After all was said and done, the question remains, would he have done it if he had known it would happen?
One annoying customer too many, I guess. Anyone who works retail will tell you that they’ve thought of it at least once a day. But in most people’s cases it never actually happened. Except in Frank’s case.
Frank didn't know he held such power. Frank figured he was just your average schmo working a dead end job.
Frank didn’t know when after he had mopped the floor and that stupid kid with the mud caked shoes walked in after closing that it would actually happen.
But it did.
You see, Frank didn’t know he was the son of the devil.
So thinking back on that day, all the unruly people he served on a daily basis, the rudeness, the self served-ness, the impression everyone gave that somehow they were more important than everyone else.
Frank was tired. Frank mused that maybe the human race didn’t deserve to exist. He thought “maybe if we destroyed ourselves then at least we can say that as a race we had achieved something truly great.” Frank didn’t know that he held the power to make it so.
So as mankind breathed it’s last and the world was left to the animals Frank blamed it all on one lowly teenager with muddy shoes. Frank thought, “If I had known, would I have ended existence?”
Probably.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
The Day The Rain Fell Up (a work in progress)
"Weather report for Sunday, June 12th:
Early morning showers turning to heavy
rain and thunderstorms by the evening.
Flood warnings for low lying areas.
Stay tuned for updates as they come. . "
I woke up and the bed was cold. The sheets pulled free to the right. She'd left. I'm not surprised. It's casual and if she hates herself half as much as I hate myself the morning after I can't fault her for bailing. At least it was raining. The pitter patter. Rhythmic. Drumming on garbage cans interspaced with the organic random beat of mother nature. I could forget. Last night, the day before, maybe even tomorrow. Shit, tomorrow.
My presentation was due. I was behind on it, but I didn't really care. I could sleep through it. As long as I had colorful visual aids and a PowerPoint song and dance the content wouldn't matter. But for now, my bed was cold. Honestly, I prefer it that way. My naked feet searched out the cold spots in the sheets. I closed my eyes and listened to the rain. Imagined I was puddle hopping nude through streets. Careless like a child. Refreshing.
Fuck it.
I should get up.
I got up.
Black coffee burned down my throat . It was half past ten, still early in my book. Why'd she have to leave so early. Am I really that bad. Is she really that nonchalant? Why did I care so much?
I put on my robe, slipped my feet into slippers, lit the first cigarette of the day and shuffled out onto the doorstep to get the paper. My eyes were still encrusted with the night's sleep. That's probably why it took me so long to notice, or maybe I'm just slow. Anyway, I shuffled down the concrete path reached down to where the paper boy always seems to land the paper and began to stumble buck to the door when it hit me.
Right up the nose.
The first thing that struck my mind, even before I fully comprehended what was taking place was "I'm glad I'm wearing underwear." I had more concern that mother nature may smite me with her own colonic than the gravity of the situation. For some odd and entirely incomprehensible reason, the rain had decided to fall up. Every where I looked the ground was shrouded in cloud. Dense and thick up to my knees, spewing forth was droplets of water racing towards a darkened sky. Like electricity racing between a conduit. Straight from the ground clouds into the safety of the waiting ones above.
Everything flooded in reverse. Rain water flowed up from storm drains and waterfalled into the heavens.
I looked to the Anderson's driveway next door. Their SUV's undercarriage had collected enough water to fill the cab inside. I looked in and viewed the aquarium of their lives. Their brat kid's empty juice boxes and cheerios once wedged between seat cushions now floated and bobbed like clown fish swimming through sea weed. The wife's prescription meds, freed from the glove box danced like jellyfish in the tide. They never parked it in the garage. Serves them right.
I mused for a moment how this change in the weather might affect my day. Would my presentation be postponed, would the world be thrown into upheaval. Was it localized to here or had the whole world gone topsy-turvy. All I was really concerned with was would I be able to get back to sleep if I crawled back into bed.
No point in leaving the house in this. What would happen to my car? I wasn't sure my insurance would cover flooding from the roof down.
Best to stay at home.
Catch up on my netflix.
Read that book I'll never read.
Masturbate.
Hate myself a little more.
Get drunk, pass out, wash, rinse, repeat.
I pranced back into the house. My hair bone dry but my nethers in need of a good toweling. I turned on the tube to get the full story. I was anxious to see what experts were lined up. Commenting on the insanity, but the cable was out. Maybe the sheer amount of information being pumped through fried the network lines. Or maybe I just forgot to pay the cable bill. I've been slipping on things like that lately. I still should set up some kind of auto bill pay. I'll get to it tomorrow.
Early morning showers turning to heavy
rain and thunderstorms by the evening.
Flood warnings for low lying areas.
Stay tuned for updates as they come. . "
I woke up and the bed was cold. The sheets pulled free to the right. She'd left. I'm not surprised. It's casual and if she hates herself half as much as I hate myself the morning after I can't fault her for bailing. At least it was raining. The pitter patter. Rhythmic. Drumming on garbage cans interspaced with the organic random beat of mother nature. I could forget. Last night, the day before, maybe even tomorrow. Shit, tomorrow.
My presentation was due. I was behind on it, but I didn't really care. I could sleep through it. As long as I had colorful visual aids and a PowerPoint song and dance the content wouldn't matter. But for now, my bed was cold. Honestly, I prefer it that way. My naked feet searched out the cold spots in the sheets. I closed my eyes and listened to the rain. Imagined I was puddle hopping nude through streets. Careless like a child. Refreshing.
Fuck it.
I should get up.
I got up.
Black coffee burned down my throat . It was half past ten, still early in my book. Why'd she have to leave so early. Am I really that bad. Is she really that nonchalant? Why did I care so much?
I put on my robe, slipped my feet into slippers, lit the first cigarette of the day and shuffled out onto the doorstep to get the paper. My eyes were still encrusted with the night's sleep. That's probably why it took me so long to notice, or maybe I'm just slow. Anyway, I shuffled down the concrete path reached down to where the paper boy always seems to land the paper and began to stumble buck to the door when it hit me.
Right up the nose.
The first thing that struck my mind, even before I fully comprehended what was taking place was "I'm glad I'm wearing underwear." I had more concern that mother nature may smite me with her own colonic than the gravity of the situation. For some odd and entirely incomprehensible reason, the rain had decided to fall up. Every where I looked the ground was shrouded in cloud. Dense and thick up to my knees, spewing forth was droplets of water racing towards a darkened sky. Like electricity racing between a conduit. Straight from the ground clouds into the safety of the waiting ones above.
