too many things

pile another thing on top of

windows
hearing aids
shoes
direct mail pieces that i know will just be thrown away
websites
coffee mugs

and a number of other things i am sure i am forgetting
just pile it on.

To Be Had

Just another Wednesday night

And my feet have found the parking lot.

Found underneath glowing neon

Wrapped in Winter’s silent breath,

I wandered in from the north, from the south.

Staggering with a wobbly axle,

Carrying a perfect penniless purse

You caught sight, with my approach.

As an evangelist you proclaimed

I reeked of tobacco and pomade.

Unholy duo, reach forth and break.

Unholy duo, the curtain calls,

For another.

With no objection to be found or had,

Instruction brought deluge, creating

The overflowing glass, carrying

The virgin-white head.

In the hallelujah cheers

Chorus accompanied proliferation.

Holy trinity joined hands; in hand.

Holy trinity breaches thought.

Holy trinity tranquilizes the heart.

We all smell of tobacco, pomade, and beer.

Recipe for a Fantasy

First take one giant, and dice finely.  As the pieces become smaller in size you will notice that you have reduced your  giant into thousands of half-lings.  Take one of the half-lings, and throw the rest in a lake.  They can't swim very well, and no party needs more than one half-ling.  He will serve as the party's rogue, and comedic touchstone.  Short people are funny.  Deal with it.

Next take the largest tree in the forest, and pull it up by the roots.  At this point the tree has far too much substance and interest for our purposes, so begin to methodically whittle it down.  Keep whittling.  That's right, just keep whittling.  Once you have whittled it down to a tall, but toothpick thin strand of wood  (as boring and nondescript as possible) lean it up against a stylish looking fern and it will soon start chatting to you about how wonderful it is.  All elves are like this, but your party must have one, and no one takes them seriously.

The party of course needs someone of the magical persuasion, and for this there can be no better ingredient than a gnome.  For our gnomish ingredient start with a pile of phone-books, and grind them into a fine paste.  Gnomes are made up almost entirely of useless and trivial information, which makes phone books a perfect base.  Preferably from a Midwestern town such as Canton, Ohio.  Alma, Wisconsin also works well.  Take 4 cups of the phone book paste, add burnt hair, a broken typewriter, and speak these magical words, "The party needs a magic user.  I guess.  I mean, we do need one right?  We can't just skip it this time?"  In a puff of smoke your magic using gnome will congeal before your eyes.  He will most likely kill you by accident, and will prove much less useful than expected.

For the final member of the recipe you will need a large stockpile of meat.  The kind of meat doesn't matter much, it's the quantity that matters.  Begin by making a rough shield shaped frame out of wooden planks, and then just start piling on the meat.  You want that shield to be so full of meat that the next stranger who wanders by will hardly be able to resist speaking the magic words of creation, "Looks like you've got yourself a meat shield."  Yes.  Yes you do.  It could be an Orc barbarian, or a dwarf paladin.  It doesn't make much difference.  As soon as a stranger (it has to be a stranger) speaks those words the meat will congeal into a large stupid brute who will run headlong into danger and soak up most of the damage.  They won't contribute much to the story, but you've got to have a meat shield.  For shielding you.  From stuff.

Well, there you go.  Add a pinch of story.  2 T of rivalry.  1/4 t of phobia.  1/4 cup of back-story.  1 religious fanatic.  A handful of cultists, and one extraordinarily evil villain.  Grate in  a generous amount of humor, and add salt and pepper to taste.

Bon appetit.

"The Colossus' Glass" Diner Scene: Part One

What does he look like?”

“He’s wearing a tropical shirt, button-up. He looks like a tourist.”

“Do you think it’s him?”

“I don’t know. I mean, it could be, but really anyone could be for all we know.” Benjamin did his best to relay the important details about the physical appearance of the old man in the corner booth, clear across the diner from where they sat. “He’s wearing khaki cargo shorts with big puffy pockets. He’s got a grey beard, kind of wiry, it reaches all the way down to the table. He has a cane leaning against the end of his booth. He’s reading a newspaper. He keeps smirking. I think he’s-” Benjamin strained his eyes to see. “Yep, he’s reading the funnies.”

Over the clinking of forks on plates and the murmur of the dozen-or-so others in the diner, Angus could hear the old man snicker out loud every now and then. As he listened, he tried to piece together a picture of the old man, combining the details from Benjamin’s description with his pre-conceived image of a powerful forest-dwelling medicine man. “What’s he eating?”

“He’s just got a cup of coffee or tea or something, that’s all.” Benjamin looked around the diner, then leaned over the table and said in a lower voice, “I’m not sure it’s him. Someone that powerful would probably have more important things to do than read the funnies and sip coffee, don’t you think? Or at least he’d hang out somewhere a little more… upscale? This place is kind of a dump. Looks like the back room of an antique shop with a lazy manager.”

Benjamin was referring to the décor of the small-town diner. On the walls were old news clippings, photos of forgotten old women smiling under their bonnets at the camera, or of old men proudly holding up fishing line dangling strange looking fish. There were also various mounted animal heads here and there, some of which were new to Benjamin.

“They’ve got something mounted over the table next to us. It’s got the snout and tusks of a boar, but the rest of the face looks more like a lizard. Like a bearded dragon or something.” Benjamin caught the waitress as she passed. “Excuse me, miss? Do you know what kind of—“ He stopped, seeming almost to swallow his next words. Angus wondered what was wrong. “Uh, what kind of…animal… thing that, uhhh, thing is?”

