Monday, March 26, 2007


There are flaws in our laws but not because we want it to be that way. The "We" I refer to does not include the "Powers That Be," specifically the Presidency, who at present is G. W. B. who arrogantly ignores the rules which he says are tools to make taxpayers toe the line.

If we are a true democracy we, including the PTB, must agree to obey legislation passed by city, state and nation. If not, by heck, they should have the law breathing down their neck.

If the court sorts out the facts and finds you've refused to pay your income tax or violated other crimes like sedition, treason or shooting Texans out of season, no matter what the rhyme or reason, you should pay a fine and spend time behind bars for declaring illegal, wars.

Here's more crimes the accused could be found guilty of: Illegal spying, defying scientific proof of alarming global warming, not adequately arming GI troops, snooping on suspected groups, outing, flouting laws at will, tampering with Congressional legislation. The list is immense, It makes no sense. Want to know more? Get on the internet or, better yet. just ask Google. They're not frugal with their search. They won't leave you in a lurch.

SOME SUM UP: Even a presidential schnook, who took the job by hook or crook, should be held to account for breaking the law, be judged by his peers and, if found guilty, spend years in the can like any other RepubliCAN.


Why would anyone, of his own volition, decide to become a politician? Perhaps family tradition would motivate one to emulate a famed relation who had pursued this profession, that would cause him to inherit the same obsession to serve and be observed by a subservient population with minds that can be led but cannot lead.

Could their choice be influenced by a voice inside their head that says this is the path that leads to power and wealth attributed to it? How better create a legacy that engraves name and fame in the pages of history!

What qualities must one possess to assure success of this obsessive need? Greed and Ego to make the dream come true. A bit of luck and circumstance will help advance the candidate along the way. But mastering the art of blending. Shrewd and Crude, depending on the mood the crowd is in, and giving the constituency the rhetoric they came to hear---delivered smeared with sincerity---fools the fools every time. And fortunately, hypocrisy, false modesty and truth shaded by dishonesty are not a crime. At least not in the realm of political democracy.

To understand, command and manipulate on demand this tried and true philosophy---forget about integrity---is the key to gullibility. Forget the boasts, the toasts, the party paid for weenie roasts, what counts the most are the counted votes that amount to final victory. The rest is history.

Sunday, March 25, 2007


Ittsie-bittsie, tiny, teenie weenie little bird, less than the size of my thumb, come talk to me in your two word vocabulary. Sit at my feet and let me hear your cheep and tweet each time we meet and greet on the street or on my window sill. I will wait for you to do what you do when I talk to you.

I'll spread bread crumbs in your path, a bowl of water for your bath, and you, in turn, will sing to me your melody, Tweet and Cheep. repeatedly. I know your "Cheep!" says "Feed me!" and your "Tweet!" says "I thank you."

I watch you sitting on a twig and know why God did not make you big. You are small for that is all you have to be to welcome me to share your joy as you sing about this day in Spring.

I translate your two words to say, "Wake up, you sleepy head, get out of bed and greet the world." And before you fly away, your wings unfurled, you repeat a sweet tweet tweet to assure me you'll come back another day.

Saturday, March 24, 2007


Dubya says we'll win, but when? He's said that time and again, the same old song, but he's been wrong. He says more troops will make us strong. Benefits may not show for a L - O - N - G - L - O - N - G time. What benefits? Another thousand dead. Bush will be wrong again. But by then he'll be back to chopping logs, checking blogs and blaming Democrats for his uckfups.

Meanwhile, the generals who generally know more than a war-fearing, brush clearing, disappearing AWOL who can't tell what the hell he's talking about is still our unelected, incompetent president, calling the shots, right or not.

The nation sends this constant plea to B: Don't send more living targets to Iraq and bring 'em back in bloody body bags.

Dubya dummy don't play god. Play the odds and let Iraqis and Insurgents shoot it out. What's the point in day by day delay when all it means is more dead GIs, more bearing lifetime scars of no-win wars, More loved ones left to cry, never knowing why our children had to die needlessly in a war declared illegally?

Why keep going on until all the brave are dead and gone? Do Bush and all his partners in crime have hearts and brains? Are they all insane? Do they get their kicks killing people wantonly?

