Just a Man caught between..Ignorance & Bliss

Human ??

2009-07-05T07:55:00.014-05:00

How fitting that this prompt should come up on my Birthday. At a time when good health is suspect and a moment when my psyche is feeling bloody sorry for itself.
I decide to see what comes up in photobucket when I type in the word Human. Now most people likely find the image that I fixed upon as disgusting and a very cynical view of being Human but for me I found it to be sobering, centering actually. Almost having the same effect as meditating on being dead. It reminded me of U.G Krishnamurti's proclamation that we are no more or no less then extremely intelligent animals whose main purpose is to sustain life and propagate our species. Again not a very pleasant view of our existence. The majority of us find this concept to be quite distasteful and contrary to our belief that we are put on this earth to be superior to other species, hold dominion over this spinning, circling, speeding planet. We are God's chosen, his image. We are creators in our own right. So... What does it mean to be human?

Let's imagine that I am out hiking in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains immersed in the beauty and sanctity of the forest. Heading for a little stream I know about to sit and communicate with nature when a Grizzly bear crosses my path. Homo Sapien meets Ursus arctos horribilus. I freeze and my mind begins to scramble. Do I run or lay down and curl up in a ball if he attacks? Do I back up slowly? Am I down wind? Does he smell the pastrami sandwich in my backpack? It turns out Mr Grizzly isn't interested in me today, another day I may be lunch or something to play with but today he's more interested in going to a stream he knows about to cool off and do a little fishing. Now I've just had a very real experience with an animal that some Native Americans believe to be their direct ancestors. What a knee shaking, gut wrenching, adrenalin pumping experience that should have been.

I don't think old Griz is going to go back and tell his buddies that he met this fat old white guy in the woods today but I'm positive that I'm going back and telling everybody who will listen about my experience, maybe even get a couple minutes of fame by telling the media about it. It's only Human to do so, but I should have left it there in the woods. That was all it was meant to be. Man can not be anything other then what he is and what he is, is what he experiences in the present moment.

U.G. Krishnamurti

Where I come from

2009-03-21T23:43:00.015-05:00

"Where I come from a true gentleman stands and offers a lady a seat." He was addressing a tall lanky University student sitting on the bench seat directly in front of him. The bus was full of students, packed in like sardines, on their way to their 8:30 class. A young mother with a toddler in tow and loaded down with a backpack full of the child's clothes had just got on board, probably on the way to a Daycare or a Sitter before she herself made her way to work.

"When exactly was that grand-dad, back in the day?" the young student said while continuing to listen his music player.

He rose and offered the young lady his seat and stood directly in front of the smart-ass who was now busy playing with something on his bloody toy. He looked around him and saw that everyone was either plugged in or typing on one device or another. A bus full of bobble heads looking out the windows or at their screens not wanting to acknowledge what was going on around them. Not wanting to get involved. Back in my day, he thought. Back in my day I would have ripped you another asshole. I would have torn your scrawny head off and threw it out the window. That's what I would have done back in my day. He could feel his blood pressure begin to rise and his head begin to throb. He tried to focus on the beautiful day outside. Snowbanks melting in the warm March sun. The hissing of tires on wet pavement through the open windows of the bus. He could feel the cool air wash over him as he stood jammed and jostled on the tightly packed bus.

When he woke up a police officer was pressing something to his forehead and the young lady that he stood for was holding his hand.

"That's a nasty cut you have. I've managed to stop the bleeding but I'm going to get an officer to drive you to the hospital,I think your going to need stitches. We'll take your statement there." the officer said as he helped him to his feet. "For the record, the young man stated that you threw his iphone out the window. Is that a fact?"

He looked out the front window of the bus and seen the lanky student standing by a patrol car waving his hands wildly and pleading with another officer who was trying to get him into the backseat of a cruiser.
"Really? he said; Where I come from that wouldn't be fitting behavior for a gentleman."

The Invisible style

2008-10-22T01:08:00.016-05:00

Guy loved to spend early mornings in the Village, sitting at a sidewalk table savoring a hot cup of coffee, (Americano/3/4 fill) and doing the times crossword. He also loved watching the not fully awake masses on their way to their cubicles, their cash registers, their labor. People watching was his favorite pastime. It was a game to him trying to guess what they were thinking or what they did for a living. Like the young man who just went by on a skateboard, dressed in a suit and tie wearing a porkpie hat and black 'Van' skater shoes. I.P guy at Great West Life, he guessed.

His second most favorite thing in the world was eavesdropping, whether on public transport, in a cue or sitting at a sidewalk table like now, he always had his antenna tuned for anything that could be translated into a good story. There was so much great material to be gleaned by just paying attention to what is going on around him.
If someone were to ask him what superpower he would most like to possess, it would be the power to become invisible.He figured that this would be the coolist superpower of them all. Even without this power he has managed to become next to invisible. He can't remember how he attained this ability or even when it became evident to him that no one really pays attention to him. He can walk into a crowded room and no one notices or acknowledges that he is there. At a party or any gathering where there are people standing or sitting in groups immersed in discussion or heated argument, no one ever asks for his opinion. Which is just as well for he never really has one.

As far back as he can remember he has been able to see instantly the many different sides or possibilities to any argument. Things have never been Black or White to him. He lives in a grey scale world and he is happy with his place in the Universe. He has never consciously tried to be invisible but he has endeavoured to never stand apart from the crowd but rather to blend into his surroundings. He is not the kind of guy who takes one for the team but then again no one would expect it of him. One of the real benefits to being invisible is that people have little or no expectations of you.

You might think that this would be an easy style of life to maintain but you would be wrong. While no one else has any expectations, that bloody little man constantly yammering inside his head does. It is constantly telling him to speak out, to take the lead, to give an opinion and for what! So it can satisfy it's never ending need to be stroked, to be held in high opinion, to stand out and be noticed. No...it's not an easy lifestyle to maintain. He has to constantly take deep breathes and bite his tongue because he has found as he gets older he suffers fools less and less. For the most part he is happy being what's his name...You know the guy who was standing next to you at the bar...

Style & Misc. Bits & Bobs

2008-10-20T09:44:00.009-05:00

It's been a while since I posted anything. Death, Taxes and Computer crashes have taken most of my attention, time and money over the summer but I'm back with a new blog, ready to try again. Out of the ashes of the old Alchemist blog rises a new alter Ego, 'Gamol Gabere'. The writing will remain much the same as before with more emphasis on fiction then on baring my soul or exposing any dark secrets.

I will try to put more emphasis this year on improving my writing and less on content. I think I know where my weaknesses lay, other then punctuation and spelling. I have always had problems in school with expository essays and descriptive writing so if you should spot something that could use improvement, please feel free to comment, especially any professional writers out there. While I appreciate the pats on the back I also need some constructive criticisms.

As for my writing style...I have no idea of what it is or what it is attempting to evolve into. I know whose writing I like to read so I suppose I should ask myself what is it about their writing that appeals to me and find a common thread in them all and try to emulate it or create a style of writing that has the same feel and flow that appeals to me.

Full Time is Called

2008-07-19T10:02:00.010-05:00

Sorry, I've had this sitting in my files for ages. very few people have seen it so I decided hang it out for comment. I love poetry and wish I could write it as well as some of you... This is one of the few that I find worthy of calling it a poem.

This poem was first conceived when Albert Felstead, the last man who played football during the Christmas Truce(1914) passed away in 2005 at the age of 104. The first two lines were written by a friend JayCee as an idea for a poem. I filled in the rest using her prompt. I was imagining that all those who participated in the famous football game that took place between the trenches on Christmas day were waiting in the afterlife for the last man to join them so they could resume the game again.

Full time is called at last
The final player is no more.
All the ghosts of no mans land
Will celebrate the final score
As the last man leaves his mortal
Shell to walk on heavens pitch,
Where old friends and former foe
Wait to play the game once more.

The field is ruled with poppies red,
The ball as golden as the sun.
Deaths ditch is lined with Edelweiss
And Angels sing The New Jerusalem,
To celebrate that glorious day
When they laid down bayonet and gun
And ran upon a no mans land
to play footy just for fun.

Chance Encounter with someone who watched over me.

2008-07-09T23:46:00.010-05:00

He was right where I knew he would be. Where he always was at this time of the day. All his friends were home having supper but there he was sitting quietly slamming the ball into the pocket of his already well worn in glove. What was he?...fourteen maybe. There he was; this skinny little freckle faced runt, his blond curls sticking out from under of his royal blue Dodgers cap. He wore a blue and white horizontal striped t-shirt, denim jeans (holes in both knees) and white high top runners. He was waiting for Beans, Coop, Specs and the rest to return to the field so they could have another practice. Going home wasn't an option for him at this time. His father would be coming home from the hotel...staggering drunk to report to his Mother that no he didn't find a job today and yes he had spent all the money she had given him this morning on beer. He would go home later after the arguing, after the hateful, hurtful words and his father had passed out on the couch. He would eat what his mother would have put in the oven for him.

I stood there looking at him tossing the ball up in the air and catching it, over and over again. I couldn't believe that it was actually happening. The old lady said that she would grant me the opportunity of having a chance encounter with anyone I desired. I had saved her dog from being hit by a car and she would give me this gift for my heroic deed, but I must decide who it was I would most like to talk to, past or present and in my dream I would get the opportunity to meet with whoever it was I chose to meet. I never really took her seriously..I mean really, who would believe that would ever happen, but there I was looking at the one person I desired to talk to the most...myself.

I was almost at the bench before I realized that I had come prepared for the meeting. I was carrying a ball and glove under my arm.

"Hey!" I said; "how about a game of catch?"

"No thanks...I'm waiting for my friends, they'll be here any minute now."

"I know, but how about a game of catch until they come, You know..sort of loosen up so you'll be ready for practice."

"Do I know you?" said the Boy. "You look familiar."

"No, but I know you. Come on a little game of catch, I'll take it easy on you. We can talk while we play."

"How do you know me?" said the boy; "I've never seen you before but you do look familiar." He got up from his seat and walked on to the Diamond.

"You'd be surprised what I know about you I said. I know that you have great hands and can catch anything that comes within your reach and first base would be your ideal position if only you were a little taller. You'd make a great Center Fielder but you have a weak arm and have trouble hitting the cut off man. Your turtle slow, so short-stop is out and again that weak throw rules you out of being an effective third baseman, That leaves second base...you turn a great double play and smart enough to position yourself where the ball is most likely to be hit and that's the position that you play. Oh yeah your a lousy hitter but walk a lot because your hard to pitch to...How am I doing so far?" I picked the ball out of my glove and threw it to him. "Let's use my ball."

He caught the ball and shoved his own into the pocket of his Jeans. "So what do you do, hide behind a tree and watch us practice?" He tossed the ball back easy but with great follow through.

