Thursday, December 29, 2005


This is the room I as born in, the room where I surely will die. The walls are huge sponges of sorrow. They've soaked up my every soft cry, They know who I've loved and I've lost here. They know my degenerate ways. This is the room of my sleeping. The room of my nights and my days.

This is the room of my shadows. This is the stage of my dreams. This is the room of my failures. The womb of my indiscreet schemes. Here I was born on a morning where sun slashed a hole in the gloom. Lit up every corner like fire and ignited the life in this room.

I screamed with the terror of living. I grasped for narcotic-like air. I kicked to be free of the binding, the umbilical cord of my mare, I sucked like a soul craving liquor. Like one thirsting in dry desert heat. Each drop of milk in my gullet was sucked from a life-giving teat.

I leaped from the arms of a mother who wrapped me in warmth like a glove to the hands of a money mad master who offered me gold but not love. "Grab life by he balls and possess it." This was my challenging chant. Damn all the roadblocks to billions. To hell with the failure called Can't.

I watched for a moment of weakness. When lesser men fell I was pleased, I conquered worlds made of money, towers supported by greed. I carved my name in misery where every lost failure could read. But as night crawls around me and chokes me with its inescapable gloom, I creep like a hound to the comfort, the silent retreat of my room. I pull down the shades of my windows. I cover my head as I lie. This is the room I was born in, the room where I surely will die.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005


Before each crime of consequence can commence there are events that intensify the reasons why the brutality and bestiality must occur. Were there not the greedy need for power our world could be what it should be, heavenly, where sanity, dignity and integrity would prevail, and a drive toward destiny would fill each waking hour.

When and why did life Man knew go askew and turn both sides into enemies and motivate the killing sprees that willingly create killing fields where no one yields as long as there are still a few atop the dead to forge ahead---ahead to where? To nowhere.

God said, "Go forth and multiply." They did as He said and then they died. Those who ruled fueled the animosity and orchestrated death with breathtaking virtuosity.

Was this the plan when it all began?

Tuesday, December 27, 2005


While we send probes to Mars and other stars far away from where we are, searching space for another place were there might be intelligent beings just like those we're seeing every day, chances are it might be worth all the time and expense to unlock the secrets of how some planets began and ended and descended into nothingness,

The guess is there were other humanoids in the void of distant space who sought life like theirs a quadrillion miles away? Did they perish in their endeavor never to achieve success?

Is interstellar exploration going on? Will it continue when we're gone? When Earth's time has expired and all the wealth we've acquired has diminished into nothingness, when all that's left are empty plains and flesh-stripped bones, fossilized remains and evidence of of the insane dissipation of a once great civilization, will explorers be wise enough to surmise the message our demise implies?

Will they vow to not allow what happened then happen once again?


Do the crime. Serve your time. You bet! You get out. No doubt. Now you're free to rejoin society. Think so? The answer's No! You're an ostracized, disenfranchised con until you're gone. Fast asleep, six feet deep, dead. A stone above your head: Rest In Peace. Police are through harassing you. Forget your past? You're free at last? Yes, unless the God of Love rejects your final plea and sends you down to be with me.

Monday, December 26, 2005


Not all oldtimers have Alzheimer's even though they tend to forget to recognize a friend or remember the end of a story they just read or repeat what they just said a dozen times or more. They can't recall all they should and they aren't good at math and chemistry, psychology and philosophy even though they have a master's degree, a Ph.D. and studied copiously In everything from A to Z.

If they don't know their name or the dame they bedded minutes ago, so what! What they've got most seniors get. A senior moment is the excuse,they're just a little loose in the caboose and lacking mental juice. They just need inspiration to induce better use of their supreme, extreme mentality.

But when they ain't so bright in the brain and complain about mundane things like rain in Spain and such and are out of touch with reality you suspect there's something not quite correct happening to their intellect.

The truth is, no matter how bright or lucid you used to be, the Big A can happen to you one sunny day when all your marbles roll away or in the dark of night when gray matter gives up the fight and you become an empty shell without a memory to keep you company.

That's what Alzheimer's does to you and there's nothing you can do. You're locked inside, there is no cure, you hide and wait while science and politics debate on the morality of stem cell research, opposed by Bush and the church. And while they blather endlessly the victims live in vacuity.

