Archive for December, 2015

It is the 31st, the last day of the year 2015. It will only happen again in our dreams, stories, poems and imagination. I will remember the fog this morning and the temperature. I will probably start any stories or poems about this day with, “It was a dark and foggy morning and I felt the chill”. I will probably end my stories and poems about this day with “I will make that resolution again, this year”.

Of course , we in the Northern Hemisphere will be celebrating while freezing our butts off watching a Ball drop or Peach drop or a Cranberry drop or Apple drop, what ever your state’s veggie, fruit or iconic image is. Everyone counting down from 10 – 9- 8 – 7 ……-1 , watch a fireworks display then run  back indoors where it is warm and have another drink, kiss or dance with a pretty girl (wife) next to you or eat another one of those little pizza rolls. But down deep, we would really rather be building a large bonfire in the backyard, gather around it naked and dance and roll around together to music made by drums of  animal skin, played by bare bones and roasting an entire cow. Those Pagans really knew how to party!

If we are in the Southern Hemisphere, aka Australia, they do it right, also. They will be having a drink on the beach, surfing, watching girls in bikinis and throwing another shrimp, fish or veggie, what ever is their Providence’s favorite, on the barbie. I think New Years Eve and New Years Day in January was meant for the Southern Hemisphere, don’t you?

There really isn’t anything special about this day or holiday eve. If we were remembering a past New Year of a few hundred years ago, it probably would be remembered as in March, around the March Equinox . Of course, I am not sure that they would have been using the same names for the months. It seems that every nation had a favorite string of 12 or 13 month names that they used for a calendar. Whatever the month, it probably was a month named after a pagan god. To me, the time of an Equinox, either in Fall or Spring makes more sense to celebrate a new year. But if the Romans or the Christians want it to start in January, the month of the pagan god Janus, so be it. It may be because the god Janus was also known as having two faces. That somehow seems appropriate, almost poetic, now that I think of it. Ok! January it is! I will openly accept January first as New Years Day but secretly, when I’m alone, I will diligently be working to change it to March 21st, when it should be. Isn’t that what Janus would do?

A real pagan New Year celebration, during March Equinox,  that is what I’ll work for. I will make that resolution again, this year.



I wake up alone and cold, I check the time, it’s 05:50 AM. I realize, that’s not my clock! I’m not in my own bed. It’s OK, I’m on the road again.

I calculate how many minutes I have before I have to drag out of bed to face the shower. I say face the shower because it is cold in the room and it is dreadful to think of getting cold dripping wet. No matter how hot I make it, there comes a time when I must turn off the hot water, open the curtain and grab the towel. The blast of chilled air as I open the shower curtain is the most uncomfortable feeling of the day. I’m naked, dripping dog wet, chilled and with a primal urge to shake, nose to tail. I plan how in the same motion I will grab the towel and slam the bathroom door shut. What was unnoticed air entering a few minutes ago, now feels like a freezer cold draft. I can’t dry fast enough.

As I shave, I realize I must do the second most dreadful thing of the day. I must make the coffee, hotel coffee. Enough said about that, if you drink coffee, you know what I mean. The first cup of coffee must be drank hot and before you are dressed.  Sitting in your shorts, cup held full palmed, gazing straight ahead unfocused is best. I’ve tried other ways of having the first cup of morning coffee. I’ve put it in a thermos jug the night before, but by 6:00 am it is lukewarm. I have requested room service in the hotels that offer it, it usually arrives late and it is cold or it arrives on time and it is cold. It’s impossible to deliver hot coffee anywhere. It will always lose it’s heat on the trip up the elevator. Even if you have a microwave in the room, reheated coffee is not the same.

Facing the cold vehicle is not at all enjoyable either. Warming up a car at a hotel is different too. First of all, the car is always parked in the farthest available parking space. I must start it up and let it sit to warm up enough to soften the ice and snow. So I either have to start it and sit there freezing my butt waiting for it to warmup or take a chance. The chance is starting it up, turning on all of the heat then locking it up, leave it in the parking lot running, while I run back to the lobby for more luke warm hotel coffee. Doing this at home in the driveway is one thing. Doing this in the outskirts of St. Louis is another. Or are the chances of anyone wanting to steal an ice-covered, frozen vehicle pretty slim?

I guess being on the road is an experience of a lack of warmth.


Such is the life of John

He removed his iPhone from the case so it would sit more securely leaning against the large dolphin shaped sea salt and pepper grinders. Ironic he thought, they had bought those the last day of their visit to Atlantic City. That may have been their last happy day together. As he had been instructed, he set three alarms , each precisely three minutes apart. Swallow a capsule at each alarm, in ten minutes after the first alarm he would be asleep, in thirteen minutes he would stop breathing, in sixteen minutes his heart would stop.  The miracle of time released capsules.
He rose early that morning. After his longer than usual hot shower and masturbate, he slowly dried himself off, pulled on his shorts and undershirt and neatly combed his thinning hair. After pouring his coffee and popping a beer, Gerald sat at the kitchen table, staring at each large capsule that last evening he had placed in the precise order, in a very neat row, green one , then yellow and then red.
This had to be done today. It was December 23rd, he did not want this to happen any closer to the holidays. This is not the kind of memory to leave to your children on each of their next Christmas Eves or Mornings. He knew he wouldn’t be found until after the New Year. But there was always the chance that the nosey neighbor next door may be knocking to leave her plate of Christmas cookies, like she did three years ago. He hid and neglected to answer the door on the last two yearly attempts. Yes, after New Years at least. They would miss him at work by then.
The holiday season can be the most lonely time in a bachelor’s life and especially for Gerald Watswigger. After facing the guilt of being caught sleeping with other women, going through an ugly divorce, losing custody and visitation of his three lovely children, he had lost his dream of only a long happy suburban life. His only choices left, the drunken loneliness of the bottle or the miracle of the neatly spaced row of time released capsules.