"No, I know lots of things about you," I said; "I know that your favorite food is Fish and Chips. Your favorite drink is Grape Nehi. Your favorite baseball team is the Brooklyn Dodgers. Your favorite Hockey team the Toronto Maple leafs and every night you go to bed wishing that you were never born, thinking that it would be better if you never existed at all. I threw the ball back to him with an equally great follow through.

"Mister...this is all getting kind of creepy, maybe you should just go and I'll go back and sit down to wait for my friends."

"NO! No , wait a minute I have some things I want to say to you but first I have to make you believe something that will seem impossible to believe. I want you to look at me. Really look at me!! Who do you think I am, think the impossible."

"I don't know, we could be related. Are you going to tell me that your my real father and have come back to find me? That's what happened to a friend of mine."

NO, but close," I said; laughing out loud, "I'm really you 50 years from now. I need you to entertain the possibility of that being a true statement. Do you think you could so that?"

"What? Believe that you are me? It's more likely that you walked away from the looney bin."

"Look at the ball and tell me what it says."

The young man took the ball out of his glove and turned it over and read the inscription. World Series 2007 Boston Red Sox vs Colorado Rockies." "Who are the Colorado Rockies?...That team don't even exist."

It will one day and the Brooklyn Dodgers will move to L.A. and you will never forgive or pull for them again." I said.

He looked up at me like a young deer caught in the head lights of a car, wanting terribly to run away and hide but unable to make his feet move. "A-A-Am I supposed to believe that this ball came from the year Two thousand seven?"

"Yes! I know it sounds crazy but that's exactly what I'm trying to make you believe. At least be open to the possibility. The Red Sox win it in four straight by the way."

"I have a hard time believing that." he said.

"Listen to me. I'm you from the future and I want you to pay attention to what I have to say. I want you not to worry so much about your parents, They'll be fine and none of it is your fault. You'll understand it all when you get older.
I know you don't apply yourself in school. I know you try very hard to become invisible, not stand out, to do only enough to get by without standing out from the crowd. Strangely we create our own Universe..reality and you will succeed at becoming invisible. You are going to wish had persued your dream.
I want you to pay attention to the world around you, hold on to each moment like it's something special and may never happen again. The trees are not just green, the sky is not blue and the clouds white. Look at them... really look at them.
Don't bury your head in the sand and hope that it will all go by quickly because believe me it does and you'll regret not having paid attention. When you get to be my age you are going to regret not having gone to India in search of a great Spiritual teacher, not seeing the Taj Mahal.
Your going to have wished that you had trekked across France and Spain on one of the great Christian Pilgrimages called the Camino.
Your going to wish you had walked the labyrinth and seen the Rose Window of the Chartes cathedral in France.
I want you to Learn the names of the flora and fauna around you. Keep a journal. Learn how to ski and surf, your going to wish you had.
I could tell you how to become very wealthy but money won't make you happy, living in the moment will. Don't be afraid to live your life."
"I know that this all seems crazy to you and you just want me to go away and leave you alone and I know that you don't understand half of what I'm telling you but I'm hoping that one day that some of these suggestions, these seeds will take root and become a reality. Don't be too hard on yourself kid, your not going to kill yourself. Your in it for the long hall so you might as well enjoy it." with that I started to disappear and I knew that I would not remember all this when I awoke but I wonder if I will have memories of great and wonderful things and places I visited when I wake up. Wouldn't that mean that he took my advise?

A Righteous Man

2008-07-01T01:32:00.007-05:00

Albert crossed the street and entered O'Tooles. He was looking forward to a cold drink. He had a horrendous day at the Exchange and just wanted to sit back and listen to some Jazz and have a few brewskies to take the edge off. One of the reasons that Albert liked O'Tooles was because he offered beer from Quebec, his favorite being 'Maudite', a mahogany-colored, rich tasting beer that was reminiscent of Port. The second reason being that Sean the owner/operator was a Jazz oficionado and played nothing but Jazz in his bar. It wasn't a Sports Bar, in fact there wasn't a T.V to be found just a good old fashioned Bar. When Albert entered the bar, much to his dismay, he spotted Tony a somewhat loud mouth know it all from work. He had already spent his lunch break listening to his complaining and his endless opinions and he was hoping to have some peace at the end of the day. He walked up to the bar a sat beside Tony. What choice did he have, if he avoided him he and everyone in the office would never hear the end of the affront. Sean, the Bartender, knowingly had already opened a Maudite and slid it in front of him.

"If you can tell me who's playing... the beer is on the house."

Albert took a sip of his beer and listened carefully to the music playing in the background. Albert smiled because it was too easy. Sean must have guessed his distress at seeing Tony and was trying to cheer him up. "Miles Davis...Darn that Dream" he said. Sean's magic seemed to be working and along with the beer and the music he had almost forgotten who was sitting beside him.

"Aren't you going to take one of those beers outside to your friend?" the Loudmouth said: "Do you know what he did today Sean? We were going for Sushi at "Wasabi", you know the one just around the block from the Exchange, when all of a sudden he veers off into a convenience store and starts getting water, milk, an apple and 2 chili cheese dogs. "I thought we were going for sushi?" I said; He doesn't say a word; just pays for the stuff and starts walking back to the Office. I thought that I must of said something to piss him off and was about to say something when he stops in front an old bum and gives him the food. I never even seen the guy when we walked by. Do you know anyone else that does shit like that without so much as being asked or thanked for the effort?"

Albert looked at Sean and said " You remember me telling you about this homeless guy that I keep running into? Every time I come across him I get this Vision...not really a vision but a picture. This time I didn't even see him until I got this picture in my mind of a waterfall and a crystal clear lagoon and I knew instantly that he needed water."

"That's just screwed-up." Loudmouth said;

"Is this the guy that you thought was one of those Lame Ruffnecks?" asked Sean.

Lamed Wufniks. Yeah he's the one. He never asks for anything, in fact he never talks. I just get these visions whenever I come across him.

"What the hell is a lamed 'Whatsit's'. He wasn't crippled he walked just fine after you gave him his food and water."

Albert cringed at his co-workers crudeness and wondered whether or not it would serve any pupose to explain it all to him... Lamed doesn't mean crippled but represents the Hebrew number "thirty" and Vav the number "six". Apparently it stands for thirty-six Righteous people whose role in life is to justify the purpose of mankind in the eyes of God. The source is from the Talmud but I picked it up from a book by Jorge Luis Borge, 'Book of imaginary Beings'.

"Your a total whack-job if you believe that guy's existence justifies Mankind! Wait till the rest of the Office hears this. I'm out of here before anyone thinks I'm as nuts as you are." Tony got off the stool and left the Bar.

Albert looked at Sean. "It's not that I believe him to be one of the Thirty-six Righteous people, No one knows who they are, not even themselves. I just interpret the visions. Open me another beer will you Sean for some strange reason my world has become a better place because of him.

Curves and Swerves

2008-06-01T07:38:00.008-05:00

The word curve, meaning non-linear, something out of the ordinary or unexpected has some interesting connotations in the English language. I'm not so sure they are present in other languages as they are in English.

It's an interesting word that can lead to many different interpretations or associations. For instense we think of curves as being Sexy but they can also be troublesome, something to be avoided at all costs.

Not all people think of 'Curves' as trouble, in fact some people search them out. In baseball there are hitters that wait for that fat curve ball over the plate that they can knock into the upper deck.
If you drive a motorcycle or a sports car or just plain love to drive for that matter, you search them out and remember them with fondness. In fact you may revisit them many times to relive the experience.
In Football every kid wants to bend it like Beckham and practice the skill ad-nausea.
In life as in Golf curves are generally thought to land us in the rough, into the sand traps and water hazards of stress and confusion. Some of us handle it better then others and are able to play back into the safety of the fairway with relative ease and see it as all just part of the game. Others see their whole life as being one big sand trap and constantly find themselves in the same predicaments. Some people identify themselves with their troubles and feed off the empathy of others.

In my mind it's a curved Universe and the concept of straightness is an allusion. It's a curved life that will arc back and forth from uncertainty to stability and if observed without judgement or attachment it eventually becomes more manageable and besides, you need the hooks and slices to better appreciate the Fairway.

Compose This....

2008-04-21T08:49:00.008-05:00

This weeks prompt has been a double bind, not only do I have to think of something to compose but I have to compose something about the word compose.
Whenever I think of the word compose, I think of music. Mozart, Ellington, Mitchell and such, pop into my mind at the mention of the word. Hardly ever writing. I suppose all those High school compositions have muddied the well.
I had trouble getting any inspiration from this prompt, hence the lateness of the post. Last night something did percolate into consciousness about the word and my association with it. I'll start it off with a piece of a poem by Rabindranth Tagore that I have been associating my own life with for the past several years.
The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.
I have spent my days in stringing and unstringing my instrument.
The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only the wind is sighing by....

It's our Ego really that thinks that we are put here on earth for some special reason, to play some important role and we spend countless years wandering what that is and feeling inadequate because we can't figure out God's grand plan for us. It is a 'separatness' view of the Universe

If you think of a Symphony Orchestra and God being the Conductor, we all would like to be in the string section, maybe first violin. We never consider ourselves to be the guy at the back and off to the side playing the Timpani or the Triangle. You know the guy that could go out back for a sandwich before his next line of music and no one would notice. Of course if we really pay attention there is a lot of them sitting around looking like they are bored out of their tree. All the while those narcissistic violins are getting all the attention. Of course we realize that if they were all playing at once, all the time it would sound terrible and if only the first violin was allowed to play, it would get pretty bloody boring in no time. What makes the symphony beautiful and memorable is each instrument playing their part at preciously the right moment and if any note was left out it wouldn't be quite as beautiful as it is. Each part depends on the other to make it whole.

I realized last night that I no longer think of myself as stringing and unstringing my instrument, wandering what my song is; I am the song. The Universe flows out of me, it would not be the same if I never existed at all. If I made a hologram of myself and cut it in two, each half would still contain the entire image. Each snippet of film will always contain a smaller but intact version of the original image. The Universe is like this, my part in the Universe is like this. Seperateness is an illusion, we are not individual entities, but are extensions of the same fundamental something. The Religions of the East have long upheld, the world is Maya, an illusion, and although we may think we are physical beings moving through a physical world, we are really 'All There Is' the Universe is within us and flows out of us. We compose it. We are both part of it and all of it.
Namaste! Namaste!

2008-04-06T10:39:00.003-05:00

In Jan. 1953 she walked out of Pasadena California ahead of the Rose bowl parade and continued walking across North Amaerica spreading her message of peace and for 28 years she kept walking, with just the clothes on her back, a toothbrush and a comb, she passed through all 50 states and the 10 Canadian Provinces speaking to anyone who would listen, spreading her message. She was known only as Peace Pilgrim.