Sunday, December 25, 2005


WE GO SLOW our movie show of here and now somehow flies by like birds in the sky swiftly pass and disappear and, like the morning dawn, soon are gone and the noontime sun carries on till dusk holds sway and signals the end of another day.

This is the story of life and death and a trillion ins and outs of breath and gasps of hesitation in-between the opening and closing scene. It's the anticipation and expectation of creation and ultimate excavation to the hole in the ground where all are bound to be put to rest when silence fills the emptied breast.

It all begins when there are fewer outs than ins, no replacements of worn out skins, no more starts of failing hearts, no more pimpled complexion and imperfection and infection of blood-fed parts. No more aches and pains and rattled brains, no more constipation and indication of cancerous tumors and rumors of other complications down the road. The load of life is lifted and we are gifted with blessed death.

But in between these two extremes there seems a million decisions must be made: should we add more sweetener to our lemonade, march in life's passing parade or just review the doers who go along for the ride while we watch from the side, undecided what to decide.

When we're young the jobs we take, the lucky break we let escape, the shape we let our body become, the brilliant mind turned numb and dumb, we give in to habits difficult to overcome, sink into a spiritual slum and walk the streets alone and on our own.

Should we set the stage for declining age, preserve our verve for an unanticipated curve in life's demands or fate's commands, be set to cope or grope with hope lost or found, to deal with danger going around? So much more of concern. So little do we ever learn.

This has been an incomplete commentary, but one that affords many possibilities not to be ignored. Will death provide the final word?

Thursday, December 22, 2005


Shingle Bells! Shingle Bells! Oh, it's no fun to be guest to red blotches on my chest. I'll be so glad on the day they go away. I said Hi! Hi! Hi! I'll say Bye! Bye! Bye! and hip hooray! when the shingles go on a holiday.

This ugly rash came in a flash, popping up on my skin with pain akin to a constant pricking pin, settling in for their din, din, din. How in hell did it begin? Is it meant as punishment for an evil sin, to purge me from the urge to surge again into forbidden territory. This is my sad, sad sorry story.

When I was just a little squirt I hurt from measles and chicken pox. No, I wasn't allergic to cream cheese and lox or sucking dirty sox, I wasn't coming out of retox or some pockypox. It was the after effects one expects of childhood diseases that displease, but do good like they should to cleanse the blood of cantankerous crud. It usually happens when you reach eighty, give or take, whether you've been on the make with a lady or vice-a-versa or even worsea.

The undesired virus lies in wait to end its hibernating state and strike anew at you no matter what you do. So it decided to take its rest in the muscled mass of my chest until the moment it chose to strike like a porcupine on an assembly line.

So came my shingles in a single swoopidie doop. It's a force that must run its course. One thing's for sure, there is no cure, not even from a double dose of grandma's chicken soup.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005


There was a lot of hoot and holler on the Wall Street Dream of Schemes. Buy the dollar for just a dime and watch it climb back to a buck and then, with a little luck, there'll be a war and it will soar to more than it's worth on earth as we sell guns to friend and foe and every terrorist we know, then sit back and watch the show.

As the death rate grows everybody knows the cost of killing will be chilling, but will be thrilling to the companies that are billing at inflated rates the lethal, legal weapons of destruction. Of course there will be a deduction for cash on the barrel head depending on how many are dead, the price of lead and TNT and who will claim the victory.

While all this is going on, advocates of peace fill the streets from dusk till dawn demanding that the troops be gone. It matters not who lost or won, victory won't replace a son dead as leaders said "We'll stay the course! The force of God is on our side! Just keep the faith and He'll provide."

And the other side of Arab brothers put their faith and trust in Allah, just another name for God. Them or us must be a fraud to claim their side cannot fail and will prevail while our leaders say the same thing. Lovers of peace, both east and west, cry what they know is best, just bring home the men and let us try again. Win or lose, let us choose

OK, God, it's up to you. Whose side are you on?

Monday, December 19, 2005


MY SOBlog has developed a Bitch of a Glitch which I must ditch. I log in a brand new blog and what do I get? A blog I blogged a day, a week. a month ago! What appears below?