What about billions spent for armament, for trucks, tanks and planes, pouring tax dollars down the drain? And just to support this rotten war, Budget Buster Bush cuts short the money needed to house and feed the oppressed and homeless, medications and education, crumbling bridges, roads and loads of other things. This brings us to reality: We must stop starting wars to spread our concept of democracy while denying us of life and liberty and all the benefits that made us what we used to be.

Friday, March 23, 2007



Jake the Snake got tied in a knot. How that happened he knew not. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get himself untied. That knot bothered him a lot. When he swallowed a rat, his favorite snack. it got stuck between his tail and back.

He shook his tail to no avail. He'd hissed and twisted. The knot resisted. Since snakes have no hands or fingers, he knew the knot would linger long unless he found a snakeeologist to assist his effort to be free. That's when he learned about Doctor Schnore, a specialist in reptilian lore.

Although a former Eagle Scout and sailor on a run-about, Schnore found out he was not the knot hotshot he thought. He could not untie the snake. Jake got depressed and decided to end it all. He'd jump in a lake, sink way down and wait to die.

What happened next you won't believe. As he waited to meet his maker a school of fish swimming by spotted. the snake and said, "Oh my! That must be Jake in a knot. We've got to set him free."

Some tugged here, some tugged there, the baby fish swam into the knot's open spots. And oh my gosh, Jake started to slosh and shimmy and shake and his tail slipped out of the ties that bind. Jake had a change of mind. He swam to shore and never got tied up anymore.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007


When it comes the time for Bush to die few will cry or ask why for all will know he had to go. That is so. Whether he dies on a vacation, chopping down trees on his plantation, succumbing to complications of constipation or merely ass-ass-ination, his death will be cause for celebration throughout this nation and all civilization.

This man has committed more crimes in less time than killer John Dilller in his prime. He'll never admit it. "I ain't no idjit I ain't done did it," he will say and strut away in search of the nearest corner bar for more of what he swore he swore off snorting for.

The angels will hate to see, knowing where the crumb-bum comes from, become top scun of Angeldom But he's been seen of late with lots of green outside the Golden Gate in the 7/11 on the road to heaven. With God's reelection coming due they fear that you-know-who will do what losers always to do, wage war on Mars and all the stars and then, when the time is right, lead God's Own Party in a fight to spread the fright of WMDs, seize control of the whole sheBANG and what's worse, be elected/selected King of the Universe.

Monday, March 19, 2007


The fact is, we all must pay taxes to keep the country solvent, especially in the event of sudden crisis. As nice as it is to live in this land of the free, we have to pay our fare to share the benefits of security and democracy. No matter what was or what will be, no enemy from abroad or within should rob us of what millions fought and died to win. And what we stand to lose if our enemies within rob us of our power.

Patriotism is the only "ism" fit for the populace. That means all of us. Honest elections are our best protection against those who oppose what our Constitution's all about. Right or left or on the fence, let common sense dictate events. No matter what party you belong to, which side you decide is right or wrong, react to one clarion call: do not "what's best for me," but what's best for democracy.

Over the last few years our greatest fears have proven true. Those in control obviously stole the presidency, not once but twice and we let them do it. At the time we had little choice short of insurrection. They won the election not by the vote, but by the way the fools rewrote the rules. The timid, inhibited voting population bit the bullet, let them pull it off. Look what a mess we're in. To right all the wrong they created will take longer than anticipated. The unpatriotic Patriot Act will exact heated debate as the now minority party tries to negate the harm that's been done to the integrity of the laws that protect democracy.

There's no need to rehash every illegal act they enacted, all the lies pawned off as truth, all the false fears fed to waiting ears, all the manipulating further complicating civil rights. Learn what's been done, what they still can do before they're through.

OK, voters. it's up to you. Get involved until the problem's solved. It won't be easy. It won't be fast. But at least, at last change is in the air.

Friday, March 16, 2007


If the world woke up one day---this ain't a joke and it better happen before we go broke---and the Pentagon was gone, gone, gone there'd still be wars going on and ammo sold at more per ounce than a pound of gold But the profit off it could be less than what the U. S. spent for a toilet seat that went for six hundred farty bucks a chuck.

