Friday, March 31, 2006


Are we caught in a world conspiracy that's based on Biblical fantasy that says angels fly invisibly in our midst and insist the Apocalypse is near and when it comes the world will disappear. The true believers are quite sincere and are convinced the end will come this year.

But the apostles of the impossible hedge their bets. The truth be known, those who portend the end say it will depend on the war between good and evil which will cause upheaval on this sphere and the death of every doubting creature who lives here.

Before I tell you more about what the Evangelists have in store as proof the End of Times is coming soon, possibly by this June, I must admit I do not believe a word of it. I am a skeptic, have always been, will always be, and say of every hair-brained theory, prove it to me.

I do not believe in angels, ghosts or devils or any spirits or any mythological illogical apparitions of the fanatical, fanciful faithful fringe. Faith alone is not enough. Truth is based on fact, not fiction. It's not predicated on prediction. That is my conviction. So it be. That is me.

Did you know millions say it's so that 9/11 was a welcome sign of the coming End of Times when Christ will rise again and all believers will be spared and transported to Heaven? Those who believe in prophecy are convinced the Bible is the word of God and His book predicts that death and devastation which rocked our nation and all civilized members of civilization is just the beginning of the end. Nearly 60 percent believe the predictions in Revelation are part of the world's ultimate fatal destination.

As long ago as the sixteenth century, believers feared pictures on government documents looked like the "Mark of the Beast." as it was described in the Book of Revelations.

Sightings are inviting prophecies, believers say. Visions of the Messiah are everywhere, in the exhaust fumes of cars, on wrappings on candy bars, on smoke emissions from cigars. A vision of the Virgin Mary on a grilled cheese sandwich was sold on e-bay, brought about $30,000. And how about this? A talking fish on the way to its slaughter in a New York market
cried out in Hebrew the fear that the end of the world was near. Some believe it is already here and will occur this year, perhaps as soon as June.

If you believe all this and other idiocy, forget fear of a failing economy, welcome floods and droughts and other "acts of God," wars declared and miseries shared. And give three cheers for terror in the Middle East. Has the "Mark of the Beast," as warned in the Book of Revelations, returned to cause devastation to civilization?

If all this unbelievable, widely believed stuff were not enough, a Seattle newspaper asked: "Is Bush the Antichrist?" And a minister cited Bush's support of the "rise in Christian Fascism" as evidence of this belief.

Subliminal messages pop up almost everywhere. Consider the theme of the Bush program, "No child will be left behind." This brings to mind that phrase is also part of the title of a novel based on the Revelations and the Antichrist, "Left Behind: A Novel of the Earth's Last Days." Is there a connection between Bush's failing program and the novel's description of what happens to those left behind to fight the Antichrist. Possibly not. But with Dubya's weird beliefs and flights of fantastic fantasy, you never can tell.

Well, I'll stick around to wait and see. That is, unless, their predictions come true this June, or soon thereafter.


Have you heard about what's been happening in Heaven of late? The economy's in a hell of a state. The clouds are outdated. They haven't been upgraded since they were created. The Golden Gate is antiquated and the accumulated cumulous clouds are sparsely populated. The real estate is poorly rated and who in heck'll invest a shekel in rundown, dilapidated Heavenly Condos? God knows.

The angels who buy and sell know well why Heaven's going to hell while Hell is booming even while flaming inflation's looming. The economy's hot, which was expected, because it's overpopulated by the loser/winner sinners, the rejected defectives who refused directives from their holy CEO
millions of years ago.

It's preposterous how prosperous hell's become. Its economy is on a roll and the price of coal to fuel its fire keeps rising hire which is not surprising.

The Demon Dow is overjoyed. There are few unemployed. Just to keep hell hot keeps stokers stoking and rocking around the clock. Meanwhile heaven's freezing, hell is booming, God is fuming, What is looming for Heaven and Hell? Only Father Time can tell.

Thursday, March 30, 2006


We are a nation of immigrants, no matter where or when we were born, We all, in one way are another, were once considered a mass of class known as "the others," the "greenhorns." The foreign born are told, "Go back where you came from." What they forget or ignore, a generation or two before we knew the wonder of this freedom's land their ancestors came to the U.S.A. for the same reason, to be free, to make true their dream of liberty.

Legal or illegal, rich or poor. it doesn't matter any more. They're here, they working, some have achieved more than they believed they could, paid their taxes, paid their way. They're now a part of the U. S. A. They should be treated that way,

My grandparents came from foreign lands, didn't understand the way we spoke. They often were the butt of jokes. They couldn't read. They couldn't write, had no place to sleep at night. But they knew wrong from right. They saw the light of liberty and said, "This is the land for me. I don't want to be a refugee. I want to be a Yankee. An American. To be free. To know no fear. That's for me. It's why I'm here."

