Grandma Pearl's Painting

Grandma Pearl - might I see you
with your bent back, purple hair, and your kitchen guilt 
of osteoporosis - and a punishing grey tongue
your worn thin dresses
sweeping the floor in Denver on the linoleum,
past the one painting you did,
in the basement
where dreamland rendered
between red painted bricks of your home,
(hysterically) the nice Grandson watching,
while you apply more red to white canvas,
Suffern dreams danced-
Aunt Ruth, Uncle Bob, a stranger with a platform
in his pocket
and huge young bald head
of Denver Nazi Order

-radio spoke bad news
Alan Berg gunned down. 
at the hands of a white supremacist

Grandma
Bruce Pierce is dead, Bruce Pierce is in Eternity, Bruce Pierce is with
Ginsberg and William Burroughs.

Though I see you walking still, a ghost in Highland Town Center,
down the aisle, observing my customer service
limping a little with a humped back,
in what must have been a worn thin,
overworked dress,

praising my father, the Dentist, on his visit to Denver
-see you bent over in the kitchen
cooking Macaroni despite Osteoporosis
and lighting the Sabath candles
to bring in one more Passover. 

Bruce Pierce is dead and Alan Berg is not speaking
The fuel Berg spilled is not aired
Uncle Harold with his well groomed style,
Greg is married to a beautiful art teacher,
Andy guitar in hand, a monument in San
Francisco Chronicle playing psychedelic muse.

last time I saw you was the hospital
and you had lost that viperous bite
you were on your way out, headed east, 
towards New York 
and your dreams of Swan Dives into a stilled  Suffern Lake.   

A Day in the Life

It is 11:10 in Lakeland, a Tuesday,
two days after the World Series,
it is 2012 and I brush my teeth pearl white,
because I will get off the cozy couch in my abode 
at 1:15 and then go straight to Publix,
and I don't know who will buy my chicken.

I walk up the freezing, tree lined, dead end street
and open the mailbox with my small golden key
a stack of unwanted bills and political ads
greet my blue oil pocked hands.

                                        I go on to my deli
and Miss. Calmwater (first name Bernice I once heard)
doesn't even tell me to cut the salami thinner.
And I ponder O'Keefe as I exhibit the slice,
or did I re-imagine film-scenes  from the Artist,
that dog stole the show, and made me smile; or
was I thinking about which friends I would call,
the images were practically lulling me to sleep,
with salami on my slicer.

And then I am asked to help Ms. Cherry
I tread on to the kitchen cautiously
but my feet slip Chaplinesque from the grease
spilled onto the floor.  I wake up from my dream
and stab the dead chickens. 

And I am sweating a lot, because it is time to go
homeward bound, and so much to clean;
while Patsy Kline sings the lines to Crazy
written by Willie Nelson.
                                  I push my broom faster.   

 Last night I saw an article that struck me as quit sick.  A restaurant nearby is   promoting body sushi, where you eat pieces of sushi off of a model.   This is to me a depraved way to enjoy food.  I feel that things like Body Sushi can easily lead to the above sketch, its just a matter of degrees.) This is a sketch of an idea, I could not write the full story as it scared me too much, I just wanted a rough sketch here.  

The beautiful model laid on the cloth covered table, deliciously lathered with special seasoning, her body was covered with pieces of meat. 

The master sushi chefs were preparing the main course while the spacemen awoke to sensual pleasures. The clients sat with their lips quivering in anticipation of the full course.  .   The men awaited smoking cigars and swapping stories told too many times at the mahogany stained table.  And yes, on space capsule Xeron, their were strip joints modeled after the old legends of Hustler, Penthouse, and Playboy.  The stories of the men whispered up with the smoke. 

Strippers danced on poles, teasing the spacemen who stared.  Their breasts were sprayed down with glitter, the disco ball reflected on the women's glittery breasts, shinning faeries on the wall.   The space traveler's  hard ons were hidden beneath the lacquered oak dark stained table. Some of the men were business men signing contracts and entertaining clients, others were space cowboys on leave. Some of the men joistled with their dicks, while others played with their straws in their pink Cosmos.  All of the men were guilty of a feeling that they were about to do something not quite right.

"Gentlemen!"  The steward spoke,  "Please join me in the pleasure den, where tonight we have a real surprise!!!"

The men arose from their tables and followed the steward to a back room.

This practice has been outlawed on Earth, but here on planet X we think not.  This is a special event which we offer you to participate in tonight.   We ask that you show decorum and not fight over the pieces of meat from the model-Angelic.   Angelic will not feel a thing, I promise you,  for she has been thoroughly drugged.  So stick your knives and forks into her flesh, and carve her up boys! She's all yours!!!!