Even though it's so when you gotta go you gotta go, that's still too much for a governmint a-flush with dough to spend on a shile of pit.

But we'll let's forget that toilet debt and move on. Not too many years ago the Pentagon couldn't account for the paltry amount, a trillion plus paid for by taxes paid by us. And millions in missiles, tanks and planes misplaced by no account accountants brit for shains. This is just part of the woe for the GAO that still doesn't know how to divvy civvi dough to Defense whose record keeping keeps making no sense.

Yet the administration has been blamed for unexplained dollars down the drain and kissed goodbye while sending thousands of untrained GIs to die in a war that everybody knows was one big lie by G. W. B., the biggest liar of the twentieth century and probably this century, too.

Meanwhile, expense for The War continues to grow and where does the money go? To the Pentagon and DOD, hotbeds of incompetency. The GAO spent billions trying to find a quick fix, then said nix and sold the report sort o' short.

When all is said and done, they're back to square one once again, justa few systems changed or rearranged. Strange but true, the same mismanagement's costing taxpayers $18 billion a year.

The budget, the graft, the waste continues to grow. The GAO knows it's so. The occasional squawk is just so much talk as our country goes deeper in hock. Nobody really shives a git. Maybe the '08 election will help a bit. If it doesn't we'll be in sheep dit.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007


Thousands are dying from incurable diseases. Lead poisoning's one. Shot from guns. Bombs from planes. Who knows what these lethal weapons dropped from planes contain. Debris of crumbling homes and crowded schools, in mosques and temples, homes of gods come rumbling down, killing innocents seeking shelter as as bombs fall helter-skelter.

Streets littered with the dead, some shot in the head intentionally by their neighborly enemy. Some victims of internal injuries, crushed by pounding debris, dying in the blood-soaked mud. No help comes to stop the flow.

Thousands piled like scraps of wood, succumbing slowly while the still alive watch them die. All cry inwardly, few shed tears. Eyes drained dry. Few ask Why? They know, George told them so.

Thousands piled high. Some dying, some dead, all waiting for a place to rest their head. Few places can be found. In morgues or underground. Burial sites grow scarce, mass graves save space. Many interred anonymously. Identity an impossibility. Even so, no time to wait. The sun burns hot. Cold flesh will rot. Maggots, rats wait with baited breath. They will never starve to death.

Undertakers, doctors, nurses too, very few, overworked, underpaid, afraid the next raid will be their last. The die is cast in this vast killing field where neither side will yield. Not opposing sects. Allies, most Americans want to quit. But George won't hear of it. This leader, in disgrace, cares more about saving face than saving lives of our GIs.

It's not surprising how the toll of dead and maimed keeps rising. Three thousand plus of us, Estimations of dead in this dying nation vary widely. Nobody really knows, Upwards of two hundred thousand. A modest count. Each day the amount goes higher.


Man has the seed, Woman the garden in which a life shall grow. This much is so. Once they share fertility, the miracle of creation, the time spent in anticipation will be more than well worth waiting for.

After the seed has been implanted and permission granted for creation to proceed, it must be nourished by love and fed the food it needs to grow. Its first home, the room within the womb, will keep it warm and safe from harm until the day it is due to become a part of the two who, through love, made their dream become a true reality.

They will not know what the child will be until it is born so it will be called "Baby It" for now. They'll share more concern in how it grows, does it have ten fingers and ten toes, its mother's nose, its father's eyes, will it grow up wise and kind with a mind that's bright and clean? What will its name be? They will deal with that once they know, is "Baby It" a He or She? Or, possibly, will one be two, each a different gender, but both tender and caring, loving and sharing, as all members of humanity should be?

It is true modern science could determine what "Baby It" will be before it becomes officially "Baby Me." But the expectant parents would rather wait and see. When they finally meet their prize and hear its healthy cries, learn its weight and see its size, the color of its father's eyes, its mother's nose, all ten fingers, all ten toes, all the these and those that comprise a perfect human being, the thrill of experiencing these precious moments after birth makes this moment more worth waiting for.