Some blogs I logged, from where you don't want to know. So how do I switch off this glitch, this defect that's having its strange effect on me? I'm developing post itch-a-glitch, compounded by a twitch, a bitchy tic that makes me sick. I've tried every trick in the book to unhook the spot I got myself in.

Nothing works to uncork this quirk. I'm in an awful plogged up state. I sit and wait, but my patience abates. I appease, please! please! Help me out of this, Bill Gates!


Have the religious right flight of fancy voters with ants in their pants who cast their ballot for Bush the boozer loser finally realized their prize is a just a booby?

Do they now know the things he said and didn't say, the lies he told along the way, the way he walks, the way he talks, the crude words he used were misconstrued to mean what he didn't tell these stupid people who can't tell a box from a two ton ox, a ham on rye from cream cheese and lox?

Just because they admitted what they got was not so hot, is just, in fact, a blot on humanity, does that get them off the spot? All those who went to bed with Big D must share the guilt of his dishonesty and hypocrisy. How can they atone? Disown this fragment of a man and dump him in the GOP garbage can for the also ran.

Because Bush lied more than 2,000 GIs have died. We can't bring back the dead, Bush can't deny what he said, but by using your heart and head, at least you may be able to sleep better tonight when you go to bed.

Saturday, December 17, 2005


If everybody who ever lived on Earth could return for just a day and then could stay indefinitely if it was decreed they could fulfill a special need to make inner space a better place to be, how wonderful that would be. Those so chosen would receive dispensation and the right to rejoin civilization for whenever an a day.

They would form a special force for good and growth and both benefit in health and wealth and contribute to the welfare of those of lesser mind they left behind, So much good that might have been went unfulfilled when it was willed will be instilled in our expanding, ever demanding democracy.

Scientists left in a lurch when their contribution to a solution of unresolved medical mysteries could have spared millions from fatal disease. After they were gone research went on, but what was still locked in their minds was lost to humanity.

How many unfinished symphonies hid in the minds of musical prodigies and lingered on the fingers of unrealized potentialities of talents still evolving in their infancies? How many masterpieces were never created, not even sketched or even contemplated? What revolutionary inventions were not invented?

How many men and women with great minds that could have defined world shattering philosophies, ideologies and possibilities died from the bullet of a gun before their lives hardly had begun?

Just imagine what the Holocaust cost humanity, the insanity of the forced annihilation of nations, wars fought in the name of God over races and religions, the slaughter because of faulty and failed decisions.

Good people hold their breath at each new wave of massive, unwanted wanton death. The earth is filled with bones and blood and bodies rotting in the mud, Tears and fears of thousands of years---is this humanity's legacy? Never does a day go by than we read about thousands who die needlessly. This need not be.

Friday, December 16, 2005


Know what is so. Know you know. Go!! Make it so. Slow, so slow. Let it grow. Show by what you do you and how you follow through that you are true. That he or she is who you are dedicated to.

Display your sure desire. Inspire. Light the fire. Let the spark light up the night. Remember: Let the ember glow in daylight hours. like flowers that brighten the gloomiest room; let more than just love burst into bloom.

Let there also be the emotion of true devotion, with the power of a pounding ocean, the tenacity of a stinging bee, the veracity and capacity of one small second multiplied and reemphasized ten million times from deepest depths to mountainous climes.

Let it extend from end to end and blend with every moment, every scene betwixt, between, from first spark to final scene, like an oldtime movie show, wend into unending eternity.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005


The ink is smeared across the page spelling out these days of rage as pain rains down on trembling earth and drains the land of joy and mirth. Harlots of hypocrisy control death of democracy and no one cares and prayers are met by minds immune and out of tune with decency. We submit unwittingly to impotent incompetence. It makes no sense that we, once free, have succumbed to this insanity. Losers win and winners lose. Why did we choose? Why did we buy the Pie in the Sky that sealed our fate? Is it too late?


The world of tomorrow, I state with great sorrow, now is the world of today.
A dozen inventions with doubtful intentions have taken our freedoms away.
With pushbutton thinking minds our shrinking, waistlines are growing in size
Our cars drive us faster to sudden disaster. TV dulls senses, dims eyes.
Our children are lazy, our wives are crazy, pets are frustrated and scared.
H-Bomb hocus-pocus gives us neuroses, no man or beast shall be spared.
Today the disgrace is, they're probing spaces, sights set beyond the moon.
It's on to red Mars and far away stars. We'll feed 'em our culture by spoon.
If we want to destroy every down to earth joy, scrape life down to the bone.
Just keep it down on our sod, by God, and let the poor space folks alone!