It was printed on the front of her tunic and on the back she recorded the number of miles she walked...She stopped counting at 25,000. She printed it there to draw attention to her mission, so people would stop and talk. Twenty-five thousand miles in twenty-eight years. A woman led by her Faith and convictions.

She did not eat unless people offered her food. she fasted once for 55 days. She slept outside unless people offered her shelter which I assume became less frequent as she became better known but still it must have been extremely difficult in her early years...not that she ever complained.

Why this picture? you ask. Because with all the attention we give to Music Idols, Movie Stars and Sport Phenoms who make gazzilions of dollars entertaining us or taking our attention away from what is really important. Finding Inner Peace. Peace believed that true peace on Earth would not be accomplished until we attained our own Inner peace. Until our needs and our wants are the same. We on the other hand focus on inner turmoil, believing that's who we really are and wishing we were some where or someone else. We never really try and find our true purpose or our true self.

Whenever I feel so hard done by and begin crying poor, poor pitiful me or so full of myself, thinking that I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread. I stumble on to my bookmarks and visit Peace. If I admire anyones accomplishments in this world, I admire hers. PEACE be with YOU!

Thief!

2008-03-15T22:01:00.007-05:00

Levon lived a life as a street person, not exactly homeless because he did have a small one room apartment that he could go to when he needed to be safe, or warm, or dry, but for the most part he preferred to spend his days travelling around the city collecting what people no longer had a use for. He turned bottles,cans,copperwire into cash. If something needed minor repairs he took it home and fixed it and either used it or gave it away to people less fortunate then himself. Levon considered himself to be a gleaner, someone who provided a valuable service to society.
The unknowing would think that there was nobody less fortunate then Levon because he preferred to sleep out in the open under the Stars. He was claustrophobic and hated being in confined spaces. He hated baths and his only wardrobe consisted of what he wore everyday. Once a year his guardian, a cousin named Benny, would track him down and try to persuade him to have a bath and a change of clothes so he could take him to the Doctor for a complete physical. He could never convince him to cut his hair or trim his beard so the neighborhood youth began to refer to him as Jesus. Benny cared a lot for levon and at first would withdraw levon's monthly pension from the bank and give it to him, that was until he found out that Levon would give it away to people less fortunate then himself, so Benny started not to give Levon any money but found him his apartment and payed for the rent and utilities so Levon would have somplace safe and warm to sleep.

One day while wandering through Central Park, Levon came across a newspaper in a trash can beside a park bench. Levon stopped dead in his tracks and sat down staring at the paper in his hands. John Prine was coming to the Park Theatre, One Night Only, July 04. Tickets to go on sale April 01, that was only two weeks away. John Prine was coming, John Prine was coming. He had to find Benny and tell him that John Prine was comming. As he sat on the bench his mind drifted back to the first time he had heard him. He had just returned from Vietnam and was recovering from a wound he sustained when his best friend stepped on a mine and blew himself up into the dark conopy of trees. Levon took a small piece of shrapnel in the hip, that remains there still today to remind him what he no longer cares to remember, but on cold wet days he remembers his friend vanishing before his eyes.

Levon attended the concert with a girl he once dated in Highschool who by the time he returned was a long legged lovechild in buckskin boots with a crown of daisies in her hair. He couldn't think of her name. John Prine sang Sam Stone and Levon cried. She never would be able to understand the depth of sadness in Levons soul.

And the time that he served
had shattered all his nerve
and left a little shrapnel in his knee

Benny was only too glad to buy Levon a ticket to the concert. It made the task of trying to get Levon to take his yearly bath and check up easy. Not only did he buy Levon a ticket but he purchased him a front row ticket to the concert. Levon wrapped the ticket in plastic so it wouldn't get dirty and he would take it out every night and look at it. "I'm going to John Prine. I'm going to John Prine," was his nightly litany.

The day of the concert Levon rose early and groomed himself as best as he could, put on his only coat and began the walk across the city on a hot July morning that promised to reach into high ninties by the afternoon. He stopped only for water and the most promising refuse cans along the way making a mental note to stop by on the way back. It was 5:30 p.m by the time he reached the Park theatre only a half hour before showtime. It had taken him six hours to cross the city but he made it and couldn't wait to get inside and sit down. Levon went inside and began searching for his ticket. The people standing in line began to move away from him glancing over their shoulders in disgust at his appearence and trying hard not to breathe too deeply. Levon was oblivious to the commotion he was causing because he was beginning to panic, still searching for the missing ticket.

An attendant stepped forward and ushered levon out the door. "I'm sorry sir but there is no panhandling allowed on the premises, you'll have to..God you reek when did you last take a bath?" he said holding his hand over his nose.

"No I have a ticket. It's hear somewhere, I have a ticket."

"How would a bum like you have a ticket, the concerts been sold out for months. See that group of people over there, they would pay two hundred dollars for a ticket to the concert so how in God's name would you have one?"

"Benny bought it for me" cried Levon; "Here it is!" Levon took it from the inside pocket. Here it is! I'm going to see John Prine".

The attendant snatched it from Levon's hand. "This is a front row seat, you must have stolen this ticket. There's no way you could have this ticket unless you stole or found it. Either way it doesn't belong to you. I bet the real owner of this ticket is going to show up anytime soon looking for it, besides even if it was yours and it's not. Who would want to sit beside you. You stink man. We would have to tell you to leave."

"No it's my ticket!" screamed Levon. "Benny bought me this ticket, give it back to me."

A crowd was starting to gather around Levon and the Attendant when an older Policeman came out of the theatre and told them to move along, "There was nothing more to see here. What seems to be the problem here John?" he said addressing the young attendant.
This old man Bum is trying to sneak into the concert by claiming to have a front row seat." John Said.
"I'm sorry but your causing a disturbance and I have to ask you to move along before I have to arrest you for disturbing the peace. I don't want to sit im some locked room and babysit you until the concert's over and then have to spend three hours writing a report because you think you have a ticket to see the concert."
"It's true I have a ticket. Ask him. I have a front row seat to see John Prine."
The policeman turned and looked at the attendant who shrugged and said; "Does he look like the type of person who has front row seats to any concert?"
"You can't do this to me. I'm a Veteran. I didn't go and risk my life so a couple of Fascist Pigs could steal from me." Levon was flaying wildly and spittle was flying from his mouth.
The Policeman stepped forward and grabbed Levon by the lapels of his sweat soaked coat and slammed him into a mailbox. "I told you to leave and I won't tell you again. I'll make you wish you never heard of Johm Prine." and flung Levon to the sidewalk. He wiped his hands in disgust and headed back inside to wash them.
Levon got up slowly and shuffled back the way that he came. "Her name was Poppy." he said as he glanced over his shoulder once more, just in time to see the young attendant pocket something in front of a group of people outside the theatre.

THE KING OF FRUITS

2008-02-03T11:03:00.001-06:00

Durian is said to be Asia's 'King of Fruits'. If this is true the King is in serious need of a bath.

The smell of this fruit is so foul it is banned on public transportation and is not allowed in some Hotels in fact hotel doormen will bar entry to anyone trying to smuggle one into their establishment.

How bad can it be? you say. I personally can say that it was a room clearing experience but not to everyone. Afficiandos find the smell irresistable and can't wait to dig into it's custard like flesh. Getting it past your nose is the biggest hurdle for the rest of us. Believe me if you have unwanted guests coming over run down to the supermarket and buy one of these babies and cut it open when they arrive. Odds are in your favor that it will be the shortist visit on record. You of course you will probably have to bury the bugger in the back yard and go out for dinner and a movie while your house airs itself out. If you live in an apartment the neighbors will be phoning the fire department reporting a gas leak and evacuating the building.

The reason for the foul odor is because the fruit contains sulpher compounds. The smell has been likened to year old gym socks, rotting onions, moldy French cheese. ( Some Asians believe that Durian are like some cheeses the stinkier they are the better the taste.) The best descrition I have read is one that compared it to a sewer full of rotting pineapples. Yummm!
Seriously though, you will either love this fruit or hate it. There is no middle ground. Millions love this fruit and can't wait for it to come into season so they can gorge themselves on it's soft gooey custard like flesh. Someday I may get up enough nerve to force it past my nose and into my mouth and actually taste it to see what all the fuss is about but until then it is the foulest smelling fruit on the planet,

Singing in the Rain

2008-01-31T10:17:00.000-06:00

Sam sat by the window of the #72 crosstown bus which must have just stopped by a school because it was filling up with noisy teenagers humped with overstuffed backpacks listening to thumping ipods, with the volumes set way to high to be healthy. Some talking on cellphones, others chattering about their day--Like you know--ah so it like s-o-o rocked. Sam smiled because he knew the adults of his day must have been shaking their heads and wondering what will become of the English language when he and his friends were talking, wow, crazy, cool man, Dig?

Sam began noticing other passengers in front of him, many were women from downtown offices fashionably dressed, colorful silk scarves, carrying large purses. Most had raincoats or umbrellas. Some carrying cups of Starbucks coffee...probably low fat lattes. One young woman was sitting reading what looked like a romance novel, another either checking her messages or texting on her cell phone. What Sam found amusing was that almost all of them no matter how smartly they were dressed wore trainers like they were about to set out on a marathon as soon as they got off the bus. Sam refered to it as West Coast Chic because you would never see women dressed like this in Montreal.

A young Asian girl was sitting sideways in the seat talking non stop without break or breath. Her backpack pressed into his side but he didn't mind much because he had rested his head against the window and looked out at the grey brown smog through the rain drops running down the window. Even though it was only 4 o'clock the sky it was dark and the lights from the shops and cars reflecting off the wet pavement made it all look like an impressionist painting. He should have waited until after rush hour to go home. Went to a coffee shop or checked out Virgin Records for any new Jazz releases. It's not like he had anyone waiting for him at home.

It would have been 40 years tomorrow. Their Ruby anniversary. Ruby, because they are thought to possess an eterneal inner flame. A symbol for the passion that is still very alive and strong after 40 years. Not that he knew that, he had to look it up on the computer. Beryl would have known this if she were still alive. She knew everyones Birthdays and Anniversaries. Sam used to rely on one of his daughters reminding him that their special day was approaching but now that she's gone he has never failed to remember. Life is strange. For a moment there he had thought that he had caught the scent of her favorite perfume. The perfume he used to buy for her before it was discontinued and was no longer available. Quelque fleurs, he can smell it like it was next to him now. He closed his eyes and wrapped himself in her scent.

Love is like a burning ember and only memories remain. That's from a song his father used to whistle on days like this. And through the ages I remember Blue eyes crying in the rain.
Sam remembered one time this song came on the radio when his mother was at the stove making supper and his father and him were sitting at the table fixing the toaster. He remembered how his father got up and took his mother in his arms and began waltzing around the kitchen. She in her apron with the wooden spoon still in her hand and he in his coveralls. She laughed and complained that dinner would be ruined but Sam knew that she didn't want to stop.
What was the rest of that song...that wasn't the first verse. How did it go?? In the moonlight glow I, no it was twilight.
In the twilight glow I see her, blue eyes crying in the rain.