If their is any thing that my stewards and I can get you to make your night more enjoyable let us know, we will be happy to assist you.  And we hope y'all have a great night here." 

The night commenced in bloody mayhem.

Flash Trending

The Ripple Effect circles out and avenges my IPhone with static, and maybe a Mexican Radio here and there, on this Cinco-DeMayo Morning.  The phone reports of a battle long past fought between Mexico and France.  France?

Loving the Future

A farmer in the field sees the shadow moving across the land, the shadow is complexity filled:   hope-despair, fear-brave, but then the word became flesh. The blue rooster cried out for rain, but the clouds would not open up, upon the white painted barn.  If only rain could collect on the field parched by the sun.   Vultures floated, as if bad omens.  

 As the dark purple cloud moves across his farm rising the dust up in whirling eddies he rests on his shovel.  He rested and all around him he heard the sound of dried wheat stalks swaying in the wind.   Dust tickled his throat.  He coughed.  He held onto his hat made of straw, he feared it would blow away.  All the land was thirsty, but his farmers almanac did not report any rain. The almanac had not said one word about banks calling in bank loans.

The farmer smiled.  He thought of all of the bank notices that were collecting on his kitchen table. The table was dust-filled, he had written S.O.S. in the dust, as a message maybe to a UFO or was it God?  He had borrowed on the banks in order to plant this year's crop. The year before all was wasted. By one hail storm! This year the drought! And still the banks called and called and called and called upon the isolated farmer.  The banks had lent the farmer money, and were now calling about the loan.   The banks not paid, sent yellow foreclosure notes. The official notes laid like a deck of tarot cards played by a psychic at the county fair.  The wood of the table held secrets from forgotten conversations.  Recorded in its wood so long ago.

The horror, of official visits from official representatives of the good old banks, was a serene nightmare.

The land had been with his family for sixty years.  His great grandfather had bought the land in 1866 a year after coming back to the Carolinas.  A year after killing his last soldier in blue.   His great grandfather hoped for a new beginning in Ohio.   A land of promise, a land that was fertile and ready for growing.  The land had been a stage of marriages, burials, and harvest festivals.   A place where one called home.  

The farmer knew his life here in Ohio was endangered. But still the farmer smiled. He joyfully accepted the plundering of his property for he knew what the bible declared, you will have a better possession an abiding one....He knew this land belonged to God. If God's will was to sell the land than so be it, no worries. Even if this meant working at a factory in Cincinnati, or in Cleveland.  He hoped beyond hope that he could move on from here.  But all he knew was the tending of the farm.  He smiled through the broken dreams and gutter swamps of his mind. Because he had an abiding possession that would never fade from Glory.

He looked at his hands and smiled.   Locusts played their legs. He wish he could have seen the sign of the times, he wish he could have seen the seven years of bad, and seven years of good.  He would have sold the farm the year before and have some change in his pockets.  But now all he had was faith in God and a smile that stated, "So be it!"

The wind scooped up the top soil.

He recalled his bible reading today Hebrews 10:32-39.  And he said to himself: "Amen!"

Haiku from Lost Note

Border land fences
psychic razor barbed lines
cut by crow's talons. <  I found this note while cleaning up my work room. The note read This borderland has fences made of psychic razor wire. So I thought of a black crow sitting on a wire cutting away the wire. Why does the crow not get electrocuted? Well these are the borderland states where some things just are as they are and there is no point in attempting to reason them out. One must just understand them by a little faith. I am influenced right now by Stephen King in his Dark Tower series and by Jung's notes on Dreams. These create a sense of the mysterious borderland .

Do not throw any notes away without putting it into some form so that you can capture the moment. Haiku or some sort of Haiku it does not have to be confined to the static form, but the form helps frame the thought. Especially if the note stirs you in anyway. If the note makes you cringe than please keep this idea. Any idea that has a sort of emotive power has the ability to bring us to some place else.

Haikus: Birds on A Stormy Day

Blue rooster crowed 

the clouds opened upon

the painted white barn.

Rain poodles downward, 

collecting on the filed 

parched by the sun.

Surfin' on the wind 

vultures float on up 

then speed on down.

White Egrets lined

sentries on a parade route, 

spartan and solid.

Hebrews 4:14-5:10 English Standard Version (ESV) 16 Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

He boldly stood before the threshhold repeating to himself the old hymn:



"I will enter his grace with trembling in my heart.
I will enter his grace with praise.
I will rejoice for he has made me glad.
I will enter his gates with praise.
I will rejoice for he has made me glad."