Monday, December 12, 2005


I've got pain from my chin to my shin, from my nose to my toes, from ear to ear and from my rear around to here. I've got pain beneath my teeth and on my tongue and in my lungs, in my heart and on my warts and in every other part of my anatomy.

The pain in my brain is so severe all I want is outta here. But I know I can't go until the day that fate's selected and it will come unexpected when I am in brief remission fishin' and wishin' my mission in life would be to live forever.

But fate's too clever to ever extend my survival and delay my date of arrival at St, Pete's Golden Gate. On the day that life's all over my old blood will grow cold, my arteries will go first, then my veins will burst, my heart will start and stop plitty-plop, ploppity-plit and I will know this is almost IT!

My eyes will blur, my head will whir, my bowels will stir, my urinary tract will over react and other things will occur of which I'm not aware, but I won't care because the end is almost there. Finally, my voice will croak and so croak will I.

The Powers that Be---the Great Big He in the Sky and the lowly MD clod who thinks he's God---will nod approvingly. And that will be the end of me.

Saturday, December 10, 2005


God was very, very smart to put the stars so far apart in outer space. Had He put them close together nobody ever would have survived and none of us would still be alive. Putting us face to face with aliens in space would eliminate the human race before it began and man would have become an also-ran quicker than you could state Bill Gates.

The nearest galaxy is more than a billion light years distant, a mere instant in interstellar terms. Even angels with supersonic and atomic wings and other travel things might never reach their site in their flight in a dark and stark trip through the severe galactic stratosphere.

If there is even a scent of intelligent life out there somewhere they'd be involved in wars with other stars that have oil and that would cause turmoil and agitation that could spell the end to their advanced and enhanced civilization.


Come along and join the throng and sing a happy, snappy song. Join the crowd and sing out loud, spread joy to every girl and boy, let old and young, rich and poor know you're on their side and peace on earth can't be denied.

Laugh and giggle, let your tongue wiggle, let your lips smile all the while you let it be known the lonely are not alone, that those in grief who seek relief must hold onto the belief in a new tomorrow when pain and sorrow will begin to heal and bittersweet memories will replace the sadness that they feel.

Those feeling low must know life is more than come and go, that inbetween the beginning and the end you can be your own best friend if you depend on life to send you bolts of joy between jolts of sorrow, more good than bad, more glad than sad, more health than wealth, more lucky breaks, more T-bone steaks, less bellyaches, more of what it takes to make the best of all the rest that day by day comes your way.

Friday, December 09, 2005


Throughout the course of history, religion has been the driving force in not only the advancement of civilization, but also in ever present war, death and destruction which has plagued the world since the beginning of time.

While still living in caves and struggling with the need to advance their knowledge of events affecting their lives, early man was unable to explain the phenomena of his surroundings. The wonders of the world, the sun, the moon and stars were supernatural beings that defied understanding.

So man created interpreters to guide his thinking and understanding, wise holy men who communicated with a supernatural being they called God. These early priests claimed to possess the ability to talk to God and relate what He wanted of them, how they should behave and tribute they must pay to please Him. Of course, they couldn't offer tributes directly to God, but could shower priests with gifts as reward for services to the Almighty.

Fear of the unknown led man to believe what priests told him, that there was a supernatural on high who watched over all and through his oracles expressed pleasure or anger with the way man conducted his life.

God gave orders to priests who interpreted them to the people, warning if they disobeyed punishment awaited them in the next world. Laws dictated by God were written from God to Moses. Thus, the Ten Commandments became the first true laws of civilization.

When Jesus emerged as the son of God he became the supreme interpreter of God's laws. Then came Mohammed who converted the masses to his interpretation of the word of God. All who would not blindly obey were slain. Disciples of Christianity traveled throughout the known world with a Bible in one hand and a sword in the other. The clash between Moslems and Christians was long and bloody as have been thousands of wars over the centuries. History's replete with wars fought in the name of God and religion.

These wars still go on, When will they stop? When will the world grow up?