Everything flooded in reverse. Rain water flowed up from storm drains and waterfalled into the heavens.
I looked to the Anderson's driveway next door. Their SUV's undercarriage had collected enough water to fill the cab inside. I looked in and viewed the aquarium of their lives. Their brat kid's empty juice boxes and cheerios once wedged between seat cushions now floated and bobbed like clown fish swimming through sea weed. The wife's prescription meds, freed from the glove box danced like jellyfish in the tide. They never parked it in the garage. Serves them right.
I mused for a moment how this change in the weather might affect my day. Would my presentation be postponed, would the world be thrown into upheaval. Was it localized to here or had the whole world gone topsy-turvy. All I was really concerned with was would I be able to get back to sleep if I crawled back into bed.
No point in leaving the house in this. What would happen to my car? I wasn't sure my insurance would cover flooding from the roof down.
Best to stay at home.
Catch up on my netflix.
Read that book I'll never read.
Masturbate.
Hate myself a little more.
Get drunk, pass out, wash, rinse, repeat.
I pranced back into the house. My hair bone dry but my nethers in need of a good toweling. I turned on the tube to get the full story. I was anxious to see what experts were lined up. Commenting on the insanity, but the cable was out. Maybe the sheer amount of information being pumped through fried the network lines. Or maybe I just forgot to pay the cable bill. I've been slipping on things like that lately. I still should set up some kind of auto bill pay. I'll get to it tomorrow.
True Story
Between beers three and four I found a manila envelope sitting on the bar stool next to me. I turned it over to see neatly stenciled words reading: DO NOT OPEN UNTIL THE PHONE CALL TELLS YOU TO.
To my credit, I waited a full thirty minuets before deciding a phone call wasn't forth coming and opened it.
I was hoping for a silenced PPK and grainy black & white photos of a prominent businessman or a visiting dignitary. Plane tickets to Moscow? A code disguised as a clever riddle? A scrap of micro film? Ship logs from the U.S.S. Eldridge? Photographs of the Roswell Crash?
I tore it open with dreams of adventure, danger and deceit but all I found was a badly painted picture of a fish.
Between beers five and six I remembered there's a sushi bar next door. It's probably the alcohol, but I've got a crazy hankering to kill me a chef.
To my credit, I waited a full thirty minuets before deciding a phone call wasn't forth coming and opened it.
I was hoping for a silenced PPK and grainy black & white photos of a prominent businessman or a visiting dignitary. Plane tickets to Moscow? A code disguised as a clever riddle? A scrap of micro film? Ship logs from the U.S.S. Eldridge? Photographs of the Roswell Crash?
I tore it open with dreams of adventure, danger and deceit but all I found was a badly painted picture of a fish.
Between beers five and six I remembered there's a sushi bar next door. It's probably the alcohol, but I've got a crazy hankering to kill me a chef.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Sins Of The Grandfather
We’re lucky when you think about it.
When they first arrived everyone was scared. Who wouldn’t be?
They were as big as cities. Hovering there in the air.
We all thought it was the end.
But there was nothing to fear.
They were here to help.
They looked strange to be sure, but familiar.
They were smart and kind.
They cured our sick and ended our wars.
They fed our hungry and gave us new energy.
We learned from them and they from us.
Historians, they studied every book written by human hand.
And they found something.
Something too recent in the scheme of things.
Something that troubled them.
They wouldn’t say what it was.
It was rumored that someone they read about reminded them of someone from their past.
They didn’t like it.
They said it must not happen again.
And we agreed.
So studies were made, and a list was released.
Some people protested, but then again some people always do.
Everyone agreed that the potential benefits outweighed their voices.
So we gave in to their demands.
So here I stand
Naked.
They said that we would be clothed as soon as we passed through decontamination.
Then we will board the amazing craft from beyond.
We haven't eaten in days, but they said an empty stomach helps with space sickness.
I stand in line, with my bar of decontaminate soap.
I can only marvel at what wonders await me in the beyond.
They said we were being taken to relocation communities.
They say the sins of our blood line must no longer linger in the population.
They’re probably right.
They’re smarter than us.
It’s my turn now.
The door hisses open and a voice tells me to step inside.
The doors close.
Germ killing gas fills the chamber.
Strange, it’s hard to breath. I’m sure it won’t last long.
We’re going where no man has gone before.
We’re kind of lucky when you think about it.
When they first arrived everyone was scared. Who wouldn’t be?
They were as big as cities. Hovering there in the air.
We all thought it was the end.
But there was nothing to fear.
They were here to help.
They looked strange to be sure, but familiar.
They were smart and kind.
They cured our sick and ended our wars.
They fed our hungry and gave us new energy.
We learned from them and they from us.
Historians, they studied every book written by human hand.
And they found something.
Something too recent in the scheme of things.
Something that troubled them.
They wouldn’t say what it was.
It was rumored that someone they read about reminded them of someone from their past.
They didn’t like it.
They said it must not happen again.
And we agreed.
So studies were made, and a list was released.
Some people protested, but then again some people always do.
Everyone agreed that the potential benefits outweighed their voices.
So we gave in to their demands.
So here I stand
Naked.
They said that we would be clothed as soon as we passed through decontamination.
Then we will board the amazing craft from beyond.
We haven't eaten in days, but they said an empty stomach helps with space sickness.
I stand in line, with my bar of decontaminate soap.
I can only marvel at what wonders await me in the beyond.
They said we were being taken to relocation communities.
They say the sins of our blood line must no longer linger in the population.
They’re probably right.
They’re smarter than us.
It’s my turn now.
The door hisses open and a voice tells me to step inside.
The doors close.
Germ killing gas fills the chamber.
Strange, it’s hard to breath. I’m sure it won’t last long.
We’re going where no man has gone before.
We’re kind of lucky when you think about it.
Hang Nail
I'm not quite sure how they found out, but they did.
At first I hardly noticed it. A snag here, a poke there, but nothing that would really tip me off. Let me in on their plan.
I mean, it's crazy right? They aren't sentient. They don't have eyes or ears, or even a mind.
Right?
I guess I shouldn't have read that article.
You know, the one in the New Yorker about the science of death. It talked about the 21 gram loss and the rate of decomposition. It explained the bacteria at work and the gasses released. But most of all, it mentioned the growth. It talked about how the hair and fingernails continue to grow after death. I always thought that hair and nail was just dead skin cells. Every school kid knows that, has tried to gross out their fellow playmate with tales of decay. Now I know better.