What was next? When we kissed goodbye we, no! when we kissed good bye and parted, I knew we would.... never meet again. That's it that's the first verse.

Then came love is like a dying ember. The last verse was Someday when we meet in heaven and only memories remain.
No! that's not it... when we meet up yonder not in heaven. We'll stroll hand in hand again. In the land...in the land that knows no parting, for blue eyes crying in the rain.
That's it that's the whole song!

In the twilight glow I see her

Blue eyes crying in the rain

When we kissed goodbye and parted

I knew we'd never meet again.

Love is like a dying ember

And only memories remain

And through the ages I'll remember

Blue eyes crying in the rain.

Someday when we meet up yonder

We'll stroll hand in hand again

In the land that knows no parting

for blue eyes crying in the rain.

Sam wasn't sure if it was the awareness of the ghostly silence or the salty taste of a tear that brought him back in to the moment but he awoke with a start to clapping and giggling of young girls around him. Everyone on the bus was looking directly at him. Someone touched his shoulder and when he turned he was looking at an old lady maybe ten years his senior, wearing the perfume he thought he only imagined.
Thank you for those wonderful memories. That song always brings me back in time. I had forgotten about it for years. I missed my stop but it doesn't matter, I had to hear it all.
Sam could feel the heat of embarrassment rising up within him and he imagined that he probably looked like a ripe tomato about now, then to his horror he seen several passengers with cellphone cameras pointed at him.
Great!!! Now his daughters are going to see their father make a fool of himself on youtube or facebook. 'Old Guy singing on the bus.'

Miscellaneous

2008-01-26T05:59:00.000-06:00

Miscellaneous...You could probably write that on my tombstone

FILE ME

UNDER

MISCELLANEOUS

I've never really decided what it is that I wanted to do with my life and even at 60 plus years I'm still waffling with the idea about being a writer. I know that I am definitely a right brained individual and have wasted many precious years pursuing
careers that would provide the security and comfort that all Cancers
yearn for, The worst of them was when I believed that I wanted to be an
accountant. The thing is I have always been aware of the sweat equity
and time it takes to establish expertise in any given field and I feared that I would some day become disillusioned
and saddened by the time I wasted being good at just one thing and then
again maybe I was just too lazy to commit. I think in retrospect I
should have tried an acting career. It is probably the best of them all
because I recognise in myself the ability to be a poser. I slip in and
out of roles with amazing ease. I walk into a car dealership and people
mistake me for a salesman, I enroll in University as a mature student
and they mistake me for a professor. One time when I had time to kill
before attending a wedding reception I stopped into a billiard parlor
that I had never been in before and they thought that I was some pool
shark looking for a mark and that I was purposely missing shots so they would think that I was the mark. oddly enough it gave me a strange feeling of satisfaction.

I've
never had the urge to wrap myself up in a flag, pound my chest and
proclaim that my Country is the best Country in the World. In fact I
believe that would be a great disservice to my Country because although there
are many great and wonderful things about it there are an equally
amount of things that are wrong.

I've also never latched
on to any one ideology. They all look good on paper but they are
overseen by the people for the people so when you throw in all that
Human Nature, Greed and Ignorance none of it produces the Utopia that
we strongly desire.

I've never really commited to any one particlar
religion or spiritual teaching. I've dabbled in most of them throughout
my life and although there are many common threads through out them all
I can't commit to any one of them. For some people the theatre, the
dogma and ritual are comforting but for me they are a turnoff. What
greater Cathedral is there then a stand of old growth forest or a rock
or mesa under the heavens. There are some temples in Japan that have to
be built from the wood of trees that are over a thousand years old. To
me that's akin to nailing Christ on a cross and then worshipping the cross. Maybe that's just me.

I
am very anti-establishment, anti-authoritarian and a borderline
anarchist. I'm not completely convinced that the world would go to hell
in a hand basket if there was no government or police. There would be
initial chaos but I wonder if that wouldn't level off and we would
settle on a fairer kinder system. We as a community would have to deal with the crime
because there would be no authority in place to do so...File it under
miscellaneous musings for it will never happen.

Bottom
line is that I am a dabbler with many varied interests. A flood light
personality as apposed to a spotlight. I would probably be a modern day
Renaissance man if I had any genius or expertise for them but alas I am
a plodder with little commitment to any of them. The one thing that I
am sure of beyond any shadow of doubt is that I am a billion times more
ignorant of things that happen in this world then what I know for
relative surety.

Here's a thought.... Perhaps because I am always searching for meaning and understanding and never fixed on any one given concept, it has kept me young, open to new ideas and always in awe of what can happen around me.
Yes,File Me Under Miscellaneous!

A Dance in '65

2007-12-18T09:38:00.000-06:00

The day started like any other Saturday and the agenda was the same as every other Saturday of that period of my life. Work until five, go home shower and change
into my black chino's and on this particular night I remember
wearing a black and grey Oleg Cassini shirt, My favorite shirt that
happened to belong to my older brother Jack, much like the ones that
Charlie Harper wears on the sitcom 'Two and a Half Men', black
loafers and..Shudderrr, white socks. Brylcreem the hair, a la Elvis and out the door to meet the guys at Fatso's Diner for Fish and Chips.

Sitting in the back booth (our booth ), Brian, John and I were plugging quarters in the jukebox, listening to Runaround Sue, Runaway, Chantilly lace, and waiting for
Gary to show up with his wheels. A 55 yellow and black Ford Fairlane
convertible. We were hoping that he scored some beer for the dance. Gary
worked at Bronco's Auto Wrecking after school and on Saturdays. It just
so happened that Bronco ran an after hours unlicensed poker game and
bar so it was no problem getting booze as long as we had the
money.

We pulled into the parking lot of the social club
around 9:00 p.m, It was really only three or four CPR boxcars joined
together on the outskirts of town but it was done up nice and the main
attraction was that there was no Adult supervision. The dance was run
by older teens. The parking lot was full by the time we arrived and as
usual there were boys that were too cool to dance sitting on the
fenders of their cars under the single parking lot light drinking beer
and talking about what all young boys talk about; girls, cars and sports.
There were couples making out in their cars and a group by the door having
a fag in the cool night air. It tended to get hot inside the club because there were no amenities like fans or windows that opened. As soon as we got out of the car we popped a top and lit up a Camel. Brian and Gary wanted to visit the Jocks
while John and I were anxious to get in the dance hall. John had his girlfriend I think her name was Penny waiting for him inside and I wanted to see if Linda D. was there.

Linda was a big city girl whose family moved to our town to run the drive-in
restaurant. She was in one of my classes at school but I hadn't spoken
to her because she was always surrounded by the inner circle who had
claimed her as their own. She was rich and beautiful and dressed
in a manner that had all the old matrons clucking their tongues and shaking their
heads at her short skirts, 2 inches above the knee, and tight sweaters,
All the young studs were tripping over their tongues. You can include me in that group only I wasn't very studly.

I remember paying admission at the door and getting my hand stamped with a little green star and that the colored lights were flashing around the hall. This
usually meant that a specialty dance was coming up. As I turned to take my place along the wall with the rest of the dipshits, there she was in front of me, smiling with her pink frosted lips, with eyes that shimmered like a moonlit lake, smelling of mild soap and Juicy Fruit. "Ladies Choice", she said.

Do I remember what song they played? You bet I do! It was one of those few moments in one's life that can only be defined as Serendipity. We danced to 'If you need
me' by Solomon Burke. I remember she was wearing a soft pink mohair sweater and it felt like I was holding a baby rabbit. She cuddled up real close to me, wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered in my ear; "If I waited for you to make the first move it would never happen." She was probably right. We danced every dance that night. We did the locomotion with little Eva, Twisted to Chubby Checker and Jived to a song by a new group from England. I walked her home that night, I think I floated and received my first kiss from the frosted lips of Linda D.

Skeleton in your Closet

2007-12-13T08:41:00.000-06:00

Vincent Chan sat behind a very large Rosewood desk talking on the Phone. "Yes Mrs Lim it's all true your husbands having an affair with another man." he said exasperated by this exceedingly annoying woman. This was her, what? Hundredth call since he met with her to tell her that her husband was not having an affair with her best friend but with her best friend's husband. Rule #1 Never, Never, take cases from Dames. "What's that? Yes everyone has one or two skeletons in their closet. I promise you that all the files and videos pertaining to your case will be destroyed as soon as you pay the rest of your bill." He hung up the phone, opened the bottom drawer of his desk, took out a bottle of single malt and a glass, poured himself a large measure, leaned back in his chair and said out loud, "Lady you have no idea what a skeleton in the closet is until you've seen mine."

He glanced over at the calendar on the desk. Tomorrow will be the 2nd anniversary of the day he signed the papers agreeing to the terms of his Great Uncles will. He was to receive an annuity of $100,000 for the rest of his life providing he took possession of an Office, which turned out to be Chan's Detective Agency, in the middle of Chinatown. He was not allowed to sell it or rent it to a third party but had to take over the business and all revenue earned from said business was his to keep. He remembered thinking at the time that there was no escaping destiny and it was his destiny to spend his life in the middle of Vancouver's Chinatown. He had tried to escape as a young man by moving closer to The University. When he joined the Police force after graduating, he became a beat cop in Chinatown and later as a detective in the Asian gang unit, he was thrust once again back into the middle of his culture. At the time he saw the inheritance as a great opportunity to sit on his ass and get paid. He didn't need any extra income and he could use the office and the free time to write the crime novel that he always wanted to write. He signed the papers, retired from the Police force and took possession of the Office looking forward to a new chapter in his life. His Nai Nai used to say that if something looks too good to be true you can bet your rent money that it is.

When Vincent first seen the office that he inherited he was shocked by it's size and opulence. It was nothing like he imagined. There was a small reception area that he first mistook for the office where there were comfortable leather chairs along the wall facing a small desk on which sat a sign saying Please Be Seated someone will be with you in a Moment. The room was decorated in a very modern theme, not what you would expect from an old brownstone building in the middle of Chinatown. To the right of the desk was another door which led into another room that was the main office and it took his breath away. This room was a mixture of Chinese Antiques and Art all tastefully combined with modern leather furniture and a bookcase that took up a whole wall along one side of the office. Vincent walked over and sat behind the antique desk thinking that this is all too good to be true. He went through the drawers of the desk and found the bar. It just keeps getting better an better he thought. He leaned back in his chair and took in his inheritance and that was when he saw what looked to be a door molding peeking out from behind a black lacquered folding screen, depicting the four seasons. He got up and walked across the room and pulled the screen away from the wall revealing a door which was locked. Vincent only had two keys and neither of them fit the lock. He searched the desk and office for the key but there was none to be found that fit the mystery door.
He went back and tried the door again to no avail, it wasn't until he reached up and felt along the top of the moulding that he felt something metal. He fetched the wooden ladder in front of the bookcase and discovered a key sticking out of a neatly carved slot along the top of the moulding. A skeleton key. He climbed down from the ladder and fumbled with the key in the lock. He opened the door and went weak in the knees with what lay behind that door. "Holy SHHhiittt" he exclaimed. There in a closet was a chair and sitting on the chair was a SKELETON. He returned to his desk and poured himself a very large Scotch. Maybe it was one of those medical skeletons, he thought, maybe Great Uncle put it there as a joke. But why lock the door and hide the key? No, this was bad news and the thought of it sitting in the closet creeped him out. He would have to get rid of it. He relocked the door and put the key in his pocket. Tomorrow he would get rid of it and who better then a policeman would know how and where to get rid of a body.