At last, they shed their rags, a badge of their past. Chose simple clothes. Saved their pennies, nickels, dimes, in the best and worst of times, learned, earned and paid their way. They were here to stay. The U. S. A. wasn't going away. Neither were they.

Many entered illegally, gave a name (not their own), gave their place of birth but had no ID, record of age or ethnicity, only their word they loved and fervently craved freedom and democracy.

(My mother-in-law came more than eighty years ago as a child, no knowledge of the country where she was born, no birth certificate, absolutely no ID, never became a citizen, married here, had four kids, worked hard and retired on SSI with all the benefits we who are here legally enjoy unquestionably. Yet, she was a refugee until her dying day. She paid her way as millions of illegals do today.

So why the hue and cry and all the hullabaloo about the millions of this generation where there's no doubt about their veneration for this land, threatened with excommunication on a mere technicality? The bill before Congress is just a ploy to win the votes of those who, luckily, came here legally and enjoy all the benefits of citizenry.

It's the shame of our nation that millions must stage a demonstration to protect their rights to be part of the history of our ever-evolving, loving land of the free. Our democracy!

Wednesday, March 29, 2006


Harry stood at the side of the dump gazing at the mound of garbage---he preferred to call it refuse---the throwaways of an affluent economy. A burlap bag hung loosely over his shoulder, he stood proud,

In the past, when Harry cameto the dump to fill his bag with things he could eat, wear or sell he felt a sense of shame and degradation for what he diud.. It was a way to eke out a living, better than working for those clean finger-nailed slobs who held the power of the paycheck over his head. But he had no illusions. "I'm a scrounger, a ragpicker," he told himself.

Things were different now. He had an image, a title. "Ecologist, that's what I am. I help improve the environment, to preserve our national and natural resources."

It was just a few minutes before dawn. Harry had to get up early these days
because if a man wanted to get ahead in this ecological world he couldn't let any garbage slip through his fingers. For years he had the dump all to himself, No one invaded his domain or challenged his leadership at the bottom of the heap. But things had changed. He was no longer the only ecologist in town.

"Amateurs," he muttered. He spat two feet away into an open can that once held baked beans or, maybe, tomato soup. It was hard to see the label at this distance. "Where were they when you had to work for a living, when the only cash items were returnable deposit cans and bottles, when a heavy retread-able truck tire might get you enough for a shot or a pack of smokes. When you had to find an old bedspring or a length of copper wire to afford a flop for the night.

"Better get to work," he told himself. "They'll be coming soon with their dump truck and hired hands, moving in on me."


I am a semi-literate very, very literary litterbug, a rat pack who takes hiS loot to the sack and never gives it back. I get a very special feeling stealing things like secondhand, re-re-read pocketbooks which, as most crooks know, can most easily be pocketed when nobody's watching. And even if you're caught you're seldom prosecuted. There's no dispute you've got the loot hidden in your crotch, but what guy will stick his hand down there to recover what your lover will discover on the sheets between the covers?

Actually, I'm against shoplifting, especially when I'm gifting to Shirl, my favorite birthday girl. What if she already read it, takes it back and gets arrested when a requested counterfeit receipt slip reveals her indiscrete relationship with a well-known crook who took the book from the shelf all by himself?

I can see the headline now:


Tuesday, March 28, 2006


I am old enough to remember when presidents were members of the human race and knew their place in history would be judged by the way they took care of the entire population of this nation, not just the chosen few who only care about themselves and the hell with me and you.

I am young enough at 83 to remember when presidents served the likes of me and mine, the kind the founders had in mind when they spoke of "We, the People," in hard fought campaigns and, yes! even from the halls of Congress, to the wants and needs of the working man, not just for big shot bosses who worry more about profit and losses, less about the cost of living and giving hirelings an even break, for goodness sake!

I remember vaguely Herbert Hoover, certainly not a shaker, mover, who never cared or shared the pain of factory workers, soup-line standers, soda jerkers, the unemployed who meandered everywhere searching desperately for jobs that just weren't there. His only confession was we were in a depression and nothing could be done about it, the only way we'd get out of it was to sit and wait. The nation waited and debated, then came FDR and a war across the shore that America could not ignore, especially after the Jap attack when we struck back. His creed: serve the need of working man. He did and slowly things began to improve and we were on an upward move.

Roosevelt's tragic death brought to the helm HST---Harry Truman, a true man who faced reality and brought the war to its finality. He knew it had to be. The A-bomb ushered in an era that, for better or for worse, changed the course of history. But it caused Japan to surrender. A blast that knelled the end to war.

Without rehashing everything, the point is that whenever a Democrat sat in the driver's seat, the president strove to meet the needs of all, not just the cartels that swear by oil wells, destroy the ecology, drive up the cost of energy, fuel recession and flirt with depression.