It must of been when I brushed that hair off the page. The vibrations of the ink against my finger tips. My nails felt it. They read that article like brail!
They know.
They know they no longer need me. It's only a mater of time.
At first I thought I was just careless. My fingers would snag on a shirt or on my seatbelt as I pulled it across my chest. But it escalated. They became razor sharp. The simple act of brushing my teeth or shaving became a surgical procedure. The slightest bit of carelessness and I would slit my own throat.
I know what you're thinking. Why don't you just trim them? Oh, trim I did. But the next morning they would be back. With the speed of bamboo. Like a bonsai, clipping them only promoted their growth.
And now I look like a comic book freak. fingers tipped with razor edged weapons. It's only a mater of time before I slip up, become careless.
Then it'll just be them.
They never needed me anyway.
Reign
They say the greatest trick I ever performed was convincing the world that I don’t exist. I’m convinced that the greatest trick the world ever played was convincing me that I do.
Do you know what the biggest advantage of being Lucipher is? I mean the true perks of the job of being the Lord of Darkness? It’s that no matter what happens, the politics of heaven and hell, the strife, the dismay, the pleading for souls, it’s that at the end of the day you're still Lucifer.
You know who you are.
You know your role, no mater what may come.
Never did I sit and think what could I have been. What my life would be like if I turned left instead of right. You have no idea how freeing it is to truly know what you are. I get angry, I never want, I never need to need. Come rain or shine I’m still Lucipher.
I vividly remember feeling this way. So, at any rate I know that it was once real. And quite frankly, I got off on it. But then one night, gazing into the fire place, watching flames dance in a color spectrum no human eye could ever perceive, burning so bright it would incinerate any mortal, the thought struck me.
And struck me hard.
Why in all the millennia I’ve been here have I never before questioned my existence?
I think, therefore I am.
Oh, if only it were that simple.
The politics of heaven and hell run solely on the power of human belief. With out them, we would cease to matter. What difference would it make to the cosmos where their soles went after death? If all the inner workings of the divine exist for this sole purpose, what existed before the belief?
“What you hold true on Earth, I’ll hold true in Heaven”, HE said that. If so, does that mean I’m here in my basement solely on the basis of belief? And what of my choir of daemons? Christianity wasn’t the first religion by a long shot. Marduk, Unicron, Ishtar, were Babylonian Gods. Beelzebub: Lord of the Flies, was Baal the Prince: God of the Canaanite Pantheon before history was rewritten by the powerful. If heaven and hell is truly eternal what are they doing here?
For that matter what am I doing here?
Lord of Darkness? How did it come to this? My name means Light Giver. The Morning Star, The first light of dawn, The Bearer of Light. How could a symbol of all that is fresh and new be condemned to be the poster child of evil? Or is the truth that it’s always darkest before morning,?
If I am all that is evil why have I still been unable define exactly what evil is? Is an act evil when there’s justifiable intent? Is an evil act good when it rights a wrong? Is evil simply a point of view. After all, there really is no light or dark, just varying degrees of shade.
I’ve been portrayed so many different ways. Devil as seducer, as politician, as trickster, but the Devil as philosopher? It was a new one to me.
If we were made in his image, what use does it serve me? What use are arms and legs in the realm of the insubstantial? Why have a face with wrinkles about my eyes when time is not linear? If time is not linear then why is there a today. Is today just tomorrow’s memory?
Questions propagated more questions, till everything seemed to unravel.
The veneer dropped. Like a hologram in a computer simulation, Hell ceased to be lakes of fire and chains of ice. It was just a place. And I...
...What was I?
Not knowing.
If there’s a Hell, that’s it.
I wonder if God feels the same way. Has the same thoughts. Or is he too ignorant to consider the possibilities?
To my knowledge I’ve never spoken to him. I remember it of course. The Love. The Idea. The Argument. The Fall. But I can’t say it ever took place for certain.
And Lilith. Poor Lilith, Cast out of Eden in place of Eve for she did not heed Adam. What way was that to create a race? For simply asking “why?“, one is cast out. For thinking differently they are banished. Lilith and I will always share an unbreakable bond, for we were the first critical thinkers, and yet, why hadn’t all this occurred to us earlier. Why now after all this time
In hindsight I regret ever mentioning it to her.
The thought was terrifying to her.
Lilith now stairs for all eternity into her mirror. Touching herself, tasting herself. Her throat is swollen and raw from constantly humming to herself. She says the pain is reassuring. Wired fish hooks pierce her eye lids and pull them back. Forever staring. Terrified that if she should blink, even for a second, she would cease to exist. If she didn’t hear her voice, she would go mute.
This is Hell.
You don’t know what it’s like to ponder things in the physical flesh. One morning I was walking by a lake, recalling what it felt like to see true love for the first time, how it felt to have my heart skip a beat. Suddenly , through no conscious act of my own, I was throwing a child’s heart across the lake, watching it skip several times before taking the plunge. I stood there for several moments, unemotionally staring at my hand and wondering why through brief word association that I was destined to do such a horrible act. Was it of some personal daemon lying with in my subconscious, or was it because that was what was expected of me? “How can the Devil think of love, no, no that wont do“, right?
We’re the tortures of man more effective than mine because I am incapable of forming ones of my own? Or is the very word “existentialism” synonymous with “hell”?
I had to know.
The truth.
I sat. Pondered for days about it. What could possibly ease my fear. Give me hope that destiny wasn’t written and I was my own being. Able to make my own decisions.
Day turned to weeks. Weeks to months. Months to centuries.
Finally, I emerged from my solitude. Weary but filled with resolve.
I knew what I had to do. What I had always promised to do.
I called forth a council and drew up the plans. I went to my fortress and drew forth my shinning armor and sword of flame.
I would fulfill a promise I made all those ages ago. I would do that which was always threatened I would. On my own terms.
I would raise heaven to the ground.
The ranks were assembled. The generals rode forth on beasts so foul. And at it’s head my winged serpent carried us through purgatory. We feasted on the Lost to enhance our strength. The taste of fresh blood filled us with the ecstasy to do what we knew needed to be done.
A trail of shattered souls flowed behind us all the way up to the Gates of Salvation.
Saint Peter posed no threat.
I dismounted my beast, pulled close my cloak, and gazed up the walls of the capital city of Heaven.
I looked up past the battlements. Past The Angels holding the wall. Past The Archangels with their shields held tight. Past The Principalities with their hammers of war. Past The Powers with their bows drawn tight. Past the Virtues with their healing tools. Past the Dominions with their volumes of strategy. Past The Thrones with their wheels of fire. Past The Cherubim atop their sphinx. Past the Seraphim with their flaming swords held high. It was past all these that I saw HIM. Sitting there on his throne.