The next day he brought in a large sports equipment bag and packed away the skeleton, which he discovered on closer inspection was rather small , probably a woman and probably Asian he thought. He waited until midnight and loaded the bag in the trunk of his car and drove to an abandoned well in the country that he knew about and dumped the skeleton. Keeping the equipment bag in case it could be traced back to him. He went home for the weekend sure that the problem was taken care of and that no one witnessed the disposal. He even began making an outline of the crime story he was planning to write, maybe he could include the skeleton he thought.

He returned to his office fresh and relaxed, anxious to start typing the first chapter of his novel. He went over to the closet and opened the door hoping to hang up his coat only to discover that the skeleton was back sitting on the chair like it never had left. The color drained from his face. Someone must have seen him dispose of the body. He retreated to his desk an took out the bottle of Scotch, at this rate he would be an alcoholic in no time flat. He went over the events leading up to and following the disposal of the skeleton when he suddenly realized that even if someone did see him dump the skeleton in the well, how would they know where it came from because he didn't return to the office, but went straight home and how would they manage to retrieve it from a fifty foot well. This discovery didn't make him feel any better, in fact he felt much worse because if there was no logical explanation for the skeleton returning to his closet, something supernatural was happening and that didn't sit well with a little superstitious Chinese boy brought up on ancient Chinese folktales.

He remembered his Nai Nai telling him that spirits couldn't travel across large bodies of water. He checked his watch and decided that he could still make the ferry to Vancouver island if he hurried. He ran downstairs and picked up the sports bag from the trunk of his car. He knew that it wasn't a spirit but an actual skeleton but it was the only he could think of doing at this point. Five hours later his skeleton was tucked safely away under a pile of leaves and fallen branches out side of Victoria and he was on his way back to catch the last ferry home. He used all his skills as a detective to make sure that he wasn't followed. If there was someone playing with his mind, he sure that he had outfoxed them and that would be the end of matter.

The next day he went to his office later then usual, it's not that he had any clients to worry about. He entered the office and sat at his desk trying to avoid staring at the closet door. He pulled out his laptop with the intention of starting his story only to discover that there was no Internet connection. "Crap", he would have to call the cable company and have one installed. That could take weeks he thought. He might as well go across the street to Starbucks and write there. He packed up his computer and was on his way out the door when he decided to put his mind at rest and check the closet. He strolled confidently over to the door and flung it open shouting, "Ta dah!" and there it was, as before sitting on it's chair with what he could have sworn was a smirk. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes when a loud buzzer went off behind his desk. What the FUUUUUUUUUUUUU, someone must have come in the outer office. He quickly locked the closet and relocated the screen in front of the door. He then entered the reception area to find a tall curvaceous blond dressed in a tight grey suit and white blouse open at the neck, just stopping at the cleavage of what looked like a pair of 38's. "Hi. my name is Cherry and I here to apply for the secretarial position you posted in the Paper."

That was two years ago. Lola was still in the closet, he decided to give her a name, and all kinds of mysterious and wonderful things have happened since. Things that he was sure that he would one day pay dearly for, but until then he would enjoy the ride. The novel was still unfinished and...There was a knock on the door followed by the entrance of a tall leggy blond to tell him that he was late for his Two o'clock appointment.

Armegeddon

2007-12-06T08:57:00.005-06:00

December, 7 2007:

Your evil villain wants to rule the world. Write about her (or his) reasons.

He sat there beside the bed staring at
the plump pink man snoring contentedly before him. The room resembled
more a monks cell then a master bedroom. A small cot against the wall,
one tall dresser, the wooden chair on which he sat and a low side table
on the other side of the room with a hand woven black and blue rug in
front of the table on which sat a plump red cushion. A small cross hascension
ung on the wall over the table. It has begun again, he thought
as he leaned over and sniffed the plump white body before him as if he
were savoring the aroma of a fresh cooked turkey.

Alfred Adams lay asleep dreaming of a christmas
dinner past with family and friends gathered around the table sharing a
meal of all his favorites; mashed potatoes, cream corn,brussel sprouts, carrots, cranberry sauce, gravy and plump oven roasted turkey, when he felt the presence of a stranger. Someone dark and sinister. He thought that he had glanced across the
table and looked into his dark catlike eyes when in fact he had opened
his eyes and was looking at the stranger sitting beside his bed. Alf's
heart leeped to his throat stifling the scream that was struggling to be unleashed, reducing it to a mere AHHHHH! He bolted straight up and pressed his back against the wall. "Who are
you?" he said; "What are you doing in my bedroom?

"You can call me K and you summoned
me." he said so softly that it resembled the purr of vary
large cat.

"I'm afraid your mistaken" Alf stuttered, "In no way did I summon you!"

"Your name is Alfred Adams, is it not and this is Buttcrack Saskatchewan?"

"It's Buetrack
and I did not summon you. I don't care what you say. Why would I summon
someone like you?" He said calmly for he was starting to get back his
nerve confident in the thought that Jesus would protect him.

"Did you not for the last year kneel on
that pillow and pray to God, that he send someone to rid the world
Evil. Did you not pray for the Rapture to begin?" said K
smiling so broadly that two fangs protruded over his lower lips.
"Well, here's
Johnny"

"Your not suggesting that God sent someone as hideous as you! Alf said

"That's not very Christian of you" K
replied in a mocking tone. "What's the matter with me? I am made for
the Job. Did you expect some warrior Archangel to come swooping down
with his horn and sword and do battle? Not! I'm the one to conquer the
World and rid it of Evil. Look at Me!" and he stood and
removed his fur coat and kicked the chair against the far wall. K was
naked under his coat except for a gold loin cloth that wrapped loosely
around his muscled body. He was taller then expected around six foot
seven inches. He had the body of a Swimmer or a male ballet dancer,
strong powerful legs, thin waist and broad muscled chest and back. Wide
shoulders with exceptionally long arms or maybe it was his thin fingers
and long alabaster nails, sharp and curved like a very large cat's that
gave them that illusion. It was his head that gave him the fearful
sinister look that could be soun -nerving and calming at the same time.
His head was almost too small for his body. Thick black hair combed
flat against his skull, Almond shaped cat's eyes, broad flat nose with
flared nostrils constantly sniffing the air, thin red lips with two
protruding fangs that looked very sharp and menacing. He looked like a maniacal Argentine Tango dancer. Just as Alf had finally taken in all of the creature that stood before him, a long red tongue come snaking out and licked the corners of it's mouth. Thhhhlurp.

"Did you just slurp?" exclaimed Alf.

"Sorry it's just that the first is always the sweetest" responded K. Thhhhlurp!

"You
look like that Hindu Goddess Kali your black, except you don't have Ten
arms, Your not a Woman and your eyes are not red but pinkish like you
just smoked a joint or something," Alf said. "You slurped again! Cut
that out!"

"Oooops
sorry again" K apologised. "you people take things all too literally
you get pieces of the puzzle right, then you get off on a tangent and
mystify it all. First of all I'm not black but blue, Indigo actually. I
am both a man and a woman, I believe your term for it is hermaphrodite ,
the difference being that I can reproduce myself. After I make my first
kill, always the one most remembered, I go too sleep and reproduce
myself. One becomes two, two becomes four, then eight and so on and so
on and so on. So I eventually have ten million arms not just ten and My eyes maybe pink now but will become red with blood lust in time." Thhhlurp!

"Why me! I'm not a sinner, I'm a moral God fearing man. Why are you here?" questioned Alf

"Why not you? I have to start somewhere and besides You summoned me." replied K Thhhlurp.

"Quit
saying that, I did not summon you and quit making that disgusting
sound!" Alf was beginning to get a real sense that he was about to
die.

"Ahhhh, I get
it now, you thought that you would be one of the one's that would be
saved. You thought that you would ascend into heaven and sit at the
right hand of God." K chuckled.

"Why not! I'm not a sinner, I believe in God. I go to church. Why do I have to die?" pleaded Alf.

"It doesn't work that way," explained K.
"Every so many million years everything is wiped out except for a few
hundred couples who live in small pockets throughout the world, Eden's
if you will. Not everyone will survive but enough will to begin again.
Speaking of Eden did you know that if TonyBourdain was Adam you would still be living in the Garden of Eden"

"What???" asked Alf.
"Work with me here, If Tony Bourdain was the original Adam of the old Testament you would still be living in the Garden of Eden."
"Ok, Why?"
"Because he would have eaten the snake," howled K.

"Ha Ha very funny! This is just too surreal,tell me the truth I'm dreaming. Right?"

"Well it's sort of a dream, more an
illusion really, your story however. Your the one making it up. You
wished me into existence."said K

"Will you please just stop saying that. What do I have to gain by bringing you into my dream? Tell me! What?"

K
raised his long arms above his head like a conductor about to deliver
the final note to the concert. In a twinkling of an eye his right hand
descended across the throat of Alfred Adams sending his astonished head
across the room onto the side table underneath the ascending
Christ.

Thhhhhhhhhlurrrrrrrrrrrp!

Sunday Scribblings#87

2007-11-30T12:01:00.000-06:00

Since I was six years old until I was sixteen, I spent my summer
holidays with my Grandmother on the family farm. As soon as I arrived
there, I removed my socks and shoes and walked barefoot for the whole
summer. It took about two weeks before I could cross the gravel road to
visit my friend Johnnie without any discomfort. I knew then the feel of
cool mud between my toes on a hot summers day, the dewy grass of the
morning on my trip to the chicken coop to fetch my breakfast, The gross feeling of fresh
cow pies that I neglected to see all too often, The warm Earth of the
garden that we raided for tomatoes, cucumbers and young peas and what
it felt like to step on a garter snake in the long grass. Johnnie and I
ran the fields and forests on our land the whole summer. We hunted with
sling shots, bows and arrows and once with a 22 rifle that I smuggled
out of the house. It was only the one time because on my return I was
whipped on the arse with a red willow switch by my loving 90 pound
Grandmother. Those two months every summer for ten years was my Tom Sawyer
childhood.