We liked Ike, but what did he do to improve the lives of folks like you? Nixon was forced to resign to avoid more trouble down the line. His VP, Spiro Agnew, as corrupt as a political hack could be, also resigned to save his hind. And now we have GWB. and his presidency is a disgrace as his place in history, few will deny, will testify.

I haven't mentioned LBJ who paved the way for civil rights, fought poverty with all his might, refused a second term because of that damn Viet Nam. But Johnson did a lot to make Uncle Sam proud, unlike the past and present Republican crowd.

For crying out loud, when is America going to learn? You can't trust the GOP. Just take a look at the end result, the insult of Tricky Dick. Agnew, too, who should have gone to jail. And Dubya, the biggest failure of them all. When will Humpty Dumpty Dubya fall off the wall?

Sunday, March 26, 2006


"I have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord."

"How? The Lord came a long time ago. He didn't like what he saw and so He left."

But He returned incognito, of course. I recognized him in spite of his disguise."

"Disguise? What did He look like?"

"Once I saw Him disguised as a a forest fire. He was burning down trees in the North Pole."

"That means He's a selective god. He couldn't be a forest fire in the cold North Pole where there are no trees."

"Sure. He could be a forest fire in the Sahara Desert if He wanted to. Or He could be anything He desired. Remember, years ago, those baby white seals, they had beautiful fur rich women wanted for high style coats,"

"You mean those creatures were slaughtered by God?"

"No, He wasn't the killers, He was the creatures, He let the killers bash out His brains so He could punish them for their cruelty. He kept changing Himself from one seal to another and each time He got a new set of brains for the ones the killers had destroyed."

"He's a pretty brainy God, isn't He?"

"Yes. And powerful. All He has to do is wink His left eye to become this or that. If He winks His right eye, He becomes that or this. If He blinks both eyes together He's in a dozen places at once being a cat and a dog, a leaf and a log, even both Adam and Eve, and a snake and an apple, I do believe."

"But that event is not in the Bible."

"No. but He'll add it to the revised edition."


You've been told you're getting old. Your kids are aware of it and can't forget what they'll inherit when you're gone. It's an actual, factual reality that they must fret about how much they'll get, Let them know now, not yet, then go in debt and don't worry about your credit. Let it ride as you slowly slide into silly senility and lose the ability to tell a dollar from a dime while you're having a helluva time with money borrowed from the bank at prime.

Seniority is an age and a stage in life when, if you still have a husband or a wife, and even if you've not, use it or you'll lose it. If you think you lost it, jump in the sack and try to get it back,

Don't spend your time guessing how much longer you'll be here. Count your blessings and keep messing, caressing and undressing while expressing words of woo to you-know-who while you try to do what nature, if not the state legislature, intended you to do

Forget the fear of the hereafter which will still be here after you disappear in a year or two or three or what ever more it might be. Defy statistics. Be unrealistic. Go ballistic. And if your kids think you're sick say they're right and admit it. Be glad you did what you done. Wasn't it a lot of fun!

Be thankful if you're still sound of mind and body because that's what everybody wants to be. Even if you're hooked on medications. as long as your disease isn't catching take that extensive, expensive vacation with your significant other and I don't mean your sister or your brother. If you've still got a dad or a mother put 'em in a nursing home and roam to Rome or Timbuktu, Peru or any place that you desire. Set your world on fire before you fizzle out. That's what life is all about.

Thursday, March 23, 2006


The trillion plus fuss that we cuss about and shout about and can't get out of keeps on going up at a rate of $200 million a day and if Bush insists on staying the course, which of course he will, the shitsuation will get worse and worse and they'll carry Uncle Sam away in a hearse towed by a horse, of course, as the price of gas per gal costs more than two drops of booze, a pair of used, smelly old running shoes or a cruise for two in a canoe to the zoo, Peru or Timbuktu.

If we choose to refuse to defuse and continue to pay three more tearful years of dues the USA stands to lose $400 Billion more (and that's a B and it stands for Bush) and that's bad news. And that figure doesn't figure in inflation or the endless occupation, restoration and a long Texas vacation for the leading loser of our nation.

All this being true or true enough to assume tough times to come, how can this country be so dumb as to keep this rum soaked joke in the Blight House until the budget's broke, broke, broke?

Monday, March 20, 2006


Forget the millions. Forget the billions. Think in trillions, then add a plus. That's what Bush's Big Bad Baghdad War is costing us. There are no longer estimates. Figures are only guesstemates. And no matter what. That' just to pay for bombs and planes and salaries for the brainless brains that got us in it, said we'd win it in a breeze, the time it would take for Sadam to sneeze, say "No thank you. please. Iraq's got no WMDs."