I took one long, hard, look.
And I understood.
Unceremoniously I threw down my sword, turned, and walked away.
When I had looked into his eyes it was not the creator of all things, the knowing, benevolent and reassuring stare I had expected. It was my own. I read it in his face, the wrinkles, the weariness. I saw that the same fears that plagued me were all too familiar to him.
The curtain had been pulled back, and there was no wizard.
Head, dropped low, hands in my pockets, I walked home. Behind me I heard my daemons charge in their berserker frenzy. Any moment The Angels will clash with them and Armageddon will unfold, but to what purpose. If my brother’s fears are the same as mine than this is only happening because there are those that believe it so. If that's the case then the ending has already been written.
A breeze grows around me and I pull my cloak tighter. I feel cold. A True chill that I’ve never felt before. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end for the first time.
I know It’s time.
But there is a flipside to this. A grain of hope that is the only thing left to me.
I am able to take some comfort in the fact that, you there, reading this, may just be a delusion of my belief., and if so, I do not envy your Hell.
Do you know what the biggest advantage of being Lucipher is? I mean the true perks of the job of being the Lord of Darkness? It’s that no matter what happens, the politics of heaven and hell, the strife, the dismay, the pleading for souls, it’s that at the end of the day you're still Lucifer.
You know who you are.
You know your role, no mater what may come.
Never did I sit and think what could I have been. What my life would be like if I turned left instead of right. You have no idea how freeing it is to truly know what you are. I get angry, I never want, I never need to need. Come rain or shine I’m still Lucipher.
I vividly remember feeling this way. So, at any rate I know that it was once real. And quite frankly, I got off on it. But then one night, gazing into the fire place, watching flames dance in a color spectrum no human eye could ever perceive, burning so bright it would incinerate any mortal, the thought struck me.
And struck me hard.
Why in all the millennia I’ve been here have I never before questioned my existence?
I think, therefore I am.
Oh, if only it were that simple.
The politics of heaven and hell run solely on the power of human belief. With out them, we would cease to matter. What difference would it make to the cosmos where their soles went after death? If all the inner workings of the divine exist for this sole purpose, what existed before the belief?
“What you hold true on Earth, I’ll hold true in Heaven”, HE said that. If so, does that mean I’m here in my basement solely on the basis of belief? And what of my choir of daemons? Christianity wasn’t the first religion by a long shot. Marduk, Unicron, Ishtar, were Babylonian Gods. Beelzebub: Lord of the Flies, was Baal the Prince: God of the Canaanite Pantheon before history was rewritten by the powerful. If heaven and hell is truly eternal what are they doing here?
For that matter what am I doing here?
Lord of Darkness? How did it come to this? My name means Light Giver. The Morning Star, The first light of dawn, The Bearer of Light. How could a symbol of all that is fresh and new be condemned to be the poster child of evil? Or is the truth that it’s always darkest before morning,?
If I am all that is evil why have I still been unable define exactly what evil is? Is an act evil when there’s justifiable intent? Is an evil act good when it rights a wrong? Is evil simply a point of view. After all, there really is no light or dark, just varying degrees of shade.
I’ve been portrayed so many different ways. Devil as seducer, as politician, as trickster, but the Devil as philosopher? It was a new one to me.
If we were made in his image, what use does it serve me? What use are arms and legs in the realm of the insubstantial? Why have a face with wrinkles about my eyes when time is not linear? If time is not linear then why is there a today. Is today just tomorrow’s memory?
Questions propagated more questions, till everything seemed to unravel.
The veneer dropped. Like a hologram in a computer simulation, Hell ceased to be lakes of fire and chains of ice. It was just a place. And I...
...What was I?
Not knowing.
If there’s a Hell, that’s it.
I wonder if God feels the same way. Has the same thoughts. Or is he too ignorant to consider the possibilities?
To my knowledge I’ve never spoken to him. I remember it of course. The Love. The Idea. The Argument. The Fall. But I can’t say it ever took place for certain.
And Lilith. Poor Lilith, Cast out of Eden in place of Eve for she did not heed Adam. What way was that to create a race? For simply asking “why?“, one is cast out. For thinking differently they are banished. Lilith and I will always share an unbreakable bond, for we were the first critical thinkers, and yet, why hadn’t all this occurred to us earlier. Why now after all this time
In hindsight I regret ever mentioning it to her.
The thought was terrifying to her.
Lilith now stairs for all eternity into her mirror. Touching herself, tasting herself. Her throat is swollen and raw from constantly humming to herself. She says the pain is reassuring. Wired fish hooks pierce her eye lids and pull them back. Forever staring. Terrified that if she should blink, even for a second, she would cease to exist. If she didn’t hear her voice, she would go mute.
This is Hell.
You don’t know what it’s like to ponder things in the physical flesh. One morning I was walking by a lake, recalling what it felt like to see true love for the first time, how it felt to have my heart skip a beat. Suddenly , through no conscious act of my own, I was throwing a child’s heart across the lake, watching it skip several times before taking the plunge. I stood there for several moments, unemotionally staring at my hand and wondering why through brief word association that I was destined to do such a horrible act. Was it of some personal daemon lying with in my subconscious, or was it because that was what was expected of me? “How can the Devil think of love, no, no that wont do“, right?
We’re the tortures of man more effective than mine because I am incapable of forming ones of my own? Or is the very word “existentialism” synonymous with “hell”?
I had to know.
The truth.
I sat. Pondered for days about it. What could possibly ease my fear. Give me hope that destiny wasn’t written and I was my own being. Able to make my own decisions.
Day turned to weeks. Weeks to months. Months to centuries.
Finally, I emerged from my solitude. Weary but filled with resolve.
I knew what I had to do. What I had always promised to do.
I called forth a council and drew up the plans. I went to my fortress and drew forth my shinning armor and sword of flame.
I would fulfill a promise I made all those ages ago. I would do that which was always threatened I would. On my own terms.
I would raise heaven to the ground.
The ranks were assembled. The generals rode forth on beasts so foul. And at it’s head my winged serpent carried us through purgatory. We feasted on the Lost to enhance our strength. The taste of fresh blood filled us with the ecstasy to do what we knew needed to be done.
A trail of shattered souls flowed behind us all the way up to the Gates of Salvation.
Saint Peter posed no threat.
I dismounted my beast, pulled close my cloak, and gazed up the walls of the capital city of Heaven.