December 21st 10:49  PM, really? 10:49? I think just knowing the date is enough. We’re not exactly making an appointment to meet the cable guy. But the 21st does have significance on Monday, as it does on about the same day each year.  You probably already know but E is always the one that has to bring it up, as he did in spring, summer and fall. Now it’s my turn. Monday is the first day of winter.

You say “Whooppie!! or “Awwwwww OOoooooH!” or probably more likely, ” who gives a frick!”. It is easy for us to say this, we in the 21st century. But go back a few hundred years and it was a different story.

Our dumb ass ancestors actually thought that there was a possibility that the Sun would just keep heading south until it would get so far away that it wouldn’t return and the dumb bastards would be left with no light and warmth at all. That is, until the great God, Whoever The Hell, allowed it to come back again. In the mean time they knew they’d have to kiss the ass of their holy priests to intervene for them to convince God, Whoever The Hell, to allow it to shine again. They believed the same thing about the moon, the migrating animals and the big fish in the sea. Kiss the ass of the priests and they’d convince God, Whoever The Hell, to let them all return. You name it, the crops, the rains, the animals, the ice, what ever their lives depended on, they had a priest or superstition that covered it.

They had to go through the priests because our great, great, great, great, great, etc. ….  grandfathers 20 times removed knew for themselves that they understood nothing as complicated as God, Whoever The Hell. And surely only a priest could talk to him. You know, it was very similar to the assholes in this century that start out their logic with the expression “I’m no scientist but …….. “, “I’m no doctor but …..” or “I’m no whatever butt”. Back at the dawn of man, it was “I’m no priest but I know it’s true, I have to give away my bear skins to the priest or the Sun ain’t coming back”.

And that’s pretty much what a lot of men today still believe. They think it has to be magical, life that is. It’s all frickin’ magic. They can be presented with scientific facts but they still don’t believe it. It isn’t magical enough to be true. When the facts started coming in about how the solar system really worked, the mystics didn’t want to believe it, no matter what religion they believed in. It took years for the mystics to accept it. They didn’t want the magic to end.

Well, I’m just a common man living out here in the middle of nowhere and I can assure you that tomorrow, sometime in your AM or PM, the earth will start tilting back into the other direction and the sun will be shining a little longer on the earth each day for about the next 6 months. The scientists have convinced me. You can bet your bear skins on it. Now don’t get me wrong, we’ll have more sunlight but they are telling me the weather may be a little different. And it isn’t being caused and won’t be stopped by magic.

Hope you have a nice winter.



(Of course, all of this is true only if you live in the Northern Hemisphere.     E.)





Posted: December 16, 2015 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, writing
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As I watch the digital bits ricochet from here to there
with no restrictions of where they may land.
Broadcasted like sewn oats blown into the breeze by a electrostatic fire hose
perhaps taking seed on the other side of the earth.
Read, analyzed, erased or sent again on their way
within fibers of glass and through waves of magnetic miracles
some stored by laser beams and some within sandwiches of  silicone
only a few settle within the jelly filled neurons of man ever again.
If needed for work or only just curiosity these microscopic bits are reconstructed
into what ever they were when spit from the thoughts of the two eyed beings
that first visualized them as words, pictures or Dollars in exchange for Yaun.
No light cycles are raced, no jungles are hacked, only electric potential leveraged
and squandered within the gigabyte confines of a magic world
that spends nothing, earns nothing or builds any material thing.




Bread and Milk

Posted: December 13, 2015 in creative writing, Seasons, story, writing

The lingering glacial smell of winter is sucked into the nostrils and rushes to the back hollows of the skull, triggering thoughts of preparation.  Questions of how deep the snow, how thick the ice and how cold the temperatures accumulate in the frontal lobes. We stay alert, remaining aware of the first sign of breeze and change of wind direction. We brace but not before we fill our gas tanks and buy milk and bread.

Those that work in grocery stores will tell you that at the first sign of severe winter weather the shelves will be depleted of bread and milk. I have always wondered about that. I would think that beer, cigarettes, coffee, matches and batteries would be very popular also. But no, they always run out of bread and milk. Maybe in a time of uncertainty, bread and milk are all that immediately comes to mind as a soother of the anxious soul.


Muddled Mind

Posted: December 10, 2015 in poem, poems, poet, poetry
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Deep inside of this muddled mind
you won’t see scenes of life left far behind.
Of young coy beauty and glimpse of pink
The deep cool wells from which we drank.
From rolling meadows turned to concrete slabs
forgot so quickly just what we had.
Evening walks hand in hand
to cold winter winds that froze our land.
The years have passed, months long forgot
the taste of thighs and fingers scent is lost.
Deep within this mind not there
the lips the breasts the sweeping hair,
Shimmering skin beneath soft pink of lace,
Wide dark eyes, your chiseled face.
All long forgot and never thought
the love the joy your presence brought.
You never ever cross my mind
Our years of months we have left behind
Oh to you I promise this
Not a day has passed that I have missed
The taste and breath of our last kiss.



Posted: December 7, 2015 in love, poem, poet, poetry
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As I admire her black lace sleeves
and imagine her warm skin within
Brunette hair falls curled over her silken shoulders
Her slender nailed hands slide down her waist and hips
and reach her smooth sheer nylon thigh and knee.
Leg muscles out-stretch as her hands smoothly caress calf to knee
Her shoe falls from her arched foot and polished toes.
I am succumbed and so sensually aroused as I gaze
upon her preening in the bedroom mirror
Only to see just once, only to see so many more.