I have always liked to walk. In the city I had a friend named Brian who also liked to walk and talk about our dysfunctional family life, we didn't know it was dysfunctional
then, we thought it was normal. We walked everywhere. Whenever we got an
allowance or with whatever money we could earn collecting pop bottles, we
would walk to the movie theatres downtown because they offered two
feature films and more cartoons then the neighborhood theatres. We also walked to save our bus fare so
we could buy candied popcorn...licorice flavor. I don't know how far it
was but it took us over an hour and a half to walk there and the same
coming back. We used to get scolded for being too late, especially when
we hid ourselves in the theatre so we could see them twice. We were
proficient little liars and managed to convince our parents that one of
us lost our money and the other walked home with him so he wouldn't be
alone. We never got tired. We talked and walked and walked and talked
and the the thing that I remember now is that we never had to fear, no
matter what time, no matter where we walked. There was one time however
when we were chased by a group of guys when we were in our early teens
because we were chatting up some girls in a rival neighborhood but we
ran like the wind and laughed like fools.

I have never
owned a car even to this day, I have a drivers license mostly for
identification. My wife and children own cars, except for one daughter
who like me prefers public transportation. I love to observe people and
I am a shameless eavesdropper. It never dawned on me until recently
that this is a rich vein to tap when trying to come up with ideas for
stories. It was from my Daughter Z, who made the pilgrimage herself a few
years back that I got the idea, no it's much more then an idea, it's
one of the things that I must do before I die. It is my desire to
walk the pilgrimage of Santiago de Compostela , across Northern Spain. To walk across the mountains and valleys of Spain's provinces. Across streams and through the trees under the majesty of the Milky Way. This is my desire. Not thinking about anything except putting one foot in front of the other with no reason other then a walking meditation.
Pilgrims used walk it out of penance for past sins. Nowadays they walk
through villages that have existed since the middle ages, stay in
Romanesque Churches and monasteries along the way. Thousands walk it
every year. Pilgrims from all over the globe come to walk all or part
of the 600 mile pilgrimage to Santiago. They come out of curiosity, for
the challenge, they come in search of their Spiritual selves. Something
magical will happen to you if you walk across Spain underneath the
Milky way. You cannot help but be affected by it and one can only hope
that it would make me conscious of deeper realities. I feel I must take
it for this reason, in search of that last piece of the puzzle, in
search of that one person or event that will reveal it all.

People always turn up when they are expected...Paulo Coehlo

http://www.santiago-compostela.net/

Sunday Scribblings

2007-11-25T08:57:00.001-06:00

This has been a very difficult post for me. Maybe because I am such a private person and am very uncomfortable sharing my past. First of all if the way I am today is a direct result of decisions that I made in my youth then the answer to that question would be a definite NO. For some strange reason I have sought the meaning of life rather then the rewards. When I was much younger it was a matter of survival, If I couldn't make any sense of Man's Inhumanity to his fellow Man then I wanted to be done with it. What resulted was a withdrawal from active participation rather then a definite shedding of the mortal sac. I'll share with you something that I wrote in a previous post

At some point in my youth I made a conscious decision to sit this life out. To not participate, to not play an active role other then provide myself with food and shelter. I have tried to live the better part of my life by walking down the exact centre of the road in the middle of the pack, not a leader, not a straggler, not living on the edge.

Now as you well know It is impossible to sit out a life, it comes up and confronts you at every turn, forces you to make decisions, forces you to compete. I can only say in retrospect I have in most cases always chose the path of least resistance. Would I change anything if I had the chance?

I have come to the conclusion later on in life that I should have lived my life a little closer to the edge, participated more. That is what we are meant to do. Live life to it's fullest, enjoy each moment, at the very least pay attention to the experience. I am afraid that I have skimmed through life, always looking for meaning, relying on intuition rather then scientific knowledge.

So in conclusion I don't think that I would change anything other then pay more attention to the experience, it's not to late to taste the first snowfall, feel the morning dew or fresh turned earth between my toes. The smell of the ocean and hear the crackle and snap of a Forrest floor. Whatever happens to me now, at each present moment is all that there is and I am meant to experience it now and not wait for something to happen or think of something that I missed.

Sunday Scribblings

2007-11-18T09:18:00.000-06:00

#85 - "I carry"

I wasn't going to post anything this week because I left it so late, but I decided that I better not slough off. I know myself too well that next week I'll procrastinate and find another reason not to post if I don't put something down on paper. This post is likely to be another one of those rambling affairs.

When I first read the prompt I thought of the book 'The things that they carried" by Tim O'Brien.
"They carried malaria tablets, love letters, 20 pound mine detectors, dope, illustrated Bibles, each other, and, if they made it home alive, they carried unrelenting images of a nightmarish war that history is only beginning to absorb." This is one of the few books that I have read more then once but it was not my experience and I have come to terms with any nightmarish events in my life that i might have had and no longer carry them along with me.

Since retirement I no longer wear a watch, rings, chains, jewelery of any kind. To a large extent I am no longer a slave to time. What I do carry is a Ben Sherman messenger bag, my children call it my merse, I used to carry a MEC daypack but exchanged it for the MESSENGER bag in the spring. In my bag I carry, 2 Fountain pens, ink cartridges, mechanical pencil, moleskine and a book for when I am in coffee shops, on buses or waiting rooms. I'm presently carrying Ted Simon's "Jupiter's Travels." I also carry my wallet, change, pocket knife, medication, ipod, and art pens in my bag. This is all mundane everyday stuff, most of which everybody carries along with them. What do I carry that might be worth a mention in a blog. Something that might get people to say; Isn't that interesting!

A few years back I watched a movie called "What the Bleep do we know!? I'm not going to get into describing what the movie was about at this time but the scientific community and the religionists alike panned it as fake science and tied to mysticism. Which to my mind only proved to me that science is as Dogmatic in their beliefs as religion. There was a scene in this movie where Amanda, a deaf photographer played by Marlee Matlin comes across a series of photographs in the subway called The Hidden messages in Water. Dr Masaru Emoto discovered that crystal formed in frozen water reveal changes when specific, concentrated thoughts are directed towards them. Loving words produce beautiful complex, colorful snowflake patterns. While hateful, negative words make incomplete asymmetrical patterns that are dull and ugly. There is a narrator in the subway that goes on to say that since our bodies are made of 65/70 percent water, what do you think these hateful words and negative thoughts are doing to us? Yes the scientific community denies his findings because he doesn't support them with real scientific experimentation. My intuition is saying thatwhat Dr.Emoto has discovered makes perfect sense to me.

I carry in my pocket, the only thing I carry, a small Rose Quartz crystal and when ever I put my hand in my pocket and touch it I am reminded to say to myself; "THANK YOU, I LOVE YOU"!

[Ficton] Friday #29

2007-11-16T00:52:00.000-06:00

2007-09-14T01:11:00.000-05:00

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for September, 14 2007:
Write a story, poem, or essay from the point of view of an inanimate object.

Hello there! I'm Chinese teapot made by a master potter near the town of Yixing in China. That is why I am called Yixing teapot. I was shipped to Chinese tea emporium in Montreal Canada. I sat on shelf for many months while customers made big fuss over more fancy Yixing teapots then myself.If you are familiar with Yixing teapots you know that they can look like tree stump or have dragons and monkeys on them or shaped like flowers or vegetables. Many styles. I 'Little Melon' teapot. They no understand my simple beauty. All Yixing made by hand. It take many hours to make one. The best Yixing teapots made with Zisha, purple sand, clay. I made with two clay. One Zisha and also with Zhuni, reddish brown, clay. This is what makes me so special but no one understand until one day my present owner come to shop and recognize my beauty.

My present owner understand because he is potter himself and able to see the beauty in my simplicity. My perfect handle. My equally perfect spout and my blend of two clay. He buy me and take me home and even though he not Chinese man he know how to cure me so I can make delicious tea. He put me in a pot and cover me with water and add special High Mountain Oolong tea that he love to drink. He bring pot to slow boil for one hour, then let me sit in pot until tea is cold. He take me out, dry me and now I am ready to be used. My owner brewed his favorite tea in me for eight years. My pores are so full of the taste and aroma of the High Mountain tea my owner only has to add boiling water to me to make tea I am very special teapot.

Not all owners use their teapots. Some collect them and put them on shelf to admire and show off to friends. My owner keeps me in his studio and uses me every day. he say to me Lttle melon your beauty inspires and your tea relaxes me. It's true! I no make this up. He say that. I feel special feeling. I happy I no showoff teapot on shelf. I happy I please master.

[Fiction] Friday Sptember 07/07

2007-09-07T08:07:00.001-05:00

[Fiction] Friday # 19

THE THREE WISHES OF RICHARD ARMITAGE
Edited and revised

Richard walked to his usual spot by the steps of the Law Courts Building and sat down with his back against a concrete planter. He loved the smell of Broom after a soft summer rain. Molly laid down by his side. Molly was a large black bear-like dog that had came to him one very cold night and saved his life. He was sleeping inside a refrigerator box underneath the exhaust fan of a Mattress factory. The temperature had fallen well below freezing that night, while Richard was sleeping Molly crawled into his shelter and provided the much needed warmth to survive the night. Richard knew that he must have been dying because he had no recollection of her laying down beside him. Something that big and dark would surly have scared the living crap out of him had he been conscious.

When he woke in the morning there she was looking at him with the most beautiful liquid chocolate brown eyes he had ever seen. He had recognized the breed as a Newfoundland because it was his favorite and he knew her name was Molly and that she belonged to somebody by the tag on her collar and knew that she was valuable by the tattoo in her ear. She was a purebred, probably a show dog. Richard figured that there would be a handsome reward for her return but he felt no obligation to return her to her owners and he was not about to put a leash on her and claim her as his own. She had escaped from the rat race just as he had and she was free to go wherever she pleased. It pleased Molly to remain at his side. She became his constant companion.

Richard reached inside of his knapsack and took out a plain wooden bowl that served as Molly's water bowl as well as an alms bowl where passers by could leave spare change if they wished. The bowl was the last remaining possession that he had left from his previous life. It was given to him as a bad joke from one of his colleagues at the Law firm to which he once was enslaved. and had become a symbol of his freedom from the narrow-minded world he left behind. As he remembers, it was given to him a couple of days after he had disclosed over coffee that he was thinking of becoming a Buddhist. The bowl was left on his desk with a note attached," a begging bowl for the wannabe Buddhist monk."

He placed the bowl in front of him, bowed his head and closed his eyes and settled into deep meditation. He didn't like to look into peoples eyes as they passed by, not because he was ashamed at what he had become because he wasn't. He had placed his life in the hands of the Lord and if people saw fit to place spare change in his bowl it was because they were led to do so and not because he had asked them. He did not like to look into the face of the people passing by him because he could see the pain and suffering of their daily existence. It was the same pain and suffering that he had left behind him so many years ago and every time he looked into their eyes he saw himself in chains.