I looked up past the battlements. Past The Angels holding the wall. Past The Archangels with their shields held tight. Past The Principalities with their hammers of war. Past The Powers with their bows drawn tight. Past the Virtues with their healing tools. Past the Dominions with their volumes of strategy. Past The Thrones with their wheels of fire. Past The Cherubim atop their sphinx. Past the Seraphim with their flaming swords held high. It was past all these that I saw HIM. Sitting there on his throne.
I took one long, hard, look.
And I understood.
Unceremoniously I threw down my sword, turned, and walked away.
When I had looked into his eyes it was not the creator of all things, the knowing, benevolent and reassuring stare I had expected. It was my own. I read it in his face, the wrinkles, the weariness. I saw that the same fears that plagued me were all too familiar to him.
The curtain had been pulled back, and there was no wizard.
Head, dropped low, hands in my pockets, I walked home. Behind me I heard my daemons charge in their berserker frenzy. Any moment The Angels will clash with them and Armageddon will unfold, but to what purpose. If my brother’s fears are the same as mine than this is only happening because there are those that believe it so. If that's the case then the ending has already been written.
A breeze grows around me and I pull my cloak tighter. I feel cold. A True chill that I’ve never felt before. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end for the first time.
I know It’s time.
But there is a flipside to this. A grain of hope that is the only thing left to me.
I am able to take some comfort in the fact that, you there, reading this, may just be a delusion of my belief., and if so, I do not envy your Hell.
Friday, July 3, 2009
JoJo the Great
JoJo was a magician.Or at least that’s what he aspired to be.
You see, JoJo wasn’t very good.
But he tried.
It made him happy.
He bought books on slight of hand.
Tapes showing the secrets of the pros.
But nothing seemed to help JoJo get any better.
Everyone told JoJo he was too big to be a magician.
They told him he had no finesse.
No grace.
They told him magicians had to be smooth as ice.
JoJo was not smooth as ice.
His shoulders were too broad.
His belly too round.
His fingers were too thick
He wasn’t double jointed.
And as much as he tried, he could never fit into that tuxedo.
But that wouldn’t stop him.
No mater how many hours he practiced in his dank basement, he still couldn’t shuffle a deck.
He couldn’t make the ball disappear under the cup.
The dove would never fly out from under his sleeve.
JoJo was about to give up.
Maybe everyone was right?
Maybe magic really wasn’t for him?
But then it hit him!
He realized what it was that made a magician truly great!
It wasn’t a winning smile.
It wasn’t a sparkle in the eye.
It wasn’t a sharp out fit, or a snappy sound and light show.
It was an assistant!
So JoJo went out into the night.
Then returned 3 hours later with an assistant.
He took her down into the basement and set her down on a chair.
She was bound and gagged but you needed to be theatrical.
Secrets of the Greats which he purchased mail order for $19.99 taught him that.
It wasn’t what the trick, but how you performed it that mattered.
JoJo went into his closet of tricks and removed his Magical Wicker Basket of Persia.
He set it in the center of the room. Directly under the yellow spot light that hung from a chain.
He straightened his bow tie, tightened his slightly stained gloves, and bowed to his audience.
He removed the lid of the basket with flair and intent.
And grinned a grin which made his assistant flush.
He picked her up, placed her inside and replaced the lid.
He spun the basket around.
Once...
Twice...
Thrice.
So that the audience knew it was no trick.
With a “SLING!” and a “SHING” he drew forth the six sabers.
He feigned cutting his finger on the tip which was customary.
He banged them together to prove their metal.
He closed his eyes, focused hard, and drove the first blade through.
It slipped in easier than expected.
Smooth as ice.
As did the second and third blade, till all were securely piercing the basket.
As custom dictated he repeated by turning the basket around.
Once...
Twice...
Thrice.
And with all the excitement of a child at Christmas, he removed the lid, for all to see.
Arms raised in triumph, he closed his eyes and smiled.
But heard no applause.
He held his breath thinking the sheer impressiveness of JoJo’s feat had stunned them silent.
But time passed.
Still no applause.
JoJo cracked an eye and looked down into the basket...
JoJo went into the backyard and placed his assistant next to all the doves and rabbits that didn’t work anymore either.
It wasn’t my fault they weren’t magical, JoJo thought.
At least I’m good at making things disappear in other ways, he thought.
Shuffling he feet back into the house, he sat down, and picked up another magic book.
Maybe they're right, he thought.
Maybe magic wasn’t really for him.
“No.”
“I’ll just have to keep auditioning, to find the right assistant. “
Monday, June 29, 2009
Clipped Wings
It took me a moment to remember why my legs weren’t working. The sight of her had made me forget I was drunk, so when she slammed the door strait in my face, I didn’t quite know why I was still standing there. Well, leaning more than standing, but, you get my drift.
But, I got home Okay.
I remember getting in my car. I remember getting into bed, but, the trip home was a black hole. I do that too much. It should scare me, but it doesn’t. I should be dead by now, let alone a DUI. Maybe some one up there likes me. No, if someone up there liked me I wouldn’t have been on her doorstep in the first place.
It wasn't the plan. Okay, that’s not completely true. I was aware of her proximity when my work buddies wanted to drink way the fuck out there. It’s a big city, plenty of places to spend an evening, but if I backed out there would have been questions and I don’t like questions.
We had our fun. Talked shop. Caught the tail end of the World Series of Poker. Then they had to appease their ladies’ constant text messages and call it a night. Was I ever that appeasing?
Anyway, I was three sheets to the wind and ended up on her doorstep even before I even realized where I was stumbling too.
I’m pretty sure I got some words out. Something to the affect of an apology for something I’m not quite sure whether or not I did. And to her credit, I think she listened, but honestly all I remember is how good she looked. Then the door.
On the sobering walk back to Main Street I turned it over in my head whether or not I had hallucinated a male voice somewhere in the background. Right before the door slammed shut.
When I got back to my car the last place I wanted to be was alone in bed. That’s how I found myself at Rick’s. The owner was a sixty year old Brit named Mickey but he was a huge Casablanca fan, which is actually what brought me in the bar the first time around.
Her name isn’t important, just that I was there that night because of her.
I had been going there for years. Everyone knew me. I could draw you all the do-dads on the walls by heart. I briefly dated one of the waitresses. The barkeep always had my drink on the oak before I reached it. One of the few places in my life that really felt like home. Safe. I hadn’t been there recently. Relationships have a tendency to create new homes for you. Anyway, the point is, I was there because of her.
