least they say he's not suffering any more. He wasn't made to be in this world, Chuck, and beings like you and I understand that." Her cheeks pinkened. At that moment she seemed to have let go of her little brother, and I was grateful.
I lit a smoke and thought carefully about my next words. "Where do we go from here, Haley?"
"How 'bout the coast? It's a gorgeous August evening." She looked up at the wall clock. "And it's only 5:30. We could be at Canon Beach by seven. Six-thirty if we hurry. Oh, please, Chuck--please?" Her soft eyes implored me from a place of deepest need. I'm always a sucker for that look. I never learn.
"What the hell do we have to lose, Haley, but uh--do you have a--"
"Yes, Chuck! My car's parked outside. Didn't take long for me to remember how to drive." And off we went. It wasn't the normal thing for me to do. I had my comforting rituals. The spontaneous had always made me nervous, and I built my life around avoiding it. But I reasoned with myself: c'mon, Chuck! Tomorrow's the start of your weekend, and when was the last time you said yes to adventure? Uh, three months ago. Yes, Chuck, but the monster is out of the way. Seize the fuckin' day, motherfucker, and live for once, be a man with a pulse, breathe the fuckin' ocean into your lungs, feel the fuckin' actual sand give way beneath your bare feet--when was the last time those stinky ghosts felt the sunlight? and besides, the woman of your dreams will be right there beside you, and maybe
you'll get lucky and feel like a man again. How long's it been since you've been laid, Chuck? Huh? Yeah, yeah, Lorena was eighteen months ago--that's not important to me. Ah, yes, Chuck, but soul-connection is and always has been, and now finally, you're taking a chance on something real. So be at peace with that, and be excited. Congratulations! Carpe Diem, motherfucker!
I spent most of the drive bantering back and forth with myself in that manner, and when I finally looked out the window I realized, with some alarm, that Haley was goin' at least eighty, and the steep downgrades and hairpin turns of the coastal mountains were fast coming. "Uh, Haley, the Oregon State cops are crawlin' all over this stretch."
"Ah, don't ya worry, Chuck. I got it under control." Was she being ironic? But for some reason I accepted her reassurance. I didn't whiteknuckle the armrest or dashboard. Instead, I cracked the window and lit a smoke as did she. We passed seven pig cars on the way through the mountains, blew right the fuck past them as a matter of fact, and we laughed carefree as we zoomed onward. I recall Haley waving at one cop, and he actually waved back. Maybe her license plate was known. Maybe her family had pull. It was the joyride of my life. I had no fear of death, I reasoned, because dying with her didn't seem scary. It seemed perfect, or didn't matter, same thing to me. We found a place to park on the main tourist strip right in front of the famous saltwater taffy shop with the clown outside waving folks in and passin' out goodies. It was 6:20. We made record time, and the sun wasn't gonna leave us for another three hours. The air was misty-fresh and sinus-clearing. Perfect! I had no desire to smoke. When I breathed in I smelled salt and the freedom of an endless childhood. She took my hand, saying, "Here we are, Chuck. Together and free from anything that would distract us from enjoying each other." There was no thought of perusing the shops' trinkets. We had left our shoes in the car and headed down the beach barefoot amid the persistent roar of the tide-driven waves and the
strange combining of haunting and happy that makes up the cries of gulls, and children running up the surf-foam and shrieking gleefully as the cold hits their toes, or tossing Frisbees to leaping tongue-flapping dogs. Their were lovers walking along. Many lovers hand in hand heading toward the descending sun and their own tomorrows, now and then embracing and dropping to the sand for a little spontaneous passion. Haley and I just kept walking, drinking down all the glory around us. Now and then a particularly inspiring sight would cause her to squeeze my arm, and we'd stop to silently appreciate the epiphany of scenery, whether it be the golden slant of sun through clouds illuminating the water, or a thousand and one beak-bobbing gulls on enormous Haystack Rock a hundred feet out to sea, America's largest coastal monolith, or the dance of blue-shelled crabs in the tidepools, or an archetypal golden Labrador shaking itself after a cool dip in the diamond-glittering Pacific. The sun went from yellow to orange to red, and we found a rock to sit on, lingering over the sun's descent as if it would be the last, and judging from Haley's "ooh"s and "ah"s that interpretation seems right. We kissed. A lot. But the osculation was strangely non-sexual, it was more like kissing for unspeakable joy, or like being suddenly dropped from a shithole into a luscious Eden and kissing as maybe Eve
and Adam did for the first time, innocent and happy for the gift of being without any sense of the erotic or taint of separateness and shame. Withdrawing her lips and her heat, she Read more!