Is "Baby It" a She, a He? Does that matter... truthfully? It is exactly what they wanted their baby to be.

Sunday, March 11, 2007


Ever since the world began and Man came on the scene the grand plan of God intended His creation to think and dream and fill the scene with more mankind to respect God's gift to exercise free will of choice, respectability and destiny.

He and She, members of the same family of humanity, were bequeathed the right to act and react in whatever way they deemed necessarily necessary. Even God, wiser than one can conceive or believe, did not anticipate His creation would include devastation of civilization as part of Man's Plan for Man. With the free will willed by God, Man began to kill others of his kind who had a mind and soul as did he, according to God's decree.

But God had faith in those He created and seemed fated to trust that this blood-letting lust was only a temporary manifestation of the soul in whom he instilled ultimate control of the bearers of His likeness on the planet Earth. He decided to give Man time to settle down, to come to terms and love his brothers and every other living, life-giving creature on this land. But as time went on free will got out of hand and took turns even God could not understand. War and killing became the dominant role of Man.

God counseled with His heart and mind and asked Himself: What kind of mankind did I create? Yet, He believed in fate, decided to wait for His children to change, to compensate for the errors and terrors of their ways.

Eventually, with evil overtaking humanity, God, in shame, admitted blame for all that went wrong in His name. He could not turn His back on all the good He'd done, creating the moon, the sun and stars and all the rest that apparently turned out to be the best, better than the test of Man He could easily reverse. But would that not be worse than continuing to hope and pray---yes, even He does that in times of stress---that Man and He would find a way to right the wrong on Judgment Day?



This is our night on the town. We walk in, take our seats and settle down. The theater is our castle of creation, imagination, fascination and sometimes frustration. But so what! We're on vacation. So anything goes. Enjoy the shows!

Life on film is like a welcome friend. It begins. It blends. Begins and what all happens depends on the script the writer wrote, the actors emote, the critics quote.

The lights grow dim, the show begins on the silver screen. X-rated tapes can't escape repeated rapes. Multiplex is big on sex, popcorn and tasteless porn. Some folks go for jokes and Cokes and candy bars, the tragedy of best forgotten wars when GIs died and millions cried and both sides now are friends again.

Cars fill parking lots where families come to see silly shows short on plot, but a lot of shots, blood and guts and sadistic nuts, good and bad guys, too, and although they don't win a prize or appeal to you and me they bring in lots of doe-re-mi and that is good for Hollywood.

Once in a while a film of style that touches your heart from start to finish, and doesn't diminish the impact of every act and every scene in-between, is done with taste and grace in a place just like the town where you wish you'd settled down, not the mean streets of the city, too big, too bold, too loud and gritty. A pity. But you can't go back except in dreams and flights of fancy that grip you momentarily. So you wipe your eyes and blow your nose and enjoy the picture shows.


When I was young and couldn't sleep I'd commence to count some sheep and after three or four jumped the fence I'd start to buzz and snore till way past dawn when I'd rise, rub my eyes, scratch any place I please to ease my itch, stretch, get up and have a cup or two of home-brew caffein. Then, wide awake, I'd be ready to take on a world that waits for me, the bright eyed guy of industry.

Now I'm old and more tired and the desired snooze I sure can use refuses to let me lose myself in sleep. Like I did when just a kid, again I resort to the sport of counting sheep. And as the numbers rise, to my surprise absurd herds of wooly beasts stampede at speed faster than I can calculate in my sleepy state.

As I lie in bed, my eyes bulging out of my head, praying to God for the nod to come, the leader of the pack, a big black took a giant leap and with a bah-bah-bah and a hoo-hee-hah landed on the mattress, next to me.

"Shut your eyes and go to sleep," the black sheep sighed. "I hope you're satisfied."

"Yes," I said with delight. I rolled over to my side, bid my dreams goodnight and fell asleep next to my friend, the big black sheep.

Thursday, March 08, 2007


God sits alone 0n His throne with a cell phone hoping one of His children will call with a "Hi, y'all!" But they don't care if the angels refuse to wash God's underwear or cut His hair or invite Him out to share their fare. They won't even spring for a snack or a banquet Big Mac.