The congregation he had been part of echoed in the chamber of his mind.   He looked into the infinite space and trembled.   The congregation built his courage up.   "He has made me glad... I will enter his gates with praise." He repeated to himself as he was terrified at the emptiness that laid before him past his green spaceship.    He remembered the pastor talking of the "LORD's Shekinah Glory".
  He had gone through the ritual of purification, for he had to be pure to enter the LORD's infinite temple.   His natural self would never be allowed in this space.  But he was ready to commune with the LORD in the infinite space of his temple.  
So he thought, "Have I done enough? Am I ready to enter?  Will I return back home?" But doubt trembled inside... as he took a step into infinite space.

The white out on 1-25 washed away our vision.  It had been a warm December day when my dad and I arrived at Mile High Stadium,  now it was freezing and the snow was coming down.   The snow came down hard and we were forced to pull aside at every exit in order to see through the front car window.   Our headlights were no longer blazing the trail because the snow had blanketed them with a white fury coat.

The Initial Dreams of Jung

{November 21, 1979 (Daniel is 5)} 
Again and again the witch visited my dreams. She came as a woman in a black veil.  I could hear her weep beneath the veil.  She wept again and again as the tears filled up my room.   Tears kept coming and a foot of water pooled at the side of my bed.  And the water heaved; expanding into a pool besides my bed. 

She wept again, and I pulled up, my "Star-Wars" flannel bed sheets, I climbed underneath the covers and laid in curled up and sucked my thumb.   I attempted to create a cave where the witch would not get me. 

The flannel cave was free of any light. I was enclosed in darkness.    

But then I would fall asleep again the woman with a black veil would come into my room.   
I could hear the cries outside the cave.  

  (7:22)

Story Bits 7:365

MARCH 17TH 1988, DANIEL 19, ANGELA 18}

Angela picks Daniel up.  

She is wearing a fur coat and oozes the fifty foot woman savage appeal of Yvette Vicker's.  Yvette Vickers in her youth, the one that owned the Playboy Centerfold in July 1959.   The centerfold shot that had turned on the photographer Russ Meyer with a savage heat. 

Angela, Angela had a cat, she whacked it with her baseball bat, and then she made a coat of it.

. 

She makes him yelp, and awakens the savage wolf in him; He can only imagine what is beneath the fur; perfumed imagination makes his dick bulge beneath his chino pants.  Angela sees that his dick is hard.  But the cold air makes his penis the incredible shrinking kind.

“I have a present for you!” 

"Oh yes," Daniel thinks silently, "can we dance the tongue tango."

   He feels like a puppy before a bone held up high, he wants to jump for it.   He thinks and wishes that all night devouring that naughty smile.   He wants to wear her in all sorts of positions. Sex and savage yearnings are awakened inside Daniel like a young pup before a bone promised by his owner.

She winks and circles her tongue around her red lips. She does this weird thing with her tongue against her brightened smile.  Angela knows her effect on Daniel.

But then a guilty feeling sneaks in, and attempts to destroy the moment.

Daniel thinks to himself, “But my father was supposed to pick me up; we had planned a whole week of going fishing in Jackson's Hole Wyoming, so where's my father!?”

Angela and Daniel wipe the snow from the window of her orange Mustang.  She continues to attempt to brush up against him.  She wants him, but wants him to have to work for their moment together.  She wants this shy boy to be a man and lead her in that tango.

Biblio Klept

Found on Biblio Klept it was too good not to share:


They seem to be talking about Freud and Jung too of my favorite psychologists and especially about dreaming and dream's significance.   I hope you enjoyed the video.

Story Bits 6:365

Ca Ca Birds

I use to call crows,  birds ca-ca birds, or short ca-ca.  
"Dad mom look at the cacas!"  
Its like an arma-dildo instead of an armadillo. 

Story Bits 5:365

So you leave highway ten and head on up the Georgia Florida Highway, not too fast mind you because the Courthouse is dead ahead, if you go to fast you’ll end up like those boys from Perry did, high and dry on the court house steps. You will pass the signs of modernity that read “Subway”, “Winn Dixie”, and Chicken Delite on the left.  Now you take the bend past the boarded up Ace Hardware,  pass the Episcopal church painted the same color as the original train depot , turn left at the three story yellow Victorian house that use to be there (it stood the torment of time before a fire caused by faulty wiring by an amateur electrician), and find the lawn that is brighter than a star that has gone super-nova.   Now you are at my in-laws lovely place in Monticello Florida.

(Idea came from Eudora Welty's description in her Short Story Where is the Voice Coming From).

So you leave Four Corners and head west on Nathan B. Forrest Road, past the Surplus & Salvage, not much beyond the Kum Back Drive-In and Trailer Camp, not as far as where the signs starts saying "Live Bait," "Used Parts," "Fireworks," "Peaches," and "Sister Peebles Reader and Adviser." Turn before you hit the city limits and duck back towards the I.C. tracks. And his street's been paved.