Halien, Part 7

Oh, the follies of youth, the eccentricity of age!


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absence. The beer was cold and invigorating. I was laughing. I couldn't believe it--laughing again! Then, a hand on my shoulder, familiar and transmitting tranquility through the warm, gentle grip. Relying on my own resources I would've probably cracked up, and ran out of the bar screaming, but her spell-casting was incomparable. I've encountered energy vampires before, the kind of person who sucks your strength dry and all you can do to fight the attack is to flee their presence. But Haley, despite her strangeness, was the opposite of that. I could face the music. I remembered everything again, but was ok with it. So it was with confidence, and even a little excitement that I turned in my bar stool to face her.
"What's up, Chuck?" A long Virginia Slim dangled at the corner of her mouth.
She looked a little different, and I couldn't figure out why. The hair? The smile?
"Why are you doing this, Haley?"
"What do you mean?" She looked confused, and a little hurt. I couldn't abide my
hurting her.
"Look, I'm sorry." She hand-signaled to a candlelit booth, and we seated ourselves across from each other. Looking into the little orange pool of melted wax I recalled the vision of kissing her afresh, and the vision of the other world, the New Heaven. But part of me fought fiercely for independence of mind. "We experienced something profound, Haley." I looked down at my folded hands. I couldn't look at her. "But that was a long time ago, and--"
"Yes, Chuck, I know. Was it years ago? You look the same, sound the same. I
had an accident and suffered some memory loss. That's why I'm here. I remembered that
I could trust you."
"Uh, what? It was only three months ago. What happened?"
"They say I was thrown out of the bed of a pickup truck and hit my head. Apparently I was on my way to a Memorial weekend camping trip at Crater Lake. At first my entire long-term and short-term memory were gone, wiped clean--I, tabula rasa." She paused, and it hit me. Her eyes were darker, brown in fact. Where did the indigo go? She continued, and I actively listened. "I was scared, Chuck. There were strange lights--I guess I'm remembering the emergency room. They say I was comatose for a day, but to me it seems longer. I'm missing time. They operated on my brain to save it. It was touch
and go a while, they say. I, I uh, saw things, Chuck. Hallucinating, I guess, or just vividly dreaming, but it seemed like flashbacks of actual memory. There was another planet, and you, Chuck, and we were happy, and then I'd wake up and forget most of it as one forgets most dreams, but the one thing that stuck, Chuck, the one thought that stabilized me against what otherwise felt like madness was the steady, sure, reassuring belief that you existed, that you understood and validated me. Tell me it's still true, Chuck. Tell me I didn't pass up an opportunity to die in vain."
It was too much too fast to process. I had a million questions, but she looked tortured, and her lip trembled, and pitiful bubbles of spittle formed at the edge of her sweet mouth. Her left eye twitched, and it was brown and human and crying out to me to understand her suffering. "I, I've missed you, Haley. Of course I'm here for you." Her eyes went radiant. Her smile was slanted a bit, from the surgery I presumed, but to me that imperfection made her even more lovely, and human.
"Oh, thankyou, thankyou, Chuck!" She grasped my hands and kissed them over
and over. "It's fate, it's fate! We've found each other a second time, and this time it's even
better!"
"Yes, Haley, I feel that, but I'm curious. Your memory loss was total and all you
remembered was me? Did you have to get re-acquainted with your family?" And your
brother, the monster?
"Whew, that was hard, Chuck. I resisted at first. Mom and dad were strangers,
and I just couldn't believe them, that I came from them--they seemed too different from
me, but--"
I couldn't keep my eyes dry, and I gazed intently, questioningly, into hers. I
wanted to believe. "Yes, Haley. Take your time. I can't imagine."
"Thankyou, Chuck. You have the patience of a saint. They showed me photographs. They took me to old places, childhood places which triggered one memory at a time. Slowly, I was able to piece together my past, and then I asked about Jimmy, and they told me what happened to him." She looked away for a full minute, biting down hard on her lower lip as I massaged her fingers.
"I don't remember you telling me about Jimmy."
"My sweet little brother, Chuck."
"Ah, yes."
"After my accident, Jimmy fell apart. A full schizophrenic break, they say. He was sent away." Thankyou, baby Jesus! I thought. I wasn't thinking straight. In retrospect, I should have focused on her statement, "My sweet little brother," but I didn't, so it didn't Read more!

Halien, Part 6

The hope is always that at least one person will read this, and comment.