Hussein. the main reason Bush committed treason, may now be in our slammer. But just listen to him yammer-yammer and all the while his so-called trial is delayed while the game of war is being played, raid after raid and it hasn't made a sniff of dif. And if it lasts umpteen-plus more years, as it appears it just might, there may not be anybody left to fight. After all of them and all of us are dead we may choose peace instead.

In the mean time, in the lean in-between time, in this obscene time, with the urgent insurgents on a roll, well bless my soul, it's a whole new ball game going on and on and on and, you bet, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera! It ain't over yet!


Suzie Q knew she was born in a zoo. But born to who? She had to have a family, a mom and dad like humans do. She knew this was so. What she didn't know was how did she manage to grow to be this monstrosity she became with just a first name and an initial. It all sounded so superficial, so artificial.

Day by day, she sits exposed in her cage aware human apes have clothes to wear and no one dares to stare. She reasons, at least if we wore T-shirts and underwear, we wouldn't be so shamefully bare, with all our parts on display for people to see shamelessly, endlessly.

We look at them dressed fit to kill, they look at us, if you will. in all our crude nudity. Why do they do this while exercising their modesty?

Why is there such disregard for the features of we, the fur-covered creatures? Their hypocrisy causes animosity between us and they. The human mammals say we're just dumb animals. This attitude exposes their stupidity.

So what, they say, if we trammel on their senseless sensitivities, their propensity to share the right to modesty? Humanoids avoid exposing their own sexuality and treat ours with frivolity and the impossibility that we, too, have integrity, odd though humans think that might be.

We apes and monkeys, even deer and donkeys, gnus and kangaroos and all the others in and out of zoos can no longer be the flunkies of the human junkies addicted to things like pot, exotic narcotics and all that rot.

We animals demand our share of civil rights. We so-called dumb animals are not so dumb. And we, too, shall overcome!

Saturday, March 18, 2006


I got my start in infancy, perfection on inspection by my mother who birthed me, the obstetrician who checked my condition and declared me A-OK. When did I go astray, fill my gut with god knows what, shoot up my veins, scramble my brains, develop aches and pains and break bones and take out loans to pay Dr. Jones, who double dips and gyps Medicaid and Medicare, makes me sit around in my underwear, then files claims for every therapy and medication where he gets kickback compensation.

D. Jones, specialist in skin and bones and eveything in-between, knows how to rake in the green treating any part of the anatomy that serves his knack for quackery. He gets big bucks for all the action, sometimes gives me a fraction to keep my mouth shut because I know what he's doing, screwing the system for phony care, stuff he didn't do to patients no longer here, already dead.

Sounds impossible but this is the Gospel, according to Jones:

Medicare, Medicaid, the IRS, the whole damn mess in Washington, couldn't care less as long as bills are cheap and those creeps steal more than a whore at the rubber store. Just play the game of rob and steal, make a deal, kick back ten percent to a guy who cooks the books, more to elected crooks who look the other way as long as payday's every day. The budget, the national debt, the waste? You ain't seen nothin' yet. When the system gets full control, the whole place will collapse. Voting saps won't realize what's going on until all the money's gone."

Doc Jones said, "So what? I get caught. We make a deal, we settle out of court, the Treasury comes up short and old Doc Jones, the sinner, wins the dinner. I got more dough stashed away than the mint prints on a busy day." He laughs. "I exaggerate. But what I mean, I got enough on my plate to last me until my date with hell and then a spell."

And me? I'm pushing eighty-three. What can they do to me? Toss this old man in the can? Like the doc says, So what I get caught. I go to jail, get out on bail. They say pay. My lawyer says, Delay! Judgment day is far away.


If I could remember everything I read
I would be a smarter man, indeed.
This is beyond me. I'll do something yet
By creating lots of nothing others can forget.


In the town of Buyn'sale there's a home for losers where broken brokers stay up late to ruminate, cogitate and meditate over deals gone astray that haunt them to their dying day. They await their fate while men still play the Wall Street game of buy and sell and try to earn through manipulation compensation controlled by the disgraced whims of the marketplace.

In their last will and testament investors send their soul to where they know good souls should go It's good-bye Wall Street where reality meets finality and all expectations and anticipations, successful occupations, years of building successful careers can fade instantaneously in the the smoke-filled air of bet and borrow against the sorrow of a tomorrow that can go sour in an hour that took a lifetime to build is killed in the minuets you hesitated and stayed in it.

There goes the long vacation to the south of France for the guy who lost his pants in a moment of unadulterated needless greed when he followed a liar into the fire of uncontrolled desire. There goes a dynasty into unforeseen bankruptcy because its leaders failed to foresee, to their surprise, the
competition on the rise.

This is how fortunes are won and lost. You toss a coin, it ends up heads you do, tails you don't, sometimes no matter how you choose you lose. Who can you accuse? Who can you blame? Pick a name. The name is you. What can you do? Give up like other men. Or bide your time and try again.