Story Bit 4:365

I was a purple clad Viking lover, red white and blue flag waving, parade loving, three foot celebration of a tale. The tale that filled up my dreaming life was the one told about a lake house in North Dakota. 

I dreamt of flying above the lake like a Canadian goose.  I then would go over the Canadian Rockies and feel the ragged cliffs under my wing. 

Only I was wearing cute little mouse ears on my head. I was told that if I wore the hat my dreams would surely come true; kind of like Dumbo holding onto that feather, I could dream big when I wore my Mickey Mouse Club hat.  M.I.C-K.E.Y. Because we love you! M.O.U.S.E.  Mickey Mouse forever wave your banner high...then my dreams would switch and I would be in a Sun Fish boat sailing in the gulf of Mexico.   The surface of the gulf was not crstaline, and the waves threatened to pull my small boat down. down down.  I would be washed away from the safety of my boat... and fall fall fall ending up collecting rocks from the bottom of the Gulf. And then I would begin swimming, at first I went too fast and had to tread water just to catch my breath.

My body felt like a hundred pounds was pulling me to my grave deep beneath the sea.   But then I would pray and promise to be a good child if only I could get through this...promising God to respect my parents more and then I would be stuck in a net.  I could not get out and as I tried harder and harder the net began to tangle around my naked body.  There was no escape...buzz buzz buzz the alarm sounded and I awoke catching my breath.(this is a rewrite from an earlier post on Tending Turnips in da 863.) 

Writers Block

I signed up for April Script Writing Month from my friends at Nano (national Writers Month).   The column of advice from Lydia Carnell was excellent.  I recommend all of you writers to check it out.  The key paragraph was:

But in the mortal realm, here is some practical advice: when you’re on a deadline, just sit down and turn on a kitchen timer. Set it for 20 minutes, and do not move until you’ve written a sentence, a paragraph or a page. Act as if a benevolent force of love exists that is always guiding you. Ask this force, the Universe, your Source, your loving higher Power, your inner-self, for the next indicated sentence. Write down the first thing that comes into your mind. This will help you to let go, face your writer’s block, and get back on track.

Story Bit 3:365

I drove my Honda Odyssey to visit my parents in Sarasota.  I knew I needed to go north. But north had been cut off due to a bad accident between a motorcycle and a cement mixer.   The only way to go was south.  I found my way to the tip of Lake Okeechobee.   

At the lake there was one lone fisherman who had not caught anything the whole day.   

"Hey you knew if there is anyone sellin' dynamite down yonder?" 

  I shrugged the universal code that means “Not sure man!”   

The sky started to turn a strange purpleblackblue and that’s when it happened.  The lake sucked up and from the lake emerged a giant red crablike thing.   It approached my Honda.  It grabbed the van with one of his red claws.  Then it opened a wide chasm.  The fisherman stood mouth dropped and was pointing at the monstrosity.  

It gulped the van down in one bite.  It burped a noxious smelling protoplasm.  Then it went back into the midst of the lake.   I was cut off from my home, and how was I going to get back now? 

 
I was to busy to notice, the silver UFO passing in the starry night.(this is a rewrite from an earlier post on Tending Turnips in da 863.) 

Story Bit 2:365

Bernard, age seven, wears a purple and gold Minnesota vikings uniform, a gift from his grandfather who lives in Minnesota.  But he lives here in Colorado and spends a lot of afternoons feeding ducks in Washington Park with his grandma Pearl.   The ducks are his friends.   Her blue Oldsmobile is parked at South high school, where the Gargoyles of Denver perch. She tells him stories of Jewish Lore of a long time ago, and a village far far away, a place she calls Suffern New York.   She speaks of the Golem of Suffern, something that was a secret only known to the Rothbard family.  A creature that protected the Rothbard family from the terrors of the twentieth century.   

Ripples on the lake Spread Out!

Story 1:365 (Rewrite)

Are gargoyles real?” Bernard asked his Grandma.

“As real as the Saber tooth tiger in the museum! As real as your Grandfather's swan dives into New York Lakes.  As real as the famous Golem that protected our village in New York!”

Bernard recalls the facts about the Saber tooth tiger;  the great mammal lived between 33.7 million and 9,000 years ago. They were very strong.  And that Saber-tooths  could easily kill a human with a swipe of their awesome paws...And those fangs looked like daggers, only white porcelain tips hanging from a furry mouth, like stalactites in a cave.   Bernard shivered from his nightmare-daydream.  Then he dropped a quarter into the donation box.  The donation box had a plastic Sabor Tooth head mounted on a glass box, when you dropped money into the box the cat would growl.  He dropped his penny into an assortment of coins, dollars and miscellaneous debris, and the cat did growl a terrorizing sound.