Crooked Finger.

I know you’ve made the effort,

to fish me out and throw me aloft,

you’ve been on belay for a decade,

awaiting the tension on my end to let off,

you typically would never bother with,

hand-holding of the incompetent,

you have no patience or tolerance,

with things that lean to your detriment,

yet somehow your open palmed hand,

remains out to me, wherever I am,

even if I don’t know where I stand,

the bear blazes trails to the lamb,

I probably disappoint your mind,

and let your spirit down all the time,

I probably don’t very well epitomize,

the things you stand for in my own eyes,

I guess I feel heavy against your soaring flight,

like a weight on your ankle without any right,

I want you to achieve the dreams in your life,

with both of your hands free to win the fight,

            you’ll need both hands to accept the trophies,

            to stab at the person breaking and entering,

            to sign checks, breaks necks with your badassery,

            keep your hands free from the mess known as me.

 

 

 

African Tools of Death.

For Sam:

You are an enigma.

Enigmatic to my drab eye,

you spark against my darkened sky,

with you, comes the mental hum,

you loan me peace of mind,

no love letters or epic songs,

might ever rightfully define,

or accurately emphasize,

how you’re a stationary prize,

that hangs higher than all else,

higher than you likely realize,

I just can’t help myself,

from warming in your light,

resigning my heart, outright,

to the magic and the might,

you’ll never fully perceive,

the grip you maintain on me,

You are a beam of light.

Lightning bolts that strike,

cutting sharp as knives,

through life’s dark scenery,

You are full of surprises.

From the depths of such rebellion,

and what’s left of the little Hellion,

your character  arises,

to shine so singularly,

so winningly, impressively, eternally,

you’ve yet to fail the friend in me,

and so…respectfully and true,

thoughts especially of you,

that words might do

some kind of justice to.

Continental Story Books.

She wrote for me,
a book of recipes,
filled page upon page –
with the ingredients I’d need,
and, day after day –
it’s a book I still read;
detailing poisons –
in her own handwriting,
pressed in between –
old weathered binding,
soft leather skin,
full of soul, and divinity;
a handbook,
to guide through,
the dark days ahead –
written in a language,
spoken to and by the dead,
and it should be clear –
why I hold so dear,
the words that I have read;
she drew a picture-book,
and dedicated it me –
filled it with her paintings,
and photos of the beach,
chained it,
with a padlock,
beneath iron lock and key…
and the only person,
on this Earth,
who can open it –
is ME.

Half-Bred Beast.

Through the vastness,
of Human eternity,
scatter all roads,
ever taken by me,
the archaic line,
of woven patches,
sewn intricately,
into man-made time,
indefinitely;
Never in so long,
did I ever meet,
another earthly creature,
one part: Woman,
and, one part: Beast,
muscular-skeletal control,
over walking legs,
that naturally,
upright stand,
very deeply,
mindful,
steeped by,
self-control:
this creature…
‘Sam I am’;
Try traveling again,
without,
the face,
of this friend,
try carrying on,
as if it’s:
all just fine again,
nothing between,
the hearts,
of just me,
and, specifically –
this companion,
has ever been,
happy at the end;
Indemnified,
for she and I,
there’s no limit,
to the blue,
that ever-paints the sky,
no limit to the shading,
of green streaks,
spreading far and wide,
my friend, it’s true:
shooting stars,
are just the glue,
that keeps the twinkle,
alive to our eyes.

Q and A.

Q: If you could be any character in the cast of ‘One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ who would it be? Why?
A: Oh c’mon now…this is a no-brainer – as I would surely be the Chief (Bromden), hands down; I suppose my reason for choosing the Chief would be simply based on his vision and perception in regard to the world and how he believes it to operate (the Combine)…his character is uniquely insane, his tactics are admirable, and indeed, my own genetic Heinz is even similar to his.

Q: What is the definition of a ‘Lightning fast’ reply?
A: OMFG! You are such a bitch for this question, because, you know as well as I do how I want to respond to this!!! I DID actually find the screenshot you sent me early last year that was an excellent summary the answer to this particular query…hmmmmmmm…I plead the 5th.

Q: Name three Pirate Weapons suitable for wall art?
A: Are we talking generalized Pirate Weapons or “African Tools of Death”? Because in that arena, you have a fine selection displayed in your living room…as for my own wall art (if we’re talking about the Scurvy Ridden Sailor Pirates), I’d go with
a) the good ol’ Cutlass blade for its unfailing aesthetic pleasure
b) the twin pair of wheel-lock pistols
c) that long wood (and sometimes iron-tipped) stake that was used on deck whatever it was called, I don’t know but they look cool

Q: If you could choose only one Dan Simmons quote to put on a sticker to be made in bulk to stick on the windscreens on the cars of whoever you chose, which would it be?
A: Uuuuggghh! This is so not fair of you! How can I choose just one? Okay, either:
“Better to die on your feet than your knees.” – Ilium
OR
“Stupidity has a price; and it always gets paid.” – Hyperion

Q: What part of pop culture do you wish would just go away?
A: Ummm…can I say all of it, and it would count as an answer?