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I dared to protest. "But, but, it's how I imagine my home, Mrs. Jackson, I'm, I'm sor--" Whack on my sore knuckles, swelling and red. But as I beheld, thirty years later, with my adult eyes the beauty before me all was fine. It was redemption and healing. I was in my first artistic creation. I walked towards those suns, basking in the warm red light, thinking how lovely an analogy they were to the identical twin hearts of Haley and I. Just then a shadow enveloped me, and with an echoing squawk and the leathery flap of wings in my ears, I found myself scooped up gently by the warm fleshy beak of a jet-sized flying reptile, and gently laid into a basket hanging below it's prodigious, purple-scaled belly, affixed to the creature's bulk by a thin string-like substance that glittered like red jewels in the twin sunlight. I cannot believe it now, but I was not afraid. I was elated, and grew even more so as we ascended into the sweet, cinnamon-apple green air. The flapping of my guide animal, and that is how I perceived the beast, was purposeful and cooling to my body. I felt loved by the thing, and knew in my deepest gut that no harm would befall me here. I'm next to Haley, and my hands are on the book. Then an incredible sight gifted my eyes. A city on the horizon getting closer. A city of in-
describable radiance. I thought of the New Jerusalem. I'd read of it in the bible, but no human words could do justice. Futuristic structures, looping geometric creations of dizzying sophistication, gravity-defying and all jewel or gold bedecked. Arabesques, geodesic domes, all the Pythagorean solids were represented, glowing with their own inherent light. More celestial music. Ineffable. Unrepeatable. And the taste of honey-nectar and cinnamon in my mouth. As I remember now, after all this time, I would give anything for a moment of return to that place. We flew over the city. My heart was in my
mouth, my ears, my eyes, my nose, my grip. On and on the dazzling cityscape passed beneath us, shape-shifting geometric-jeweled kaleidoscope that it was, and I thought to myself, Thankyou, Haley, for the gift of this. And then another thought: A family secret? Fade out. I heard my vocal chords intone, "No!" And I felt my hands on the book, and I knew I was back in the body's here and now.
"I know, Chuck. Your so welcome, and now you know what I know."
"It was like paradise, Haley. How?" My mind was reeling, drunk, sputtering spark plugs.
"I'm not sure, Chuck. I can only tell you what I think it is."
"I'm all ears, my dear Haley." She embraced me and whispered in my ear, her heated breath quickening my pulse and genitals, and prickling my nose hairs with honeysuckle.
"I think it's home, Chuck, but--" Her voice choked up. "But it's lost. Our paradise, lost."
"Do you mean literally that the vision I saw was of our home planet?"
"More like our home dimension, Chuck, and that's way we both ache, and have always ached to return. We don't really belong here, and we've always known it. I have always felt kind of--inhuman."
"Inhuman?"
"It's why I shared this with you, Chuck. I have searched for another of my species, and I never held forth much hope until I found you. We are misfits on this world. We are of the same flesh and soul, and my goddamned search has reached it's terminus!"
"Well, Haley, let's take a step back and not lose our minds here! We have human families! We have siblings and friends and lives right here on earth, and moreover--"
"No we don't, Chuck! We--You and I--are the only family we've got! Everyone else is alien!"
"No, Haley! I, I can't believe that! It's crazy!"
"Don't you dare call me crazy! Get out of here, Chuck! Get the fuck outta here! God help me!" She rose to her feet and flailed her arms. I reached out to comfort her, but she batted my hands away. Then, I saw him. Her brother, whom I'd forgotten about, leaped out of his Zazen posture, facing me with sudden ferociousness. He bared his fangs at me. Demon teeth! And his indigo eyes beamed like blinding flashlights. The rest is fuzzy. Suffice it to say, I ran not just for my life, but for my soul. Somehow I made it home, panting, collapsing on my bed, but not before double-bolting my door. If I would
have kept my wits about me I would've dragged Dave from his shitty movie to keep me company and stand watch. Maybe he would've believed me. I've never told him. I slept dead and dreamless. My body and soul were shot from the trauma. And then I awoke, and started the work of repressing the memories. I was systematic. I chanted. I smoked a lot of herb. It did not happen . . . it did not happen was my mantra. I meditated. I prayed. I was in a war to save my soul. My shitty job was salvation from the agony of thinking, the searing hell of free time, dream time. And after three months of this,
the systematic repression seemed successful. And then I finally felt well enough to return to the Bullpen. Now, because of subsequent events, I know I was called there.
I sat at the bar, said hello to old acquaintances, making up stories to explain my Read more!

Halien, Part 5

I have too much free time. Vacation's over tomorrow.