“Up there? That’s a drabbergoard snake head,” she said absently, hurrying off to bring a fresh pot to the corner booth.

“Oh! Ha! Thanks!” Benjamin half shouted after her, sounding a little unhinged.

Angus’s ears, which had grown keener since losing his sight, picked up the exchange as the waitress filled the cup in front of the man in the corner booth. “Oh, thank you Jenny.” The old man had a British accent. “Say, how’s your mum, by the way? I do hope she’s on the mend.”

“Oh, yes sir, I think she’ll be back at work by Wednesday or Thursday.” Jenny said, in a much more familiar and relaxed tone than she’d used with Benjamin.

“Dear lord…” Benjamin said as Angus was straining to listen across the room. “She is beautiful.” Now Benjamin’s awkward fumbling made sense to Angus. “Dark hair, big eyes, glasses-“

“Shush for a second!” Angus was trying to hear their conversation.

“Those eggs should be done by now. I’ll go check. Be right back.” Jenny told the man. Angus heard her footsteps pass by again heading toward the kitchen. He heard the rustling of newspaper and, after a moment, another snicker from the corner booth.

“So which of us is going to ask him?” Angus asked.

“She’s gorgeous.” Benjamin was facing toward the kitchen.

“Come on, man, we’re not here for that.

“Sorry.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to him, but I’ll need you to walk me over there, obviously.” Angus hadn’t thought of this part. How did he approach the subject? Hey, sooo, I’m blind and wondered if you have the power to heal me? No. Definitely not. How about, Someone told us we could find a medicine man here. Is that you? Are you him? Is… him… you?

“What do we have to lose, really?” Benjamin said. “I mean, if it’s not him, we just apologize and come sit down again, order some pancakes.”

Angus heard Jenny pass by again, and could smell that she carried a hot omelet with fresh pungent spices and peppers, which stung his nostrils. “It’s got to be him. They said he came in every Wednesday at 7am, sat in the corner, read the paper, left at 9-” Just then he heard the old man’s voice and cut his own sentence short.

“Thank you, Jenny! Looks delicious, as per usual. Say, Jenny, on your way back to the kitchen, could you tell those two young men nearest the door that they ought to ask me already and get on with their day?”

Angus’s heart stopped.

day of sun

the north flows
west and east
in my arteries
as i lie by
in this waiting

as a nursemaid
puffing on smokes
in the parlor

i am an addict
for affections
wherever they can
be found

the south burns
east then west
in my veins
as i try my-
self to weeping

as a Sunday dress
flowing down a
perfect shape

i am an addict
of affections
whenever they may
be found.

No one else gets this.

-->

No one else gets this,

These chin nuzzled mornings

Grasping fingers pulling eye lids apart

Those epic smiles and unrestrained glee

Candle eyes and winter worn cheeks

the dependence on these arms to stop falling bodies

and the ability of these hands to heal, teach, soothe, create, fix

No one else gets this,

In the predawn darkness I pour sleep into the past

Never to sleep again.

Instead, with undead slack jawed grunts,

I pull shit cemented cotton from the reddened ass crack of a banshee

I scrape out the hidden veins of excrement from fatty rolls

And rewrap the soiler in new cotton so we can do it all again.

No one else gets this,

The cheek breaking tooth parade

The rainbow rendering, santa shaming, eye twinkles

The most joyfully incompetent game of hide and seek-

As she tries to hide her diapered ass in a cupboard too small

And giggles in anticipation.

No one else gets my chorus of “PAPAPApaPAPAPApapaPAPAAAA!”

Because she belongs to me.

Why Hello Goodbye

I fear that when I say "my love" I'm speaking to a ghost about folklore. It isn't crying over spilled milk, when you're not holding the carton. We sit at the table with chips piled high and it's in your cards, but I busted. It's my crop in my field on your farm. I'll raise it only to raze it in the end. A crop for the fire. So let's gather it, and we can heap it, and light it to dance around it. We are the halo to the light tonight. Let the fired warmth soothe our skin covering the ache in the bone. Cast upon the fire all the unwanted and undesirable anchors we hold onto. If you can for the night forget the chains imbedded in our skin so can I. I will dance in our tears of joy and grief, as awkward as my conjured thoughts. In the mud we move until the cold of the night creeps over the dance floor eventually drowning the fire.

Alternatives help us judge life like a fuel gauge, so you can conceive how much better it'd be if  I didn't know differently. As I fall asleep next to the smoke and hisses I know I'm getting there. There isn't enough tomorrow for today. I've spent enough time in the company of hunger, exhaustion, worry, and illness. Seasons have an ending, but these hang around like lost children. Orphans given up by others crowd in my shadow, laying claim to their home. Their jaded eyes peek through their window at the evening activities. My eyes are clouded to the color of tomorrow. I see enough heartache behind me for all the beards on the porch in the rocking chairs. I see only trouble ahead of me. Thirty-seven and counting.

As I lie awake in the cold, cloudy, rainy sunrise none of them seem that bad anymore. Like a golfer I take par on this course called life. I want less of the same and more of that health and wealth; please deliver it in stealth. I joyously and longingly watched it fall on others like a blanket of fresh snow, so I still hold on. The lottery ticket prayer uttered without warning is: deliver me or scorch the earth.