“Fascinating sport, archery.”
“Excuse me” I said.
“The TV. Archery.”
Roused from my pit of despair, I looked up to the glowing monitor behind the bar. The one mounted next to the big glass mirror? Anyhow, ESPN was on. Bows and arrows. I was never a sports fan. I think my uncle was pretty good at it in high school back in New York. Or was it my cousin? I dunno. I wasn’t really watching it, just sort a staring blindly. Moping.
“Oh, I wasn't really watching.”
“Phallic sport. An angled head speeding to penetrate that small circular bull's eye.”
“Really? Always thought it more a weapon than a sport.”
“Same difference.” He shot back. “You’ve been nursing the same drink for the better part of an hour and I‘ve never been one to allow good alcohol to waste” he said.
Oh sorry, he was Cliff. Or at least that’s what I called him. He was this guy who reminded me of John Ratzenberger on Cheers. You know, Cliff Clavin, the mail man? “Everyone knows your name”? Anyhow, Cliff was this guy who pretty much lived there, always sat alone in the corner. He had never said a word to me, nor I to him. Always figured he was a friend of Mickey‘s. Had nothing better to do than to sit and drink for free. But here he was, out of his corner, stool pulled up next to mine.
“So uh, I don’t mean to pry but, uh... what’s her name?”
I took a long sip, “What’s who’s name?” I swallowed coldly.
“Actually, on second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Doesn't mater, Really. Frustrating though ain’t it?”
“What’s frustrating?”
“It. The “L“ Word, numb nuts. S’ok, it is for everybody. But you know, a little more so for our ilk.”
“And what's our ilk?” I asked dryly.
“You know, us. You and me. Well, more you than me actually. I’m kind of excluded from the demographic. Insider information doesn't allow me to participate. Believe me I‘ve tried. With, what you might call various degrees of success.”
“Look man, I don't want to be rude or anything but I haven't a clue what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do. It’s ok, you're blinded at the moment. They do that to you. It’s not a bad thing, just something they do. Hell, most of the time they don‘t know they‘re doing it.”
I was starting to get a annoyed. I know this guy was trying to help but I just wanted him to retire to his little corner and allow me to wallow in my misery as I saw fit. HE however saw fit to continue.
“You and I are the same. I know, I’ve watched you. I've seen you in here. A dying breed we are. Dying, but not dead yet. There are still a few more of us out there, but it’s not like the old days. Yes siree, The Romantics are on the way out the door.”
“Look buddy, I know you’re trying to help, but... I’m not really in the mood for company.”
“Sure you are, only it’s not my company you’re wanting to keep. And I’m sorry to break it to you friend, but chances are she ain’t walking through that door.”
“Thank you for driving the nail deeper.”
“You’re welcome” he said through a toothy grin. “It’s what you need to hear.”
“Jimmy?” I asked the bartender, “Why don’t you get my carpenter friend here another drink? Put something to his lips so I don‘t have to hear what‘s coming out of them.”
“Whiskey, neat.” he orders and brought it to his mouth with a salute. “Thanks, brother.”
The slam of the glass across the old oak bar hammered back memories. Days at the beach, The way her eyes closed when she swallowed a gulp of wine, the way she smelled when she...
“Stop it!” he interjected.
“You’re not helping yourself, son. I’m trying to help you here, but if you don’t want to help yourself, what’s the point?”
“What is the point?” I fired back. “I came here to be alone, get fucked up. It’s all I want to do.”
“Listen, romance is few and far between. Don’t spoil it. Your grief is part of the game. When a relationship dies, a part of you dies with it. Mourn it sure, but move on. Take what you’ve lost and apply it to something new Don't make the same mistakes. You will make the same mistakes, of course, but, It’s the only way we learn."
I was starting to listening. What can I say, the guy had charisma.
“Let me tell ya something...Ages ago. Long before you were born. Hell, long before anyone was born, I met this girl. She was, she was beautiful, no beyond beautiful. She was meant for me. I knew it, in my heart of hearts. She was like looking at the sun. So radiant she couldn't be denied, yet you knew you shouldn't look 'cause you'd go blind? But, she was to marry another. This, this hulking mass of putrescence. There was nothing in him. What could he offer her? Yet, it was he she chose. I had known her, well, as long as it mattered. I had been a faithful friend, I had been true, yet still, it was he who was to be in her arms. He who was to be...well, there you have it.”
There are some, well, most, who have told me that what I did was wrong. Ask me a thousand times and I’ll still tell you, wrong it may have been, but it in my heart of hearts it was right! I stole her away. Somewhere safe, content, happy. She WAS happy!
Night after night. I'd come to her. Sure, she cried, but, she cried because she knew it couldn't last, you understand? I know, how this sounds. but believe when I tell you, these were simpler times.” He insisted.
Now, normally from anyone else this would have sounded nuts. The rantings of a rapist. But there was something., I don't know, sincere. It wasn't creepy. Even in my inebriated state, it didn’t feel dirty, didn’t feel wrong.
He continued “She was happy. Away from him. In my arms, in, in my palace..." he trailed off.
Then silence.
"Well, what happened?" I inquired.
Glazed eyes, a thousand miles away he replied "It uh, it didn't work out. Could I have another Jimmy?"
He threw the amber liquid back with what looked like the wipe of a tear.
"Anyway" he said, composing himself, "I didn't mean to go on about myself. My time has come and gone. It's you that's the issue. The point I’m trying to make is that whoever she is, if she ain’t sitting down here next to you then, ces't la vie! I know how cheesy that sounds. But look, It doesn't matter what happened or who’s fault it was. The fact that the two of you couldn’t reconcile it like to grown adults speaks to the fact that it wasn’t written in the stars. It’s a lot of work, it’s trial and error. If it was easy then it wouldn’t be worth it my friend.”
“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” I asked.
“Oh, you misunderstand. It was never my intention to make you feel better. Just help. Tell you like it is. You decide what to do with it. It’ll never get easier, so get used to it.”
“So after all this, that’s your advice, get used to it?”
“Ya, that and alcohol helps. Jimmy, one more for the road if you wouldn’t mind?”
“Ya, uh, I’ll have another too please.” I said
The bartender set our glasses on the bar and with a clink of glasses and a wink in his eye we threw them back.
“Well, that dose it for me.” he said stumbling off his stool and awkwardly regaining his balance. “Don’t over do it tonight. Get home safe. As I said, there’s not too many of us left”
I held up my drink and lied “This is my last.”
“Right” he replied sarcastically. “You’re down, but not out. Don’t let her keep you down too long.”