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of this present moment I shudder at the shock of him. Ghastly white and naked he stood, save for a purple loincloth drooping with many folds from his bone-gaunt hips. The boy stared into my soul’s windows, and I felt an odd sensation about my heart, cold and violated as if it were being fingered for sport. His eyes were Haley’s, strangely lit and indigo-flecked, but unlike hers the emotional sense emanating from them was menace. The boy was frail and surely no older than five yet I froze before him as if he was the giant, and I was Jack and there was no beanstalk route of escape. I would’ve extended my hand but he was in my face.
“Hi there, I’m Chuck,” I said, forcing a smile through the fear. He snatched the book from my lap, brushing against my arm with a hand of ice. Terrible was that touch,
and too deeply embedded in memory now to ever be excised. The boy clutched the book to his chest, turned around, and headed towards the open door. Slam! went the door but not the boy. After flinging the book into the room (hibernation chamber?, I wondered) he sat facing the right side wall in lotus posture. My heart still felt tight and cold as though the boy’s fist enclosed it and could squeeze it out of existence at whim. I turned from him, thinking, Save me Haley. And there she stood, bold and smiling.
“My brother bothering you, Chuck?”
“No.” My eyes fixed on the boy again. Esthetically, from a distance, he was beautiful. An eastern adept with bulbous head a bit luminescent. “He just wanted his book back. Is he--”
“Oh he’s been studying Zazen meditation. He’s a special kid.”
“Specialness seems to run in your family,” I said.
“I have the book, Chuck.” She seated herself next to me. In the room’s ambient light her skin chameleoned into a warm pink. The icy fingers had withdrawn from my heart and my eyes were drawn to the slim metallic thing in Haley’s lap. It had a fluid iridescent sheen which followed the circular motions of her fingers as she caressed it. “Now, as I’ve said, I trust you, Chuck.” She laid a hand on mine. Warm, mother-tender, comforting. “But--” She gave me a firm squeeze, sending goosebumps up my arms. A draft upon my soul, a warning: “Never breathe a word of this as long as you live.”
“I won’t,” I said. “I promise.”
“As I promised my father so long ago, Chuck.” Rainbow sparks leapt from her drumming fingers. “I break that promise now at great risk to myself because.” Her lips
trembled as she took her free hand off the book and placed it on my knee.
“What’s wrong, Haley?”
“I’m lonely, Chuck.” Again the smell of apples, and her eyes were brown.
“I understand,” I said.
“And I’ve dreamed of you, Chuck. These family secrets are making me crazy. I need to share them. You’re the one, Chuck. You have to be.”
She looked rosy and fragile. It was the beer garden all over again, and my heart was a molten mess. Her words had activated my deepest, oldest need for belonging. “Yes,” I said, and nodded. She handed me the metallic tome. Its surface had lost its color, had turned to dull grey the moment I touched it, and all I could think was It just needs to get to know me.
“Don’t worry, Chuck,” Haley said. “Open it.”
There were no pages, no words, but the method of reading was obvious. On either side of the silvery surface were indented hand-prints. With a deep breath I positioned my hands over the prints. It was an exact fit. My hands tingled. I closed my eyes. My stomach and brain and groin tingled as if I were experiencing the dead-dropping descent of the universe's steepest roller coaster. And that analogy does no justice to the experience. None could. I was literally on another planet. Crazy, I know. I pinched my arm, I squeezed my balls, I slapped my face hard. Not a dream, and I was not with Haley. I was alone in a desert, and the color of the silky sand was indigo. I was not afraid. I was aware that somewhere my actual hands were on the book and Haley was right next to me, and it's a good thing I didn't think of her little brother with the vampire skin. I became aware of a hot zephyred breeze, scented with a sweet potpourri of cinnamon and nutmeg and god knows what else, but it was good, and the smell carried me along the rippled sands buzzing with pleasure. At the apex of a high dune I stopped, drop-jawed at the twin sapphires rising above the distant horizon. Two red-jeweled suns, and I don't know how
I discerned that they were rising, but the intuition proved true. I was naked.
And the sky, my God! the sky was green as the grass of good green earth. Indigo
sand. Sapphire suns. Green sky. And I recalled at that moment that as a boy in kindergarten, Mrs. Jackson belittled me so badly in front of the class that I wet my pants for finger-painting the identical scene that I now saw before me. I remembered her cruel words accompanied by a slap on the knuckles by her thick wooden ruler. "This is no good at all, Chucky! Everyone knows the sky is not green, it's blue! And sand is not that godawful hue! When are you going to follow the rules! I told you to paint your home, and everyone else did--everyone but you, Chucky!"
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