Q: If you could name a racehorse, what would you name it?
A: Chongo Machismo; or something.

Q: If you could have a drink with someone from history who would it be?
A: Abe Lincoln; Cutty Sark.

Q: If you HAD to sing karaoke, what song would you sing?
A: No Sleep til Brooklyn.

Q: If you were allowed to have Serge for two whole days, what would you do?
A: Omg, the possibilities…hmmmm…definitely take him somewhere local on the Light Rail because he obviously has a fondness for trains – he might enjoy a baseball game or the beach…we could go to the zoo but not go inside and he could take selfies in front of the sign or whatever…I wonder if he swims….

serge the llama
Q; I set you up on a blind date. 10 minutes in you decide the bloke is totally not floating your boat. How do you escape?
A: First of all, you would NEVER set me up on a blind date with anyone dude, c’mon geez… and, I guess you’d have my escape route all mapped out for me already if you ever did.

Q: Weapon of choice for ‘interviewing’?
A: Does my tongue count?

Q: You could inhabit the body of another human being – still living – for 3 hours. For any reason, and you could do anything you wanted. What would you do?
A: I’m thinking I’d become a teller at the bank for a few hours; and you know damned well what I’d do. 😉

Q: Where does your love of words come from?
A: My Dad’s father, my Papa Joe; he was a wordsmith from the old school.

Q: What meal do you make best?
A: Lasagna from scratch; or my French Toast is pretty good, too.

Q: If you could master any skill / trade – what would it be?
A: Taxidermy

Q; What was the last thing you laughed at?
A: This questionnaire. My fucking sides hurt now…

Q: Have you ever shoplifted, and if you have what did you lift?
A: Yes. Once when I was super young I was in Mervyn’s with my Dad and I popped open the plastic covering on a bath set in a basket in order to take a single bath oil bead, because the curiosity was eating me alive and I had to know what it felt like.

Fill in the blanks: (In bold-italic)
You won’t believe! She said “fuck“ and then I said ”oh fuck” and then the whole place just exploded because he had tried to be a fucking Magician. It was crazy. Did you see my eyebrows? Because, seriously, they’re like…gone, dude.
Q: Miss me yet?
A: Always.

A Bear(Trainer’s) Birthday.

“ALLIANCE, n.
In international politics, the union of two thieves who have their hands so deeply inserted in each other’s pockets that they cannot separately plunder a third.

HAPPINESS, n.
An agreeable sensation arising from contemplating the misery of others.”
– Ambrose Bierce

kick it

Today is a special day; it is the day that celebrates the birth of my best friend.
There is no way to gain through the words of any language known to humankind, the ultimate and profound finality that represents the birth of this individual into the world. On the birthday of such a human being, I find myself in deep recollection about the birth of all things before and after her own – of all things cosmic and worldly; minute and massive; near and far.
In a selfish way, today is kind of a birthday of my own to celebrate – it marks the birth of an individual whose influences over the years between my own birth and death are inarguably strong and incomparable. It marks the day that, despite having been a while ago, was the day that a God smiled upon me for whatever reason, and sent me Sam. Today is the anniversary that some of the most lasting and meaningful words ever written coming to life in the tiny brain of an angry infant somewhere in South Africa; one who would grow wiser and stronger than the Gods could have foreseen; one who defies the odds.
Sam is the Meri to my Pippin; the Drax to my Rocket, she is the Florizel to my Geraldine. I have truly come to refuse any real thought of life without her; she is the John Keats to my Joseph Servern – and I would follow her to the most gruesome of deaths, if she asked such of me.
Most importantly about Sam’s birthday though, in my opinion, is the fact that whether she likes to wear the jacket or not – SHE IS A SURVIVOR – who has made it to see another year; she is yet, another year older than certain weasels from her past might have liked to see her become. She continues to defy, spitting in faces as she passes by. I wouldn’t trade her for anything.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SAM – THE BEAR TRAINER.

Sense.

For My Best Friend

throwdown-03-370x208

I hear frustrated sighs,

see the roll of her eyes,

as she finds me this way,

for the third time today…

I have fallen down again,

anchored by my resignation,

she leans close to emphasize,

the need for me to open my eyes…

she whispers things cool and soft,

as she props me up and dusts me off,

a shame, she says – my self-loathing,

she always comes to slap sense into me…

somehow, when no one can tell me a thing,

her words slip through and truthfully ring,

she has carried me, half-dead, through the fire,

she single-handedly smoldered my burning fuse-wire…

she gives me courage and strength to trudge through,

the days on this Earth that I have left to pursue,

she is a pillar that I all too often use to stand up,

I’ve been trained by a Bear not to dare to give up.