"Excuse me sir, might I have a brief word" came the message from above. Richard opened his eyes and looked upon someone that might of stepped out of a 1940's movie. A tall burly man dressed in an elaborate chauffeur's uniform complete with the high crowned cap wit the Pattin peak.

"Madame, would like to speak to you. would you be so kind as to accompany me to the car"? he said. Richard had always loved antique cars even as a boy and the car that the chauffeur was pointing towards was easily recognizable because there were so few of them produced. He knew that it was a 1964 Rolls Royce Silver Shadow and what made it so distinctive and so rare was that the head lamps were slanted and known as "Chinese Eye" lamps. Ricard got up and followed the burly man for no other reason then to look closer at this beautiful machine. The Chauffeur opened the door and said; "Madame would like you to join her for a word in the car".

Richard got into the car and came face to face with a lady that was the spitting image of the Queen of England. "Are you the QU..."
"No, I'm not her!" came the answer before he could finish. "I'm someone who has your best interests at heart Richard. Someone who can grant you three wishes. Within reason of course, I can't grant you world peace and a world free of hunger. Everyone asks for that but alas, it is not in my power to do so. I can grant you almost anything else you desire.'

"You know my name! How is it you know my name?" he exclaimed trying to remember if he had mentioned it to her when he entered the car.
"Of course I know your name. I know much more then that Richard Armitage, but that is not why I am here. I am here to grant you whatever your heart desires. What is it you desire? she asked.

Richard was in need of nothing. Since he had placed his life in the hands of the Beloved everything he needed came to him as if by magic. Desires were far more tricky. He could not completely rid himself of desire. He didn't believe anyone could, it was the human condition. Besides he knew that everything comes at a cost to either his freedom or his soul and it was with this in mind that he pondered before saying; "How about a fine meal for my friend and me", he said. "That should be easy enough to accomplish."

"Easy Peasy" she replied; "What is it you would like to eat? Anything your heart desires!"
"My friend would like a rather large joint of meat, and as for myself I have been dreaming lately about my Parents taking me to The Pancake House every Sunday after church and I would order their Giant Apple pancake. I would like one of those." What happened next left little doubt in his mind that he was dealing with no ordinary Woman. He expected to be driven to an eatery where he could get his meal, but to his amazement a silver tray with a pancake as big as a pizza, filled with apples, melted brown sugar and topped with cinnamon appeared on his lap. The aroma took him back to those wonderful childhood years and his eyes began to fill with tears. He quickly looked out the window to see Molly tearing into the biggest piece of meat he had seen in many years. "How did you do that?" he exclaimed.

"Ahhh, you doubted me and maybe wasted a wish on an ordinary pancake, although it does look and smell delicious. Now eat your meal and think carefully about your next wish."

Richard ate his pancake, relishing every bite and when he finished he was considering licking the plate but that might best be saved for when he was alone in the company of Molly. The lady might not appreciate it. Richard looked into the kindly face of the elegant old lady and knew that she was waiting patiently for his next wish. He began undid the top buttons of his shirt and pulled out a magazine that he used to insulate himself from the cold nights. It was a special magazine because there was a picture in it that warmed his imagination and filled his sleep with many pleasant dreams. It was a copy of Harrowsmith Country Life and in it was a picture of an old mill with a water wheel that generated power to the attached cottage and irrigated the apple orchard behind it. This was Richards dream, to live off the grid and be completely self sufficient with perhaps a vegetable garden, some chickens and a few goats. He opened his dog- eared tattered copy to the page of his desire and said; " I would like to live in a house just like this one."

"No Problemo" She chuckled with glee. Now your getting the hang of it and in the next instant Richard found himself standing on the banks of a pristine creek outside an old stone mill exactly like the one in the picture. Standing beside him was the benefactor of this marvelous cottage. "It's now time for your final wish, so think carefully my sweet. Make the right choice."

Richard had once been married in his previous life to a woman who loved what he could provide for her more then what he had to offer as a person. A woman who enjoyed the creature comforts that came with being married to a successful Lawyer with a prestigious Law Firm. A woman who would do everything in her power, including sleep with the senior partner to expedite his rise within the firm. He had walked away from that one day never to return. He didn't walk away because she had cheated on him. He walked away when he seen himself accepting what she had done as a means of furthering his career. He knew then that he Had better get out before he lost everything in which he believed. If there was one thing in his life that he regretted, it was that he had never experienced the loving relationship that his parents so obviously had. They worshiped each other openly. "I would like to find a partner that loves me for who I am," he said. That is my final wish. That is my desire."

"Are you sure That is what you desire?" asked the Lady.

"Yes I am sure." he replied and closed his eyes and waited for the woman of his dreams to appear before him. He felt the soft wet kisses upon his cheek and face. He opened his eyes to find himself once more sitting against the concrete planter being licked by someone who really did love him for who he was. He laughed out loud and thought that he truly was blessed.

[Fiction] friday, Aug. 31/07

2007-08-31T00:53:00.000-05:00

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for August, 31 2007:

Pick a famous fictional character (for our purposes here it can be any character from fiction, mythology, legend, comic books…whatever) and give them a secret vice—at the very least it should be distasteful if not outright illegal. Now give the character’s rationale in their own words.

It's been three months since Holmes and his Arch enemy Professor James Moriarty plunged into the gorge at Reinbock Falls and he still is unable to come to terms with the death of his best friend and confident. He had followed Holmes up to the top of the gorge only to find evidence of a great struggle, evidence even an amatuer like himself could deduce, but no physical evidence of either Holmes or Moriarty. What would Holmes of said; " Elementary my dear Watson, they obviously engaged in mortal combat and plunged to their deaths.

He sat at his desk ,with pen poised wondering if he should write in his journal what he now has come to suspect about the life of his partner Sherlock Holmes. That Holmes and Moriarty were one and the same. That Moriarty was in fact Holmes' dark side, a reflection of Holmes' paranoia.

He had never seen Professor Moriarty and had taken Holmes' description as the gospel truth. But now....but now he has some disturbing doubts of Moriartys' existence outside of his friends mind. Everything about his friend was a dichotomy, a canvas of contradictory colors. He could be warm and kind hearted in one instance and callous and cold the next. His personal affairs were a shambles, so disorganized that it was practically a full time job just to keep them in order but when he was on a case his observations were so organized and precise that he could detect the tiniest hair out of place.

In private Holmes' opinions and discourse on Women were at times borderline misogynistic. He had no use for them other then they abetted in the complexity of his investigations, of which he welcomed the challenge. When he was in their company he was the perfect Gentleman and would go to great lengths to preserve their honor. Holmes was once engaged to be married but as it turned out it was only to uncover needed evidence to solve the case on which he was working. There was enough duality in his personality to fill a journal.

What about the one thing that he knew about his friend that no one else knew. Holmes the master of deductive reasoning and scientific evidence had a secret source to his power that no one else knew but him. Should he put that in his journal or take it to his grave?

Wouldn't people years from now be shocked to read the Great detectives dirty little secret? He remembered the day that he first came face to face with this secret. Both Holmes and him had left to run some errands, well at least he was to run some errands, Holmes had an appointment with his solicitor and said that he would be out for the day and would return after supper. After returning home with Holmes' suits that he had picked up at the cleaners, he proceeded into the dressing room to put them away only to his great shock, find Holmes standing in front of a mirror dressed in nothing but a black garter belt and silk stockings and women's black silk underwear.

He remembered being terribly embarrassed and apologized profusely for not knocking. " Nonsense Watson" replied Holmes without so much as a hint of embarrassment; "How would you know that I made it back to the house so soon? I guess your wondering what I'm doing wearing women's undergarments " he said; " The truth is I wear them all the time when I'm working on a case. They help me free myself from conventional thinking. I get in touch with my other side. I am able to see more with my eyes. I hear more beyond the spoken words . It's really quite elementary my dear Watson, women intuit more then men and this in turn aids me in making the proper deductions. " Right" ! I said; That makes perfect sense Holmes". I then turned and walked out of the room never to mention it again.

He Wondered if he should write this down and make it known to future generations, after all it might be the only explanation of the truth should they one day discover the body at the bottom of the Gorge, then again maybe they would think that it wasn't Holmes at all, but Moriarty.

[Fiction] Friday Aug.24/07

2007-08-23T18:54:00.000-05:00

[Fiction] Friday August 24/07

It was 8:30 before Easy walked into the Stampede wind-up dance. He had been debating all day if he would attend it at all this year but he was not looking forward to returning home and having to face the hard decisions that awaited for him there. He had not placed in any of his events and he was depending on that money to buy feed for the horses this winter. The future of his little ranch in the foothills of Alberta never looked bleaker.

The only thing that Easy accomplished was to win the Guy Weader Memorial Award for the competitor that best embodies what the cowboy stands for. Although it was a great honor to get this award, Easy couldn't help feeling that it was awarded to him as a consolation for finishing out of the money for the first time in many years. The irony of him receiving the award had not escaped him because at the present moment his ranch and the cowboy way of life were in serious danger of disappearing off into the sunset.

Easy made his way to the bar weaving through the crowd of friends and acquaintances who in many ways were the only family he had. Tough luck old man! Better luck next year. Congrats on the GWM. Each slap on the back, each shake of the hand, was a painful reminder of his failure to produce when he needed to the most. After what seemed like hours he finally made it to the bar and sat down only to find that the bartender had seen him coming and slid an ice cold Moosehead in front of him before he could tilt his hat back. Easy gave him a wide grin and the bottle salute. He then proceeded to pour the beer down his throat in one pull. He knew that the first one was on the house and he wouldn't get to taste much of it but he also knew that there would be a fresh one waiting for him when he finished.

"Buy a Lady a beer"? came the voice that made his heart skip a beat. Easy turned and looked into the coal black eyes of Beryl Macpherson.

"Wh..here have you been? I dddidn't think that you were here this year." he stammered. He always did when he was around her.

"That's because you have been looking in all the wrong places, Cowboy" she said; I am chaperoning Rebel, guarding her from all the randy young cowboys. It's her first Rodeo and I'm hoping that it doesn't get into her blood because I'm getting to old to be following her all around hell's half acre trying to keep her out of trouble. She's riding that grey colt that you sold us 3 years back, remember?"

"How could I forget" he laughed; " That Red Headed daughter of yours used her beauty and guile to practically steal my best colt.... Beryl I apologize for not attending Stan's funeral, but by the time that I heard about it, it was over." Stan and Easy had been friends and did the Rodeo circuit together for years. They travelled together to cut their expenses and even pooled their winnings to make sure each had a profitable season. They were close as any two men could be without being 'Brokeback Mountain cowboys'. They did everything together and as fate would have it, they fell in love with the same woman.