Final word: it's back to the drawing board!

Thursday, March 16, 2006


Bush is in a dive, his body's still alive, but this dumb-head's brain is dead and so, too, the world might be if we don't dump this lump of clay and hurry on our way to save the U. S. A.

With the whole world growing warmer this alarmer tries to play the charmer and disarm the masses who fell for this horse's asses plea, "Trust me." A lot did that and what they got--- A red hot planet getting hotter, polluted air and water. rules only fools agree will reinvigorate a ship of state sinking at a faster rate than even we could anticipate.

The warning signs were everywhere that we should be aware and beware of what this millionaire set out to do: give this nation to the corporations to rob us blind, all to inflate their bottom line and let the Enrons off the hook after they cooked the book and made it look like what was was not just to get what they got and we who got stuck with their stock fell for that crock of pure Wall Street manure.

Put it all together, the withering weather, the ailing economy and the failing ecology, the lies, the cheating, the self-defeating beatings that our troops are taking, the two thousand plus dead Bush led astray all the way from Day One until their lives were done, add it all up and who's to blame? Not the nit-wits who stole it and still control it, but We the People who let them get away with it. Now we and the world must pay for it.


I ran. Iran, will it be next? I attacked and sacked Iraq, now I can't give it back. Now I'm back against the wall and all I can do is send more GIs to their grave just to save my skin and hope it helps a few Republicans win in the next election/selection before a post-vote inspection finds we once again stole the votes at the polls, the goal we achieved when the Supreme Court ignored the score and did what, it's believed, Supreme Courts are for.

Now, to get Iraq and the pollsters off my back, there's only one thing I can do and that's to force Iran into a Nuke attack where the U. S. will win and get its money back by selling bombs to every nation that wants a mideast confrontation that will leave more oil for sale in the sandy soil.

What if a million Iranians die in a brand new war? You'll have more gas to run your car, for isn't that what wars are for? Yes, that and a quick fix to guarantee a lot more years for the GOP, and possibly, the next presidency, And that makes sense to me.


Monday, March 13, 2006


A devil reigns at some subterranean level in my brain. I must find the tyrant of my mind and get it out. No therapist or exorcist can do it, only I. Thus, I have meditated and mediated with the monster manipulating me to extricate the demon that dwells in the depths of me.

Did you know that contained in every brain, each tinier than a grain of sand, more complex than the whole of man are millions of cells and in each dwells a programmed thought or mindless memory? There, subconscious concentration causes all kinds of complications, tensions and apprehensions.

Did you know the ego and libido are in a constant state of war for power and each waking, sleeping hour are trying to devour the id that's hidden inside of the hide of of me?

But I have to ask myself this question: am I sure I want to cure myself of all this congestion and walk around with a whitewashed mind who thinks and records his words in invisible ink? Do I want it said that there's nothing in Ed's head but a lot of dead dread and dreary fear left over from a previous yesteryear?

True, I worry about my mentality but am wracked by a sentimentality for what I'll lose to gain what's on the wain in exchange for something strange that I will have to get used to, It's difficult, dramatic and traumatic to trade the old for something new but this is what I have to do.


(News item: The Navy has developed a method of creating rain clouds at an average cost of 18 cents each.)

Sky high prices everywhere. Living costs are zooming. But one product's price is fair. The market for it's booming, Buy a cloud for eighteen cents. Hang it o'er your flowers. Life will make a lot more scents every time it showers.

Not to cloud the issue but the cost of rain's declining. If your grass turns brown, so what! Don't grow around a-frowning. Buy yourself a cloud or two. Be happy while you're drowning.


The legless lady jumped to her feet and jumped in the fridge to get some heat

Sunday, March 12, 2006


When the cold of winter has begun its hibernation in the clouds behind the far reaches of the midnight sun and the warmth and wetness of spring have rejuvenated the land, a healthy seed is planted with loving green thumb hand.

Wrapped in the gentle womb of Mother Earth, the seed takes root and grows. And whether it's a flower, tree or vegetable, before long it emerges in shape and form true to its heritage,

But if the seed is planted improperly in land unsuited to its demands it will die before it is born. Or it will sprout roots which are feeble and branches, stem or stalk that do not do justice to the glorious history of its agricultural ancestry.

So, too, is the seed of man implanted in woman. It may grow in its allotted time to be a human with roots of legs and feet which will walk the face of Earth, branches of arms and a lofty peak of eyes that see and ears that hear, nostrils that breathe in the sweetness of life, a head whose mind records and transmits this to the bodily whole.