Oh, millions pray to God each day and, yes, bless him in their way, but he gets the appalling feeling they're crawling on their knees hoping He'll hear their pleas for favors galore. When He fails to say OK for what they pray they do their shopping at the Devil's store.

They know the dealer who lives below has prices lower than that upstart, Wal-mart, The Devil fills their greedy need on credit but, let it be said, he warns them they'll have to pay for his merchandise at an inflated price if hell freezes over and is covered with ice.

They sign the devils contract secure in the fact that fires melt ice but this phenomenon never happens in reverse. The clever old con knows flame will melt ice, then with the next freeze the water will turn from rain to sleet to snow and flakes will harden and glaciers will grow and that's when the collectors will reel in the dough for the deal bought by God's ungrateful snots. They thought it was hot and they'd get off scott free. So figured the greedy God defectors. Instead, they learned you gotta pay for what you pray for. Now they're paying the price as they freeze in the ice.

God's children didn't understand ice and fire work hand-in-hand to punish those who do what they do when in the end the devil will get what is his due.

Alas and alack! They're paying it back by feeding the fire instead of their selfish desire. They've lost their soul and are shoveling coal the whole day through and freezing their butt in the buff sitting on ice after dark in a walk-in freezer with a runny nose sneezer, a cough and spit wheezer and the corpse of Julius Caesar having a seizure while picking his nose with a rusty old tweezer.

You never can tell. This could happen to you if you go to hell.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007


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? True believers are quite sincere and convinced the end will come this year.

But apostles of the impossible hedge their bets. The truth be known, those who pretend the end say it will depend on 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 Evangelists have in store as proof the End of Times is coming soon, I must admit I do not believe a word of it. I'm 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. This is my conviction. So it be. That's 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, believers will be spared and transported free to Heaven? Believers in prophecy are convinced the Bible's the word of God and His book predicts death and devastation which rocked our nation and all civilization is the beginning of the end. Nearly 60 percent believe 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 exhaust fumes of cars, on the wrappings of candy bars, on smoke emissions from cigars.

A vision of the Virgin Mary on a grilled cheese sandwich, sold on e-bay, brought about 30Gs. How about this? A talking fish on the way to its slaughter in a New York market cried out the end of the world was near. Some believe it's already here, will occur this year, perhaps as soon as June. At any rate, it missed its departure date. We'll just have to wait.

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. Welcome terror in the Middle East. Has the "Mark of the Beast," as warned in Revelations, returned to cause devastation? If this widely believed stuff were not enough, a Seattle newspaper asked: "Is Bush the Antichrist?" A minister cited his support of the "rise in Christian Fascism" as evidence of this belief.

Subliminal messages pop up everywhere. Consider one theme of the Bush scheme, "No child left behind." This brings to mind that it's also part of the title of a novel based on Revelations, "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 the Antichrist. Maybe not. But with Dubya's flights of fantasy, you never know. I'll stick around to wait and see.


If there were no things like sugar plums and assorted yum, yum yums, salad bars and candy bars, ice cream cones and chicken bones, pizza pies and crisp French fries, egg yolks and non-diet cokes, burgers on the backyard grille and foods too high in cholesterol like pasta, sweets and pastry treats, pickles to make your tummy ache, porkchops sopped in globs of gravy, (don't trim the fat, that's what makes it so delicious if not more nutritious) how would physicians make high commissions telling fatties what and what not to eat?

I heap praise on brave gourmets who rave about foods food lovers craveso spare me diets if you please. I am hooked on calories. When I'm in an eating mood, don't give me low cal, low fat foods. I want to salivate in my plate. Let no taste go to waste.

I know it may seem absurd, but I check my watch for early birds. I know it's bad for me to eat deserts until it hurts, that I'll have to pay eventually for my excess, for my compulsion to ingest the foods that make me pop the buttons off my vest. But my molars will not let me rest so I chew the whole day through drooling like the fool I am.

Will somebody please pass the peanut butter and strawberry jam? Another slab of ham. A leg of lamb. A candied yam. And a couple Tums. Yum! Yum! Yum! Chomp! Chomp! Chomp! Chew! Chew! Chew! What's that? Dinners through? I'll be back. What you got for a late night snack?