Thursday, December 08, 2005


This big brown bagel is the pride of my breakfast table, a stable nosh, by gosh, of my diet. It comes plain or whole grain, topped with poppy seeds or sesames, with cream cheese and lots of lox it will knock you off your socks. With spam or ham it's damn good. But kosher? Noshir, it is not!

Onion, garlic, pumpernickel (with a pickle on the side) or just with a schmear and an ice cold glass of beer should keep your belly satisfied and gratified.

Bagels are delicious but not nutritious. When fully baked take out your choppers before you bite. A well-baked bagel might break your fake pearly whites.

This roll with a hole looks like a donut but it is nut. It could lie heavy in your gut. But that's what it's supposed to do. Gentile or Jew, Arab too, a bagel is the right midnight snack for you.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005


My archives are alive and well. Each have their tale to tell. They stand in line in my list waiting as you're debating, "Should I find out what he had in mind when he said it? Or should I log into a brand new blog and leave the sleeping blogs to some other guy?"

Remember this with apologies to Gen. MacArthur: "Old bloggers never fade away, they just lay to live another day."

You may find the kind of things you had in mind or maybe not, but give them a shot anyway. What have you got to lose? So peruse. Pick and choose. Some might amuse. Others might abuse your literary sense or your creative sensibilities or be convinced of my inability and just give up on me.

If you dig my rhyming style you may want to stay awhile, If not, so what! Get hot on another blogspot. If you have the time, drop a line to comment or vent your view.

Till then, Tootaloo to all of you.


There is no beginning, there is no end. There is no heaven, there is no hell. There is no bottom to the Wishing Well. At least not as far as I can tell. There is one breath. It starts with life, it ends with death.

There is only one once in between the first and final scene. There is no present, there is no past, there is no slow, there is no fast. We come, we go, we never know when this movie show will end, when the curtain will fall and we don't know if all is all, We walk, we talk, we see, we hear, we feel and believe what's really real is real.

The only truth that touches me is the power and the energy of a force I cannot see but share with every flower and every tree and every creature on the land and in the sea for they are all a part of me and they all care and are aware of me and I of they and we all share each night and day and feel pain the same in a different way and who's to say that love will ever steal our hearts away?

I sometimes do not understand what I write or why it mostly comes out rhyme and who puts the these words into my brain and lets me compose a brief refrain about a rose, a falling rain, the majesty of a moving train, the tragedy of a falling plane, a strain that drives the sane insane.

Words I know are but a grain of sand that is the land where we might reside where no one ever lived or died or laughed or cried for there is no way and no one to decide.

Is this world just one foolish fantasy? I'll just have to wait and see.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005


While we send probes to Mars and other stars far away from where we are, searching space for another place were there might be intelligent beings just like those we're seeing every day, chances are it might be worth all the time and expense to unlock the secrets of how some planets began and ended and descended into nothingness,

The guess is there were other humanoids in the void of distant space who sought life like theirs a quadrillion miles away? Did they perish in their endeavor never to achieve success?

Is interstellar exploration going on? Will it continue when we're gone? When Earth's time has expired and all the wealth we've acquired has diminished into nothingness, when all that's left are empty plains and flesh-stripped bones. fossilized remains and evidence of of the insane dissipation of a once great civilization, will explorers be wise enough to surmise the message our demise implies?

Will they vow to not allow what happened then happen once again?

Monday, December 05, 2005


Once there was a very different me. I was pain free, I could hear. I could see. I lived happily. I had health. I had wealth. I had a wife. Was she mine for life? So I thought, but this was not for me. Not to be. She preceded me.

I cried. I denied. Finally, I faced my fate. I asked myself, "Why?" I could not answer me,

Some people stay. Some people go. This is so. Life is like a picture show. It begins. It blends. What happens depends on the script the writer dipped into his pen and wrote. Like a play, a picture show, the end is certain. Final fadeout. Final curtain.


If you get aches and pains from winter snow and rains that bedevil the bones in your body, If your fluttery heart with a stop and a start for sure God will do what gods do with damn fools like you who shun signs and seek party-time pleasures. That guy in the sky will flip off the switch which lets you enjoy earthly treasures. So slow down, you fool, or it's damn sure that you'll join those without everyday bothers. Once life was a toy for you to enjoy. Soon you'll rot in the field of your fathers.