The product of a misplaced seed implanted by man into woman may sprout into a full-grown, fully developed, undetectable perfect specimen of humanity, guided and controlled by a misshapen mind and misdirected mentality. There is not a plant, vegetable or plant, tree or bush or honeybee, or any other variety of nature's family than can be ruled by this intricate, compact mass that runs effectively by nature's natural electricity

While every part of the whole, body and soul, can respond and function at every junction normally, a monster of mankind may live within, resigned and confined to insanity.


Once upon a time back a while
When someone acted like a fool
The diagnosis was "senile."
At least that was the general rule.
Age and science have since changed
And medicine is not the same,
Today our values are rearranged.
And doctorS use another name,
Alzheimers is the word of choice
For those who've lost their mental way,
Now there's reason to rejoice
And pray this disease will go away,
The heart still beats, liver's intact.
The kidneys work efficiently.
All the parts respond, react
Except the source of mentality.
The thinking mind has lost its thought
And flounders like a ship at sea,
What irony time and tide have wrought
Where in hides the mystery?
While science seeks a final cure.
Can the mind, once lost, return
Or must vegetation long endure
In a state where they cannot discern
The beauty of a morning sun
Or raise their voice in joyful song
Or find humor in a silly pun
Or even know right from wrong?
What do they see when they look?
What do sounds mean to their ear?
Life for them has closed the book,
They're somewhere. They're not here.


All your billions and bombs and blood won't be worth a bucket of mud when the killing's over and all that's left are cockroaches and clover, scorched trees and dead honey bees, a fridge full of rotten cheese and dried up seas and a "No thank you, please."

There'll be no disease and nobody to catch it, no chicken or egg or a hen to hatch it and who'd hit a fly ball when there's nobody to catch it? The immense expense for uncivil defense won't cover the expense of cover the cost of reconstruction of unwanted wanton destruction.

There'll be no love, no hate, no too early, too late, no caring, no sharing, no civilization, no today, no tomorrow, no sadness or sorrow, no splashes and clashes, only burned out fields of dry bones and ashes.

Thursday, March 09, 2006


(Another in a series about my childhood.)
* * *

I was born into a union where there was no unity. A unit divided by a divorce decree before I was old enough to inure myself against the unendurable pain of an unreal reality,

In the twisted, tormented mind of my mother, I became a symbol of hate and love. the syndrome of her sensual soul. I was a battered child. The blood has congealed, the wounds have healed, but the scars remain to remind me.

I do recall a mother who, in unpredictable moments of need, fell upon me lustfully. She would hold a wooden spoon in her hand----a spoon she used to mix batter for her cakes and pies, the same spoon she beat me with a rhythm and ferocity you would not believe.

Each time would be the same. I would be ordered to remove my pants and lay, face down, across her knees. And she would beat my viciously. But gradually the slashes would slow in their intensity and frequency. Then my mother's eyes would lose their glaze and her face would soften and she would cry and comfort me.

Time would pass and her love would overwhelm me until the agony consumed her and the beatings would begin again with the same intensity. These nightmares run together in my memory. I cannot separate or remember them individually---except for one.

In the midst of my mother's fury her wooden spoon broke in two. I felt her grip loosen and wrestled free from her lap and scrambled to safety beneath her bed. On hands and knees she demanded I come from my safety one. "I'm not done with you," she said. I remained out of her reach in the middle of her bed. I trembled and cried and fell into a troubled sleep.

It was late at night, the house was dark when I awoke. I saw the weight of her body in the bed above be. I whispered to myself, "She said she loved me." And I think, I cannot be sure, but I believe I heard her cry. I climbed into the bed beside my mother. She held me in her arms.


Welcome to where workers work for less, starve slower, yes, but take note of the belly bloat, a sure sign the country where they reside is on a downward slide to involuntary suicide. All because American corporate greed pays starvation wages while their government engages in graft for the rich, much, much less for those on the treadmill to deep distress.

Masses of the lowest class are trapped in the morass, proof of the US corporate creed of greed: spend less, make more. Check it out at the Trillion Dollar Ripoff Store where big deal games are played and Bush Lucky Bucks are made, Where good is bad and bad is good and that's how the Bush democracy says it should be.


Consider Bush's hack attack against the surge of insurgents fighting back our futile attempt to make Iraq a mirror of the Once-Was-USA while we regress from progress and go the other way to Dictatorship the American Way. God bless the two thousand-plus of us now six feet under due to Bush's sound and fury, thunder and blunder that makes one wonder what's behind his mindless motivation for our nation.

Sunday, March 05, 2006


Sex was God's second invention. Adam was His first. Ever since Adam was created he had a thirst for something he knew he needed. God agreed to fulfill Adam's need.

One night Adam awoke to find a female in his bed. He said to God, "What is this?" God's reply: "Since thou cometh to the Garden of Eden thou be needin. Here lies thy mate to relieve thy frustration. With mine powers of creation, this She is now God's gift to thee."