The rest you know.
Made it back to my car. Made it in bed.
Woke up with not the worst of hangovers but pretty damn close.
I’d like to tell you that that night changed my life. That I went out into the world with a new found perspective and a bounce in my step. But I didn’t. He didn’t really tell me anything I didn’t already know. Hell, anything most people already know. He just put it a little plainer, maybe a bit more poetic in a drunken sort of way? I got over her of course. I’ve been visiting Rick’s more often. Mostly on Saturdays so my friends can make asses of themselves on karaoke night. I never saw Cliff again, but that hardly surprised me. One night I asked Jimmy what happened to him. He didn’t know who I was talking about. lame I know but, the truth.
That’s pretty much the end. Not the best of stories I know but, I saw you sitting here, nursing that beer for over an hour. Thought I’d pass on his words.
Anyhow man, finish your beer, get home safe, don’t let her get you down. There ain’t too many of us left out there.
But, I got home Okay.
I remember getting in my car. I remember getting into bed, but, the trip home was a black hole. I do that too much. It should scare me, but it doesn’t. I should be dead by now, let alone a DUI. Maybe some one up there likes me. No, if someone up there liked me I wouldn’t have been on her doorstep in the first place.
It wasn't the plan. Okay, that’s not completely true. I was aware of her proximity when my work buddies wanted to drink way the fuck out there. It’s a big city, plenty of places to spend an evening, but if I backed out there would have been questions and I don’t like questions.
We had our fun. Talked shop. Caught the tail end of the World Series of Poker. Then they had to appease their ladies’ constant text messages and call it a night. Was I ever that appeasing?
Anyway, I was three sheets to the wind and ended up on her doorstep even before I even realized where I was stumbling too.
I’m pretty sure I got some words out. Something to the affect of an apology for something I’m not quite sure whether or not I did. And to her credit, I think she listened, but honestly all I remember is how good she looked. Then the door.
On the sobering walk back to Main Street I turned it over in my head whether or not I had hallucinated a male voice somewhere in the background. Right before the door slammed shut.
When I got back to my car the last place I wanted to be was alone in bed. That’s how I found myself at Rick’s. The owner was a sixty year old Brit named Mickey but he was a huge Casablanca fan, which is actually what brought me in the bar the first time around.
Her name isn’t important, just that I was there that night because of her.
I had been going there for years. Everyone knew me. I could draw you all the do-dads on the walls by heart. I briefly dated one of the waitresses. The barkeep always had my drink on the oak before I reached it. One of the few places in my life that really felt like home. Safe. I hadn’t been there recently. Relationships have a tendency to create new homes for you. Anyway, the point is, I was there because of her.
“Fascinating sport, archery.”
“Excuse me” I said.
“The TV. Archery.”
Roused from my pit of despair, I looked up to the glowing monitor behind the bar. The one mounted next to the big glass mirror? Anyhow, ESPN was on. Bows and arrows. I was never a sports fan. I think my uncle was pretty good at it in high school back in New York. Or was it my cousin? I dunno. I wasn’t really watching it, just sort a staring blindly. Moping.
“Oh, I wasn't really watching.”
“Phallic sport. An angled head speeding to penetrate that small circular bull's eye.”
“Really? Always thought it more a weapon than a sport.”
“Same difference.” He shot back. “You’ve been nursing the same drink for the better part of an hour and I‘ve never been one to allow good alcohol to waste” he said.
Oh sorry, he was Cliff. Or at least that’s what I called him. He was this guy who reminded me of John Ratzenberger on Cheers. You know, Cliff Clavin, the mail man? “Everyone knows your name”? Anyhow, Cliff was this guy who pretty much lived there, always sat alone in the corner. He had never said a word to me, nor I to him. Always figured he was a friend of Mickey‘s. Had nothing better to do than to sit and drink for free. But here he was, out of his corner, stool pulled up next to mine.
“So uh, I don’t mean to pry but, uh... what’s her name?”
I took a long sip, “What’s who’s name?” I swallowed coldly.
“Actually, on second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Doesn't mater, Really. Frustrating though ain’t it?”
“What’s frustrating?”
“It. The “L“ Word, numb nuts. S’ok, it is for everybody. But you know, a little more so for our ilk.”
“And what's our ilk?” I asked dryly.
“You know, us. You and me. Well, more you than me actually. I’m kind of excluded from the demographic. Insider information doesn't allow me to participate. Believe me I‘ve tried. With, what you might call various degrees of success.”
“Look man, I don't want to be rude or anything but I haven't a clue what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do. It’s ok, you're blinded at the moment. They do that to you. It’s not a bad thing, just something they do. Hell, most of the time they don‘t know they‘re doing it.”
I was starting to get a annoyed. I know this guy was trying to help but I just wanted him to retire to his little corner and allow me to wallow in my misery as I saw fit. HE however saw fit to continue.
“You and I are the same. I know, I’ve watched you. I've seen you in here. A dying breed we are. Dying, but not dead yet. There are still a few more of us out there, but it’s not like the old days. Yes siree, The Romantics are on the way out the door.”
“Look buddy, I know you’re trying to help, but... I’m not really in the mood for company.”
“Sure you are, only it’s not my company you’re wanting to keep. And I’m sorry to break it to you friend, but chances are she ain’t walking through that door.”
“Thank you for driving the nail deeper.”
“You’re welcome” he said through a toothy grin. “It’s what you need to hear.”
“Jimmy?” I asked the bartender, “Why don’t you get my carpenter friend here another drink? Put something to his lips so I don‘t have to hear what‘s coming out of them.”
“Whiskey, neat.” he orders and brought it to his mouth with a salute. “Thanks, brother.”
The slam of the glass across the old oak bar hammered back memories. Days at the beach, The way her eyes closed when she swallowed a gulp of wine, the way she smelled when she...
“Stop it!” he interjected.
“You’re not helping yourself, son. I’m trying to help you here, but if you don’t want to help yourself, what’s the point?”
“What is the point?” I fired back. “I came here to be alone, get fucked up. It’s all I want to do.”
“Listen, romance is few and far between. Don’t spoil it. Your grief is part of the game. When a relationship dies, a part of you dies with it. Mourn it sure, but move on. Take what you’ve lost and apply it to something new Don't make the same mistakes. You will make the same mistakes, of course, but, It’s the only way we learn."
I was starting to listening. What can I say, the guy had charisma.