The seas are the graveyards for a million men or more who said goodbye to the shore for a million reasons why. Some were suburban landlubbers in search of sun and salty air, eager to relax on tiny yachts with lots of beer and lotion to ward off the burning sun reflected off the choppy ocean.

Some were drunken sailors shanghaied by crews of creaking whalers and forced to do the labors of men at sea, whether they wanted to or not. They slept in below deck holds as hot as hell might be. They braved the waves, the wind and rain, the challenge of the sea. Unwillingly.

And there were those who chose to fight the enemy with guns of war far from home or family. They didn't know what they awaited. They didn't know they were fated to be a feast of sharks that roam the deep and creep up on their prey silently.

Airmen on a mission, loaded with ammunition, acting as judge and jury, released torpedoed fury on targeted crews below. Some died instantly. their bodies torn apart, others jumped into the sea to succumb helplessly as waves ten stories high confined them to their watery graves ten fathoms below. Some struggling to stay afloat, to defy the deadly water, drowned or were gunned down by strafers in the sky,

And there are legends without end of captains who have walked the plank and sank to the depths as crews turned on them viciously, responding to the cry of "Mutiny!"

There are tales of Mermaids who lure their prey romantically with songs of love and ecstasy. And Neptune, king of the Seven Seas, who rules over all creatures great and small.

The seas are filled with men like these, seafaring warriors declaring war on the mighty sea. those who dare to defy its mastery. A watery grave is their reward for bravery. Or did they die foolishly, unnecessarily?

Oh what fools these mortals be!

Sunday, December 04, 2005


I wonder as thunder explodes o'er my head, will I still be frightened by its fury after I am dead? It has been said by those who earn their daily bread that when you're dead you're dead. I can't accept this precept from someone who has not been there.

I know eventually I've gotta go. In any event, it's not my intent to be Heaven-sent just to find out what death's all about. I'll remain among the innocent, content to be ignorant of what goes on after I am gone.

A baseball game must be played until the final inning. A life of sin goes on until the loser winds up winning or knows the cost and knows he's lost beyond redemption or exemption

Whether you play just for sport or to sort out the winners from the losers there comes a time when the chooser pays for his crime or beats the rap and walks away the winner.

The truth is hard to bear, Who ever said life (and death) are fair?


There's nothing worse than riding in a hearse to a waiting grave, all dug out and saved just for you. And while the twenty-one gun salute gets set to shoot, mom and dad and sister Sue, wife and kids who loved you true, cry hysterically, there's nothing you can do but lie there in your box while diggers cover you with dirt and rocks.

Soon the ceremony's done and everyone in pain and sorrow goes home to face tomorrow.

That's how it goes when foes make heroes of the losers of a wasted war and a cause not worth fighting for. I, just one of thousands dead, were fed a lie to satisfy the war mongering gang in D, C, Now I sleep at their behest in nature's breast while the rest still alive await the fate that put us at St, Peter's gate.


Do people born without sight live in a world of perpetual night? Can they see light in dreams? Can they create images in their mind? Can they who have never viewed a pale blue sky, have never seen a bird fly by, watched a fluttering butterfly, gazed at the moon and stars, spent hours watching flowers in bloom, share changing colors of leaves from green to gold, watch children grow up and then grow old, believe all they've been told about the magnificence and munificence and priceless worth of life on earth?

In a world without a face, to see a smile replace a frown, to share the joy of a bride in her wedding gown, watch the antics of a circus clown, thrill to a Christmas tree with glowing lights, share the world with a honey bee, a tiny flea, how can the sightless know these things are so?

Is anything more precious than the ability to share the nobility, the drama and panorama of ever changing scenes that mean so much?

All is not lost. Scientists are finding ways to correct where nature erred. One day their expertise will be shared. One day those who cannot see will be sighted. And on the day that happens the world will be delighted.

Saturday, December 03, 2005


I'm in my eighties and sill have a craving for misbehaving ladies. When I reach my nines will I still have designs on the female lines? Will I still kick up a storm at the sight of the feminine form? Will I still have an ache for a gal on the make who has what it takes to give what she's got whether she's got it or not? Can I abide her wrinkles and pieces, the release of odors from her gastric disorders?