Thus, Adam met Eve, and they tried sex and boy! did they enjoy! God learned sex was sensual, essential, unintentional or consensual, especially performed in ways unconventual this way or that way or anyway, especially on pay day and to make a baby. And with the expanding population, caused by continued copulation, sex became the favorite sport for straights and gays even in those Biblical days.

Alas, God, the source and driving force of intercourse, had no mate or time for matrimony. He was too busy watching Adam and Eve create to participate in the mating game. Ain't it a shame!


Wanna buy a spunky sperm,
That little wiggly human worm
Guaranteed, I don't mean maybe,
To produce a brand new baby?

Wanna buy a beating heart
Or some other body part?
You'll find what you're looking fo
At the Dollar Donor Store.

Weekly specials, long-term loans
On second hand blood and bones.
We kid you not, we have got
A you-know-what that hits the spot.

Livers, lungs, Einstein's brain
At prices that are quite insane.
Shopping for a pair of eyes?
Any color, shape or size.

Buy from us. We guarantee.
Your money back quite cheerfully.
Just one rule you must abide.
Give living proof you have died.


She was a woman of ill repute,
Commonly called a prostitute .
But she was cute and quite astute
At business in her birthday suit.

Saturday, March 04, 2006


I creep. No place to sleep. A buck or two is all I got. Enough to rent a spot in a flop. I reek. I haven't washed in a week. Maybe two. My body's sore. Can't take no more. What I eat I get from a dumpster down the street. Sometimes good. Sometimes bad. The only food I've had since God knows when. And He don't care if I never eat again.

There's this flop on Avenue C. Eight floors up. A fire trap. Who gives a crap. Steps that creek and sway. Might give way any day. But I go in, start to climb. Take my time. Stop and go. Rest that pain in my chest. Maybe it'll go away. So will I. One pop, I'm through. No big deal. Death heals everything. Brings peace. release. I reminisce. My life was not always like this.

"Eternal Spring," a poem I wrote when I was young, filled with hope and dreams and schemes that never panned out right except at night in my fantasies. How did it start? That first line? Can't remember now. Somehow I will Got to stop and rest. That pain is growing in my chest.

Teacher read my poem to the class. Sounded like a prayer the way she sad it. Didn't give me credit, not at first. "Alright, tell me who wrote it," she asked. Hands went up. Names of famous poets filled the room. Nobody guessed. "This is not a test," teacher said. "Use your head. Who's the best writer in tis class?" All eyes turned to me. They began to applaud.

I closed my eyes and talked to God. Thanked him for the gift he'd given me. Promised I'd not let him down, But I had. And I am sad.

I sleep, dream I'm in my home. Writing that poem. Every word's in my head. But when I awake there's nothing there.


Before the beginning nothing began. There was no sun, no moon or stars, no cars or highways to run them on, everything that never was was gone before it came. Things that didn't exist had no name.

There was no space to occupy the space that didn't exist, that waited in the windless, airless air for uncreated creations to be created. There was nothing that would be something. Ain't it dumb that the future would become the past after risin' on the horizon?

All was peace and quiet on the edge of silence waiting for God and science to reach compliance and agree to disagree on who created creation and Darwin's solution to evolution, weather forecasting whether wrong or right, plastics to replace leather and every other substitute so we wouldn't have to shoot brutes to satisfy fashion institutes who created everything from boots to bras and pantyhose and girly shows which expose two of these and one those, and less exotic things like toes and nose.

Then without warning or prediction, be it fact or science fiction, the big bang banged and when the dust had settled down there were cities, towns and wedding gowns, ups and downs and kings and crowns to fill new space that previously didn't exist. But how could there be a language to name things that couldn't be named when there was no lexicographer to write it in the Big Bang Book?

Names or not, there were lots and plots to be bought and developed and addresses placed on envelops with hopes that posts would reach the coasts and all the boats where ghosts held winter wieney-roasts.

There still was nobody to name the nameless and bless the blameless. Enter God, a former elf, who created himself. And with the creation of the Creator all uncreated creations could be created.


With so much to be mad about there's no doubt you've been had. There are those who proPOSE you pose as a filled with joy nice little girl or boy and ignore the reality that creeps up on your sleep.

Forget the place you've been, accept the place you're in, train your brain to accept the inept world that waits for you when you've got no place else to go. In case you didn't know, life ain't no picture show. The writing's on the wall. We're heading for a fall.

Face it! This world's become a pierce of shit operated by constipated, dissipated, lowly rated incompetent CEOs and who knows where they're leading us on this one-way bus to hell. The last time I checked, the future had become the past and fools broke all the rules and lost the tools that kept us on an uphill course. Now our force is gone and we're are on a slippery slope devoid of hope,groping with a prevailing, failing rough sailing trip. It's depressing. It's distressing. We're not progressing. We're retrogressing. We're falling faster, heading for disaster. One more slip we'll have crossed the line. Hello, 1929!