[That's as far as I can get without going too much past the time constraints and still adding some semblance of closure. The Genre that I was attempting to portray is that of a Romantic Western. I hope that it was obvious enough for you to identify it as such.]

[Fiction] Friday Aug, 17/07

2007-08-17T09:05:00.000-05:00

[ Fiction ] Friday Aug. 17/07

Pick an adult character (it can be a new character, an established character, or even a famous character from fiction) and write a scene where the character demonstrates one of the following child-like habits:

John was amazed at how something as simple as watching his grand-daughter liberally apply ribbons of ketchup to her mac and cheese could bring back such wonderful memories of his father.

He must tell her how her great grand-father used to put ketchup on everything except for his steak on which he applied the 'King of Sauces'.... HP.

He remembered his father telling him as a small boy that the man who invented HP sauce should have been knighted because HP was the King of sauces. If Hp was the King then ketchup must be his Queen because he ate it on everything including rice.

He remembered his wife being so devastated because she had meticulously prepared his father a birthday feast of Indonesian dishes only to have him go to the cupboard and retrieve his beloved ketchup and to her horror without taking a single bite of the food apply gobs of it on his rice. He then proceeded to eat everything, go back for seconds and praise her for cooking such a wonderful meal.

He remembered the ride home that night most of all. How his wife in tears of rage could not believe what he had done. It was like he had defecated on her gift to him. She eventually calmed down after He had explained to her that his Father puts ketchup on all his food but he had to admit that seeing him put it on his rice was even new to him. She eventually forgave his father and could look back and laugh at her reaction but she never forgot it, for every time he picked up the ketchup bottle she would remind him that he was just like his father.

He looked at his grand-daughter's ketchup smeared face and smiled. "Have you ever eaten ketchup on toast?" he asked her; "It's much better then Jam. Your great-grandfather taught me to eat my toast that way. Maybe on your next stay-over we can eat toast and ketchup for breakfast?" he said; smiling at her and silently thanking her for the memories of his father.

[ Fiction ] Friday July 27/07

2007-07-27T15:51:00.000-05:00

Is that you Clifford? Yes Mom, it's me.

Have you heard from Lizzie? I'm so worried about her!

Elizabeth's fine Mom. She's a big girl and sensible. We had a E-mail from her yesterday. She arrived safely and finished what is supposed to be the hardest part of her journey, crossing the Pyrenees.

Where is she now?

Right at this moment she should be somewhere afoot between Roncesvalles and Pamplona.

I don't know how you could have let her go off traipsing around some foreign country by herself. I don't know why you are not worried sick about her!

You and Jane have got all the worrying that's needed covered, besides she is on her first big adventure. A Medieval Pilgrimage. One that is taken by thousands of people from all over the world each year. She's hardly alone.

Yeah, but it's a foreign country. How is she going to communicate?

Lizzie minored in Spanish at the University, Mom. She knows enough to get by. I'll E-mail her and ask her to call you when she gets to Leon. Will that help?

Clifford the world is a dangerous place for Women and Children nowadays, so I'm still going to worry.

I know you will Mom but as you well know the World has always been a dangerous place for Women and Children and that shouldn't stop them from living.

--------------OK Son. Keep me informed.

Mom don't let her know when she calls but there is a plan afoot to surprise her and be in Santiago de Compostella when she arrives on July 25th. Everything is fine she will be back with all kinds of stories to tell you in no time at all. We'll come and see you on the weekend. [pause] I love you.

[ Fiction ] Friday July20/07

2007-07-20T17:39:00.000-05:00

Do your best to drop your odd-named character into your mix-and-match scene. Write the scene in the first person Point of View (POV) of the odd-named character. Your scene must have at least two characters.

As with anything creative you can take license to make the two fit together, but try not to ditch it and start over.

I'm not sure if I completely understand the challenge but here it is anyway.

"Ebb, I'm so sorry," said Larry; Ebb's longtime partner. "That was a stupid stunt. You could have had a heart attack! I mean that was some funny shit but totally irresponsible. "

"Yeah, well I should have known you were up to something. You have a real sick sense of humour, you know" Ebb replied, still shaking with the thought of the young guard collapsing out of the corner of his eye. "I bet if I would have fell to the floor and faked a heart attack all your little sphincters would have shut so tight you wouldn't have been able to pass a fart for a week."

" I didn't want you to go out with a whimper," Larry explained. You know the supermarket cake with a thousand candles, weak coffee. Three Cheers for Ebb! Hip Hip! For he's a jolly good fellow crap. I wanted you to go out in style. I wanted it to be memorable. They're going to be talking about this for years! That's no excuse though, it was dead wrong to put you through that. You could have died! You could have dropped a load in your shorts, then we would have to stand around and pretend that everything was right as rain. All perfume and flowers. At any rate I bought you a little something, from me to you because you have always covered my back and I appreciate that. he handed Ebb a box wrapped in brown paper stamped with office stamps .... Date, return to sender, past due etc.

"Thanks, you shouldn't have" said Ebb; " I'll open it later."

" No Ebb I think you should open it now and leans in to whisper in Ebb's ear. I got your back buddy, it's a dozen pair of boxer shorts.

Ebb looked at Larry who was trying with his might to hold it all together, tears streaming down his face all the while choking on suppressed laughter. " You Bastard! I should have drawn my gun and shot you when I had the chance." Ebb said with a huge grin.

[ Fiction ] Friday July 13/07

2007-07-12T22:34:00.000-05:00

It was Ebb's last day on the job and when his partner suggested that they go out in the squad car one more time, for old times sake, Ebb figured that they were just trying to get him out of the office so they could set up a surprise party which they have done for every man and their dog that retires. It never ever surprises anyone but they insist on the ruse anyway.
When they got in the car a call came in telling them to go to Tim Hortons on Alberni Street to deal with an assault, with possible weapons involvement. Two things went through Ebb's head. One being that he was in no hurry to get involved with an arrest and have to write up reports on his last day and the other was that there wasn’t an incident at all because the Tim Horton’s on Alberni was a popular donut shop with the Downtown department and he had a gut feeling that they were going to surprise him at Timmy’s. When they pulled into the parking lot Ebb was relieved to see a familiar Police ghost car in the lot. He reminded himself to try and look really surprised and not let their efforts go to waste.

On entering the Donut shop he was surprised to see a young East Indian security guard and a clown being restrained by a couple of undercover cops. “What’s going on here?” Exclaimed Ebb's partner.
“He punched me in the nose!” shouted the clown. “Arrest him, he tried to kill me!” Ebb’s partner told him to take the security guard and that he would question the clown. That’s just fucking great thought Ebb, what a great last day this is turning out to be.

Ebb pulled the security guard off to one side and asked him what happened. “ I was standing in line minding my own business. I just wanted to pick up a coffee and a boston cream before going to work when this mad clown came pushing in front of me. I tapped him on the shoulder and told him that I was here before him. I am not a violent man, I’m a pacifist and I am so ashamed at myself for hitting him but he called me a filthy Paki and that I should go back to where I came from and that Tim Hortons don’t sell Chai tea anyway. I just hit him without thinking and I kept on hitting him until they pulled me off him. I am not a violent man. I have a gun but it’s not even loaded.” He spoke very softly and was very agitated as he reached to show Ebb his empty gun.

“ Don’t do that. Don’t be touching your gun;” Ebb uttered.

“ No I’ll take it out gently with two fingers to let you see that it’s not loaded. I’m a Buddhist and I don’t believe in guns. I only carry it because they say I have to;” he said as he reached round for the gun.

Ebb was busy writing in his report book when he heard three gunshots and out of the corner of his eye he saw the young man crumble to the ground. “Holy Shit!!” he cried and turned to see the three officers with their guns un-holstered and pointing at the place where the young man once stood.

“He was drawing down on you Ebb;” his partner shouted. “Oh God!, Oh God!, Oh God!” cried Ebb. "He just wanted to show me his empty gun". At that moment his Captain entered the shop. Everything was happening so fast. Ebb looked at the captain and told him that it was all his fault. He should have told his partner that everything was OK. He should have stopped the young man from touching his gun. “I take full responsibility, Cap!” Ebb confessed.

At that moment the young man moved and Ebb yelled at the top of his lungs, “He’s Alive! He’s Alive!” The Captained grabbed Ebb by his shoulder and looked him in the eye and whispered; “I hate to have to tell you this, Ebb but ….” YOU’VE JUST BEEN PUNKED!!!! Came a resounding shout from everyone in the shop.

[ Fiction ] Friday July06/07

2007-07-06T22:58:00.000-05:00

Fiction Friday Challenge for July 6, 2007:

Here’s this week’s challenge:

Choose one of the following odd character names and create a character sketch to go along with it. The genre, if any, is up to you. I leave it up to you to decide exactly what the sketch includes, but don’t just give us a physical description and a career, tell us about the character. Some common features of a character sketch: physical description, job, hobbies, education, family, habits, fears, dreams, history and anything else that helps you understand the character better. Make it an interesting character because we’re going to use them in a future [Fiction] Friday.

Ebenezer Benjamin Brown, Ebb to his co-workers but also known as the "British bulldog" because of his striking resemblance to this pugnacious beast. He was short, barrel chested, ham fist ed tank, that balanced precariously on a pair of spindly bow legs.
Ebb's early years as an amateur wrestler helped shape a face that only a mother and people who liked bulldogs could love, with his squarish head with thrice broken nose, that no longer had the will or the way to stand out from his face, and cauliflower ears.
The flattened nose burdens him with another comparison to his canine twin in that whenever Ebb exerts himself he has the tendency to snuff and snort like he is under great duress to take a breath.
There is a story that goes around the station that in all likelihood has been embellished over the years. Once when Ebb was a junior officer, he and his partner were about to make an arrest of a very drunk belligerent offender who was carrying a baseball bat. On seeing Ebb coming at him the criminal shouted to stand back or he would beat him until he was handsome. This caused his partner to howl with laughter which in turn gave the assailant the giggles rendering him helpless to Ebb. Ebb couldn't understand what was so funny, the man was drunk and didn't know what he was saying.

Ebb worked thirty years for the Vancouver Police and was set to retire in one week. As a detective in the major crimes unit, he had been shot twice, stabbed once. He had three commendations for bravery and was the most respected officer in the department. Every man knew that Ebb would lay his life on the line to protect his partner.
Until recently he feared no man and no thing. At the age of fifty-five, fear presented itself to him in a most unexpected way. He was to retire in one week and he did not know what he would do with himself. All his friends worked within the Department and he had vowed long ago that he would not be one of those retirees that came back and hung around the station getting in everybody's way. He had acquired no hobbies or interests over the years . His work was everything to him and soon it would be no more. Ebb feared lonliness more then death itself.