Damn the diets! Full FEED ahead!

Monday, March 05, 2007


A dedicated, educated writer worth his mettle will never settle for second best. If he has nothing to say he won't say it. He won't convey it.

If you take no pride in what you write, do not delight in being bright or witty, creating a drama or a pretty ditty, beware! You may strain your brain, run out of excuses as to why you've lost your creative juices. Just shrug. You're bugged by writer's block.

Talent comes and talent goes. Where it comes from no-one knows. Sometimes it flows from unknown genes, from trauma in your troubled teens, from an incident that haunts you, taunts you when you least expect it, lack defenses to reject it.

Genius springs from many places, from all races, from slums and bums, born losers, child abusers, from rich and poor and starving masses of the lowest lower classes.

It's the kind of thing that keeps you guessing. Consider it a curse or blessing, a way of giving to the living that makes you sad or makes you glad or makes you wish you never had an obsession to excel. It's sometimes hell being special and alone in a world all your own. Nobody understands the demands you make on yourself that sets you up for self destruction


My legacy, now lemme see. What should I leave behind? My Behind. That's what I have in mind. It's always been behind me, backing me up faithfully. I know it will follow me wherever I go and when I go.

If I leave my legacy, my Behind behind, there's one big Butt. They're both a part of You Know What and that is what controls flatulent retention and other functions I don't care to mention.

I asked my girl friend about her end and what she planned to do with it when she was through with it.

"I'll leave it up to you," she said. "After I am dead, take it up with the undertaker. If you care to have my rear as a souvenir he'll just cut it off and put the rest of me in my coffin. Who's to know if, when I go, I leave a bit of me behind?"


In the year twenty-one twenty-eight when historians evaluate the past, dating back to a man named Dubya, the master ofdisaster, how will they view events credited to this discredited president?

I'm afraid they'll be dismayed when they review the role Dubya played that made the mess and caused the stress he left behind (bless his behind!) a hundred years from now. Somehow, they'll find it hard to see how we could have left humanity up to the bungling grade-C B, Doctorate of Incompetency. They'll be vexed and perplexed as to why this greedy guy got away with crimes against humanity to unseat democracy and the pleasure he took robbing our treasury, rewriting the book to make us look like nitwit fascists.

"This was a century," they will write, "when everything Bush tried was turned upside down as the clown made a mockery of democracy. Voters were made aware terror lurked everywhere, and it was said, criticizing corruption of the GOP was tantamount to treachery. The GOP of that time saw no crime in blocking inspection in their zeal to steal elections from candidates who got more votes. Or as a first and last resort, force the courts to abet the crooks to corrupt the count of a mounting vote for the opposition.

"Evaluators agreed with ancient colleagues of a need to boot out the louts who lost but won by doing the screwing that was done. "The powers had a hundred years, give or take, to make things right," they wrote. "They seldom gave, but how they took!

"Look for comments on these events in our next report, uncensored by the court, of course.

"Who was the worst president in history? That's no mystery. GWB.

Friday, March 02, 2007


When you're young and rich with the gold of health, the ultimate wealth, you tend to think the end will never come. You don't stop to think that in a wink the end is now. Somehow, you go along doing what you used to do with the ease you did at twenty-two.

You play the odds, make a bet that the gods of old age won't set the stage where you'll star not as the fool you are but as the macho man who fought the war and has every scar to prove you won. Those days are gone, life goes on, but the rat race pace has slowed to a walk. You ain't the guy you used to be.

Wrinkles sneak into your face, your hair turns gray or disappears around your ears, nagging fears invade your thoughts and lots of what once you were you are not.

Maybe you're not quite there. You've still got time to treasure the pleasures of fading youth. Now's the time to face the truth and realize the gifts you take for granted are planted in the garden of your past and will be sorely missed when they become the simple joys of yesterday.

Make a list of what might be missed---swimming endless laps, perhaps, replaced by splashing water with your young age son or daughter, sleeping in the summer sun, dreaming of bikini clad bathing beauties you once had.