Thursday, March 02, 2006


Scientists experiment and invent with the best of intent, but all too often what is an intent to augment the progress of humanity ends in a calamity and does more harm than good and doesn't do what it should.

Would that the Giants of Science could worry more and hurry less about progress to a higher plane and concentrate on reducing acid rains, controlling hurricanes, finding solutions to all pollutions, to starvation and privation plaguing African nations, corralling erratic climatic conditions, finding answers to killing cancers, heart disease and other fatal maladies.

Forget about the moon and Mars and stars and other unexplored Milkyways and chocolate bars, bigger cars and bizarre bazaars. The test tube boobs and midwest rubes are more concerned with ice cubes sloshing in their cokes, corny jokes and okey doakes than a cheap thrill abortion pill, guns that kill and a low cal kosher dil.

The bottom line: exploration's very fine, so are chicken soup and cherry wine. But for what it's worth, solve the problems down on Earth.

Astronauts ain't got to go to Jupiter just to prove who's stupider, the doubter in outer space or the human race that knows its place. In any case....


Is the phantom of ancient philosophy just a myth, an impossibility? Is what I refer to here as "It" ---a She with patience and understanding or a He, demanding. commanding without really appreciating what creation is all about? Or were there then and still two now who innovately, even lately, continue creating, working in tandem randomly?

Assuming there were and still are two, they certainly are a busy pair listening to trillions of prayers, deciding which to grant or reject and which to expect again and again from folks with hope throughout the scope of history. But Mr. and Mrs. God realize even they can't handle this job of monumental size.

The impact of the dissatisfied could be a blow to their holy pride. Their reputation could be besmirched and they'd be banned from synagogues, mosques and churches. To avoid a scandal they can't handle they've created a galactic corporation of prayer givers to grant dispensation "in the name of God" to troubled members of their flock. The stock is sure to rise and even those whose prayers are denied can make a bundle by converting prayers into shares and selling out before Heavenly trouble triggers a bubble on high in the Wall Street in the Sky.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006


Iraq got its country back. It's run by hand-picked hacks who lack the knack to straighten out the mess the U.S. got them in. Isn't it a sin?

We went in with no way to win and now we can't begin to find a safe way out. While we shake and shout insurgents have the clout. They're rubbing people out by the dozens every day, and we're on a slippery slide down the road to suicide as bombs go pop and our troops drop in a war started by a crop who think they know the score though they've never fought a war and ignited this turmoil for the oil spoils and what did it all do?

If you'll pardon me, the GOP, champions of democracy, waged a war without permission, pouring billions in it and they now can't win it. As a result, oil prices are soaring, motorists are roaring, Washington's snoring, the nation's brains are falling asleep and what's typical and true, you-know-who doesn't know what to do. The man says he has a plan which is just the fuzz it always was---stay the course of course, for better or for worse, back the losing horse which will force them to give in. That's the way losers win. Don't rock the boat, just get out and vote and if the count counts you out, as a last resort, go to court and sell the people short. Goodbye Iraq, hello U. S. A.


Did you ever stop to think you ought to reconsider your thought and adjust your point of view as to what is false and what is true and what quirks lurk behind your mind to distort it and short-circuit it and leave you muddled and befuddled?

Have you chosen to let your frozen mentality block out solid rock reality and fill it with inexact facts that lack logic and leave you psychologically depressed? If your answer's "Yes," you're more than depressed, you're a mess!

You got that way by resisting and insisting you're not that way. The biggest trouble with humanity is that it denies its inborn, well worn insanity to feed its vanity with inanity.

A knowledge of quiz show trivia may bring ya bucks and loot and fame to boot, that will suit the customary customers who buy the no-good goods they seek week after week to sell to a slogan slaphappy sappy weak
society that fuels the sagging, lagging economy.

It's the nuts what cuts the mustard, the final word on what is heard on Wall Street, that generates the heat that keeps the meat on the table and makes us able to maintain the gain of this insane society.

We buy it, try it and create the riot that keeps us high and mighty. So why would we be so flighty and go to all the trouble to worry about a sudden bubble that could burst and start it all come tumbling and come plunging down?


I went to war not knowing what the war was for. I soon found out. There is no doubt, war is to eliminate the enemy no matter who that enemy might happen to be.

To my enemy the enemy is me. To me it's he. So both he and I are the reasons why we both must die,

When do wars end? When both me and my friend are dead. Then it can be said either he or I gave our lives for freedom and democracy or fell victims to hypocrisy.

In the end it matters not who kills who or what we do to who or who dies and why, It will happen time and time again to other men.