If she's sort of a chronic platonic but hooked on a tonic that fires desires, what is to worry or hurry to bed for fear that my miss in a burst of passion, for better or worse, will in her fashion. risk her sacroiliac and jump in the sack the minute I say in my indirect way, "Let's go to bed."

And she replies with a snicker and sighs and smiles, "Wait while I take all the pills for my ills. Then if you still want the prize between my fat thighs, put up or shut up with all those kitchykoos. So come on, get it on or it soon will be gone. But don't do it fast. Make it last a minute or two, then I must go to my maker. you faker, so shake it, I'll take it. Then I'll head for my place in the sky and lay on a cloud and shout out loud, 'Hey angel boy, let's wiggle and jiggle and have us a spasm. Let's fly to the moon and dance on the stars and take a slow boat to Venus or Mars. Pluck my harp and I'll pluck you. What more can we do at a hundred and two'?"


We don't know what goes on behind closed doors. We don't know who's faking facts and who's keeping score. We don't know who lives, who dies. We don't know who's wrong or right, who's worldly wise. We don't know who will lift this deadly shroud, We don't know if the final gasp will be a mushroom cloud.


History is a mystery that is hard to understand, that is impossible to comprehend. Where does this chapter end? When and where will another one begin? History is a story without beginning, without end. Does one trend blend into another? Are all men brothers born millions of years apart, but one in heart?

Civilization is but one slight occasion in the eventful tour of time. The birth of this of many worlds should have been a symphonic celebration, not a degradation of creation which it has become.

Out of deep regard for the discarded billions who never will be born and the future billions who one day will adorn this land that we abandon before our job is done there should be a rite of passing that gives hope to everyone.

It is true we have achieved more than it was believed our meager minds could have conceived. We leave a legacy of accomplishments uncompleted, of challenges defeated and mistakes too oft repeated. Will the future be expected to correct the responsibilities we neglected? If not by them by whom?

Friday, December 02, 2005


You meet a guy on the street you're sure you haven't t seen in quite awhile. You smile, say, "Hello. What's new?" Turns out, he's not someone you know. But so what. He's on the spot. He's got to reply.

"You ask what's new? I'll tell you. My uppers. Now I can chew my suppers. My lowers. Aren't they neat? Got 'em free, part of the deal. See my nose? Got the skin graft from my toes. Now when I blow my nose my toes honk, honk. My wig? Hair's a fake. They made it out of lint from a bedroom chair. Do I look square or debonaire? It's what all the hippies wear.

'What else is new? My right shoe. I left it in the monkey cage at the zoo. The ape was agape. The lion roared. The hippo snored. The gnu was bored. The parrot said: "Oh my lord! What's this zoo coming to?

"My heart's a transplant from my aunt. My liver's from an anonymous giver. My brain's from a sliver of Einstein's remains. My pancreas was made from a cow's fat ass."

I was aghast, "You blow my mind. They made your belly from a cow's fat behind?"

"My doc, the vet , knows what's best. What udder part would you suggest?"


Not long ago I attended a party given for a group of seniors in the twilight of their lives with little memory of their past and no awareness of their future. They were all living in various stages of Alzheimer's disease.

I looked at their faces and into their eyes. I moved among them, touching, shaking hands, trying to converse with them, listening to the few words they offered in an effort to communicate with me,

Many undoubtedly live with inner pain as they struggle to recapture the memories of lost years, their minds being destroyed by a disease still not fully understood, A few were alert and aware of life around them. But the tremble and hesitancy in their voices revealed a diminishing ability to recall their past and to cope with current reality.

I wanted to know more about their lives, to feel their pain and sorrows, to listen to their loving voices, to share their victories and their defeats, the laughter and the tears that make up the fabric of their lives. And I couldn't help but wonder who among us may someday be among them.


Man is born. The umbilical cord is torn. This act makes him a living, breathing fact. A human, to be exact. Squirming, screaming, squealing life, trapped in a world of infant strife. He grows in body and mind. How fast he grows, it's opined. He grows in spite of rockets, exposed electric sockets, wars and cars and, who can tell, men from Mars. He grows tall and strong. And wrong.

According to plan is Man. Each limb in place. Caucasian race. No other tint of skin will do. Blacks aren't men. I thought you knew. Oriental? Elemental. Chinese? They're for bowing, smiling nice, eating rice. When all is said and done there's only one. That's right. He's white.