It starts with a squint when you read fine print. Glasses help but impede your ability to see far when you drive the family car. Frequent fender benders, an accident or two, you know your driving days are through.

What you used to eat you can eat no more. Trips to the deli or the bakery, pasta and pastry are in your past. Are fast foods worth your growing girth? The heart burn that churns your belly, the doughnut filled with cream or jelly, the pizza pie piled high with all the add ons you can buy, the beer you guzzle with the guys, the fries you snack, the Crackerjack, popcorn and candy bar you munch and crunch while watching a sleazy TV or movie show. You know this stuff has gotta go.

Then come ills and doctor bills, strokes, heart attacks. Forget those packs of cancer snacks. The same's true of other diseases that displease the family doc but make the undertaker the richest man on the block.

The moral of the story's this: Avoid much of what you once enjoyed and liked a lot and never gave a second thought. Relegate them to your go slow or no-no list. Heed every warning sign designed to keep you safe and sound or you'll soon be six feet underground.


On a warm and sunny day in June on a date now lost to history, a massive cloak began to creep across the sky from the peak of a mighty mountain high, unraveling and traveling in all directions, hovering over every section of the world. Jets and rocket ships smashed into bits against its impenetrable ceiling, reeling out of control, crashed into the waiting sea.

This giant Cocoon was sited in the sky. Within minutes the world was in it, could not get out. It enclosed every place from California to Maine, the plains and every state from coast to coast. Atlantic to Pacific, the deserts of Nevada, mountains of Colorado, every grain of sand and drop of sea, every bush and tree and living soul including you and me and all humanity, every bus and a guy named Gus, every house and home and mouse and every bee and honeycomb, every cigar and weapon of war, all neatly wrapped and trapped inside this sphere from here to there and everywhere.

The Cocoon spread with speed of a typhoon below the moon and stars and above raging wars in Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Japan and Germany, Italy and Normandy and more on every blood-soaked shore where good people died and every land where Man hated Man since time began.

It blanketed Israel and the Middle East, Africa with its wild beasts and missed not the greatest and the least at war or peace. It sped, never ceased its spread until each spot, each dot of sea and land was covered by this giant, defiant Cocoon. The world watched hopeless, helpless as the Cocoon rolled by.

It enclosed each car and van, truck and train, ship and plane, kernel of grain, every goose and moose, every bottle of prune juice, all victims dangled at the end of the hangman's rope, those condemned sat in an electric chair, hope gone, prayed for the legal killer to switch the power on. Patients waited patiently to die, took one last look at the covered sky, breathed a sigh, tried not to cry, bid loved-ones goodbye and with this on their dying lips asked repeatedly, "Why...why...why? Oh. God, why?"

The Cocoon contained all beasts and Man, cars and vans, trucks and trains, ship and plane, every goose and moose and bottle of juice, every corner bar and Wal-mart store, every bore and whore, fast talker, street walker, stalker and rocker.

This Cocoon shroud blocked out the sun and clouds, continued in its plodding course with a force that none could comprehend. Everyone knew the end was near and there was nothing they could do but wait to die under this strange cover in the sky.

How it came about none could figure out. No doubt someone would after it was too late to escape the fate awaiting all the nations. There were no valid explanations. But man prevailed. Electric power never failed, no services were curtailed, water flowed, toilets flushed, everybody rushed about eating, sleeping, having sex, wondering what in the world would happen next.

Yet the Cocoon persisted. There were those who said, "Suppose it's an act of God to shield us from a plague to come?" Or: "Could it be punishment for Man's intent to reinvent what God created for purposes he had not anticipated?" Or: "Is this a form of pre-ordained fatal pollution in retribution for man-made evils like prostitution, legalized abortion, Biblical distortion of His word?" Science cried: "Absurd! It's simply nature gone amuck. We fucked up again, we mortal men."

Mystics believed Earthlings were deceived. That Man was an ill-conceived plan to test God's theory His children could be trusted to obey the word He bequeathed and breathed into their memory. Once He saw his law was not to be obeyed God reversed all He'd created. And since nothing ever began there was no beginning of The Beginning or no end to The End.