“Let me tell ya something...Ages ago. Long before you were born. Hell, long before anyone was born, I met this girl. She was, she was beautiful, no beyond beautiful. She was meant for me. I knew it, in my heart of hearts. She was like looking at the sun. So radiant she couldn't be denied, yet you knew you shouldn't look 'cause you'd go blind? But, she was to marry another. This, this hulking mass of putrescence. There was nothing in him. What could he offer her? Yet, it was he she chose. I had known her, well, as long as it mattered. I had been a faithful friend, I had been true, yet still, it was he who was to be in her arms. He who was to be...well, there you have it.”
There are some, well, most, who have told me that what I did was wrong. Ask me a thousand times and I’ll still tell you, wrong it may have been, but it in my heart of hearts it was right! I stole her away. Somewhere safe, content, happy. She WAS happy!
Night after night. I'd come to her. Sure, she cried, but, she cried because she knew it couldn't last, you understand? I know, how this sounds. but believe when I tell you, these were simpler times.” He insisted.
Now, normally from anyone else this would have sounded nuts. The rantings of a rapist. But there was something., I don't know, sincere. It wasn't creepy. Even in my inebriated state, it didn’t feel dirty, didn’t feel wrong.
He continued “She was happy. Away from him. In my arms, in, in my palace..." he trailed off.
Then silence.
"Well, what happened?" I inquired.
Glazed eyes, a thousand miles away he replied "It uh, it didn't work out. Could I have another Jimmy?"
He threw the amber liquid back with what looked like the wipe of a tear.
"Anyway" he said, composing himself, "I didn't mean to go on about myself. My time has come and gone. It's you that's the issue. The point I’m trying to make is that whoever she is, if she ain’t sitting down here next to you then, ces't la vie! I know how cheesy that sounds. But look, It doesn't matter what happened or who’s fault it was. The fact that the two of you couldn’t reconcile it like to grown adults speaks to the fact that it wasn’t written in the stars. It’s a lot of work, it’s trial and error. If it was easy then it wouldn’t be worth it my friend.”
“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” I asked.
“Oh, you misunderstand. It was never my intention to make you feel better. Just help. Tell you like it is. You decide what to do with it. It’ll never get easier, so get used to it.”
“So after all this, that’s your advice, get used to it?”
“Ya, that and alcohol helps. Jimmy, one more for the road if you wouldn’t mind?”
“Ya, uh, I’ll have another too please.” I said
The bartender set our glasses on the bar and with a clink of glasses and a wink in his eye we threw them back.
“Well, that dose it for me.” he said stumbling off his stool and awkwardly regaining his balance. “Don’t over do it tonight. Get home safe. As I said, there’s not too many of us left”
I held up my drink and lied “This is my last.”
“Right” he replied sarcastically. “You’re down, but not out. Don’t let her keep you down too long.”
The rest you know.
Made it back to my car. Made it in bed.
Woke up with not the worst of hangovers but pretty damn close.
I’d like to tell you that that night changed my life. That I went out into the world with a new found perspective and a bounce in my step. But I didn’t. He didn’t really tell me anything I didn’t already know. Hell, anything most people already know. He just put it a little plainer, maybe a bit more poetic in a drunken sort of way? I got over her of course. I’ve been visiting Rick’s more often. Mostly on Saturdays so my friends can make asses of themselves on karaoke night. I never saw Cliff again, but that hardly surprised me. One night I asked Jimmy what happened to him. He didn’t know who I was talking about. lame I know but, the truth.
That’s pretty much the end. Not the best of stories I know but, I saw you sitting here, nursing that beer for over an hour. Thought I’d pass on his words.
Anyhow man, finish your beer, get home safe, don’t let her get you down. There ain’t too many of us left out there.
Insomnia
In less than three hours I will have been up for an entire day. Unfortunately, it is in no way shape or form voluntary. I laid there trying everything; counting breaths, concentrating on relaxing my toes and then moving up the body, Sleepy Time tea, reading. No luck. My brain simple will not shut off. So, I rolled out of bed and figured what better time to start a blog.
I used to post my short fiction on myspace, which I'm sure I'll post on here in various degrees of completion, but I've never put my rants to paper, and I've been ranting a lot lately!
First off.
Definition: "You Are So On The Rocket"
Everyone naturally assumes that there is some sort of sexual connotation going on there. While it may be hard (wink, wink) for some to ignore the phallic, it's orgins lie in the dorky recessess of Simi Valley High School.
Among my many friends and cohorts was a one Mattamillion Raum. Part Andy Rooney, part Pinky & The Brain and part Unabomber, Matt had this crazy idea to run for Governor of the state of California on the platform of enacting a State run Space Program. Why let the underfunding of N.A.S.A. stand in the way of humans colonizing the cosmos? Of course the real goal was to invite a specialy selected group of individuals, let's call them "undesirables". They would board the spacecraft thinking they were to terraform the moon or Mars, but all Matt wanted to do was to shoot them into the sun.
The list would fluctuate from day to day: Teachers, Celebrities, heiressess, anyone who had ever appeared on a reality show. Cross his path and "You are so on the fucking rocket!"
So get your minds out of the gutter. You should know by now that anything I say has to have a dorky, yet oddly charming origin.
OK, I think this is enough for now. Stay tuned for some short fiction.
Same Bat Time, Same Bat Channel.
I used to post my short fiction on myspace, which I'm sure I'll post on here in various degrees of completion, but I've never put my rants to paper, and I've been ranting a lot lately!
First off.
Definition: "You Are So On The Rocket"
Everyone naturally assumes that there is some sort of sexual connotation going on there. While it may be hard (wink, wink) for some to ignore the phallic, it's orgins lie in the dorky recessess of Simi Valley High School.
Among my many friends and cohorts was a one Mattamillion Raum. Part Andy Rooney, part Pinky & The Brain and part Unabomber, Matt had this crazy idea to run for Governor of the state of California on the platform of enacting a State run Space Program. Why let the underfunding of N.A.S.A. stand in the way of humans colonizing the cosmos? Of course the real goal was to invite a specialy selected group of individuals, let's call them "undesirables". They would board the spacecraft thinking they were to terraform the moon or Mars, but all Matt wanted to do was to shoot them into the sun.
The list would fluctuate from day to day: Teachers, Celebrities, heiressess, anyone who had ever appeared on a reality show. Cross his path and "You are so on the fucking rocket!"
So get your minds out of the gutter. You should know by now that anything I say has to have a dorky, yet oddly charming origin.
OK, I think this is enough for now. Stay tuned for some short fiction.
Same Bat Time, Same Bat Channel.
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