When Man is young his hide is tough and made of stuff bigotry and hate can't penetrate. He strains to find a meeting of he heart and mind in search of truth. Man is a sleuth. In school he learns to read and write and find new light to chase out doubt and cobweb thought that's taught. He learns and yearns for truth and finds it. No one seems to care or mind it. That begins the Master Plan, the complete deterioration of Man.

Did you know Man can reproduce? The juice of Man flows into Woman, then behold! we have still other Men. Such is the greatness of Man. That's how the world began.

Thursday, December 01, 2005


If all science has projected comes true centuries sooner than expected how will those expected be affected by arrival of sure cures, new maladies and premature fatalities?

Take the sun, the moon and stars. If Sol runs out of fuel, in spite of oil and ohms to keep us cool and heat our homes, without solar in our system will we freeze to death? How we will miss 'em? Without moon's glow there'll be no place for astronauts to go on trips to stars that won't exist.

We'll find answers to curing cancer, pills to eliminate doctors bills. Over-the-counter, non-prescription medications to counter complications of nasal irritations will be sold. The common cold of yore won't be common anymore.

The heart, the liver, the leaking bladder, warts and shivers and body parts that once mattered, will be a worry of the past. At long last, surgery will heal so fast you'll wonder did you really have it? Medical checkups won't be necessary for your health but vital to the wealth of MD quacks who keep you coming back.

In reference to other inventions, did we mention oil, the foil of peace in the Middle East? That black gold will turn to mould in the ground as new fuel sources are found. Fears of future years will disappear. To our joy or sorrow. tomorrow will be here!


Once there was a hurricane. Rain poured down, gale-force wind roared through the town, people died as seas sent waves as high as trees, bulldozing with all its might everything in sight. Land bereft and nothing left but heaped debris as far as the eye could see.

Tornados come, tornadoes go. How they grow, most folks don't know. They attack a house, a factory, spiral high in the sky, come twisting down, people drown, people die, buildings leveled, streets disheveled, bodies scattered, dreams no longer mattered.

Isn't it odd what God and man created is so wantonly desecrated and obliterated? What is worse of a curse? Acts of God or Acts of Man? Both destroy and kill and, it seems, neither will ever be controlled. War and nature's vagaries and vulgarities. As old as time. Both crimes against humanity. Insanity! Why say a prayer? Does God care?


Jake lay in his death bed waiting to die. His time was running out. The diagnosis brought relief. Life had never brought him anything but grief.

"How long?" Jake asked.

"A few days. A week at most. We could give you drugs to make you stronger, Make you live a little longer, but...?"

Jake held up his hand. "Don't you understand? I don't want to live anymore. Time has got to even up the score. So..."

"I know," the doctor replied. Humor this old coot, the man of medicine did decid. "Maybe you have a vision of what's waiting on the other side?"

Jake was shocked. "You're a doc. You know damn well. There ain't no heaven. ain't no hell. There's here and now. There's dead and gone. How long must this nonsense go on? I know your job is to keep me alive. But I've decided otherwise. Can't you realize?"

"Alright!!" Annoyance in the doctor's voice. "You know, I can't give you anything to hasten the end. You'll have to depend..."

"On time, I know," Jake said low. "I hate to wait but I've lived this long, I can live a few days more. But you're sure?"

"Yes, we are."

A week went by. Jake did not die. He showed no signs the end was near. He did not fear they were wrong. But wasn't this delay too long? How long should it take a man to die? Why? Jake checked the clock. The doc would be coming soon. Jake felt a flutter start in his heart. His head began to spin. "Does death begin like this?" he asked aloud. "Where's the doc who has my case?"

A strange voice he'd never heard before. "I'm sorry, sir. I thought you knew. Your primary physician died." Cold, unemotional. Flat. Just like that. The voice went on. "Be assured. Your prognosis tells us you can be cured."

Jake began to shout and scream and laugh, a maddening laugh. a madman's laugh. The medical staff rushed to the room. The dying man? Was he delirious?

"You can't be serious," Jake cried. "It's a stupid mistake? It was me who was supposed to go.''

With that Jake laid back in his bed. Closed his eyes and he was dead.