A Place To Steep

If I had a postage stamp piece of land of my own, I would build something weird to live in, a place to steep. At this time in my life, I live in a rented house by the Kettle River, and my closet is full of shoes.

The Smell of Spring

After feeding my shadow by writing some weird sf stories, I'm looking forward to getting outside for some fresh air. The grass in the yard and meadow has grown a foot higher in the past couple of days. Spring has so many shades of green. The sheep across the road seem to be enjoying the new grass.







In her victory garden,
The grass grows all around.
She plants, you digs,
She waves her twig.
Sweet Anna Marie Brown .

The Bizarre Is Open

"Penelope! Fasten your fat ass seat belt, and hold on to your thinking cap. We're blasting off this primeval hell hole." From the blackness of night, a dense shadow moves slowly across the desert landscape towards the rocket-shaped silver ship.
"What the bloody hell. Look!" Pointing a shaking finger at the yellow view screen, the overlay web-grid flashes several times and blinks out.
"Didn't I tell you to fix that when we first landed? Didn't I?"
"Don't get your spandex in a wad mama. It's not like we don't know how to blast off blind." With a gloating glance at his brassy bimbo, Bruce Boston flips several agamic FDL switches into action.
"Okay Mr. Machismo." she says in his ear, "But just in case you haven't notced, that mordacious slithering thing has just coiled its self around our ships landing gear."
"It's time to Rock and Roll! Pump-up the electromagnetic magneto Baby, outrageous charcoal barbecue is on the menu. We'll show our Chitauri friend out there, his old space bucket still has a rare trick or two up her skirt fins."
Thumping the console twice with the back of his sausage sized knuckles, Bruce Boston watches the viewing screen explode in raw waves of flesh.
"Oh My! That had to have hurt." Penelope Boston adjusts her shoulders back and forth in her overstuffed chair, her zippered space suit showing the full extent of her full-noon cleavage. Looking at the back of her hand, highly polished plum-coloured fingernails reflect Bruce's toothy grin.
"Where to Baby Cakes?"
In a whorl of gray smoke, dust, and chard cinders, a silver cylinder lifts up.
"I hear close encounters of fifth dimension are playing in Alpha Draconis."
Against the backdrop of black velvet, the darkness swallowed them.

The Lock of Relegate

My ship I fear lost, I have no device to measure real time on this frightful prison planet. I try to blockout the alien's meslée, a mellifluous communication. Their sonic language can kill. It is similar to an earwig that eats into the brain, leaving only a hollow shell of a skull behind, When the madness of being alone weakens me, I listen in the night to their piped-in lies. It feeds on my brain, killing my strength ever so slowly. Soon the planet's temperature will increase, scorching all life on the surface.
"Good riddens remora." I say.
A nasty Epocolips death they called it. In my cell at the bottom of a deep cave shaft, I spit out a hot stream of salty blood after pulling another festering tooth, and I curse their fat rotting flesh to hell.
The cold slime in this prison grows thick, the stench unbearable. What little air allotted to me is feted. A gelatinous insect creature shimmers at my cell door. Casting a faint glow, it speaks in a high auditory tone.
"We offer you the same deal as we offered to your shipmates; comply and we will release you as we did them."
"Eat my shorts mush face." I suck a fresh clot of blood and spit it through the bars of the cave. The creature hue reddens as it turns away... again leaving me in the dark.
Something scurries over my bear feet. I stomp a shuttered dance to kill it, and wonder if there are more of them waiting to catch me off guard. There have been times when I have awakened to them feasting on my feet.
I have escaped this prison many times only to be recaptured and beaten. They torture me in ways only mankind can think up, yet I am still here.

Getting The Picture

"If a writer of prose knows enough about what he is writing about he may omit things that will have a feeling of those things as strong as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of an iceburg is due to only one-eight of it being above water. A good wrier does not need to reveal every detail of a character or action." Ernest Hemingway

In todays fast-paced world Hemingway's "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." seems to fit. Flash fiction is snapshot photo in words, ideas and thoughts, something for the mind to savor, like the marrow of a tasty bone.

I remember my dad baking a pan full of beef bones he had brought home from the slatter house where he worked as a skinner. He told me only the very rich knew how to enjoy crackers spread with bone morrow. At the time I thought he was just trying to make me feel better because that all we had to eat. Many years later, as I was reading a menu while sitting in a La Tee Da restaurant in Paris, I remembered what he had said. He hadn't lie to me, and to this day I'm grateful. My dad(Emmit Author)had the mojo as he would say. A magic way of teaching me, that no matter where you are, no matter how rich or poor, food served with soul is love.

The Locked Door/A Short Story

They're not coming back for us are they?

The Enigmatic Game Book

In a mote the stardust matrix slept,

Formidable springe of memories kept,

Hidden, that now waiting end.

Grey manikin, these last days when

Draconian kiss the innocent mirror.

Awake, precisely, time travels in a aery cage,

And I sing of discernments sorrow,

Thus staccoto from my banding love.

Down, down the flexous energy drain,

A bitter rain of flagging stain sapience.

Yet hope to espy before the coda nix.

They betrayed, now nothing more than carrion?

An amalgamate stage and she a cunning thespian.

For to know the secrets of the light,

The brightest live in the dark.

Time erode a way kilter my navicular in life.

Beings lissom her rebellion,

Oh my ringing pate,

Learned junto's bite cut apart my neonate.

Corsairs! Requite reason is hidebound park.

Apogee bonhomie, is the tinny calix of Chimera.

Proscribe, suspire, now I tire...Goodyear but a name,

Fame fan the keloid flame of dormer laver avatar.

The Open Bottle Message

On high a choir of angels sing,

Goes down the lady and her man.

Dark alleyway led by unseen hand,

Both now wear a wedding ring.

Regal lead fat lamb fathered,

The first born misbegoten lame.

Born of natural way,

Up the rebate demond came.

Sticky sweet the soul of life,

Lost is screw-top, an empty bottle sap.

Many pray from pamphlet pages,

Indebt roll, an indecent assault.

Few believe, blood of rape war wages,

Fuel leaking, cold creeping on stage.

Her last chance, this love redeeming.

Introspection, Eat It, Or Wear It

The Flame Of Seide

There are places I remember, galaxies where energy forces appear to blur the boundaries of the natural known laws of physics. These places overlap what is possible and what is thought to be inherently impossible...regions where thought energy and physical reality come together. From the beginning of the idea of time, these places have been called many names in the ancient language of the little know space travelers that guard them.

"You must protect and care for her as if she was born to you. Teach her in the ways of her Drachon ancestors. She is from two heroic bloodlines that were forbidden to marry. However, as you can see, their love and the passion of attraction were stronger than the bonds of planetary rules." Wrapped in a silk woven blanket of rainbow colours, the baby cooed and gurgled, her wide eyes starring at the scare face man who roughly shoved the bundle into the grasp of Wonew Maet. The stout and heavily armored women stepped back in shock.

"You can't expect to take care of this. Are you out of your ever-loving mind? I don't know anything about babies. I lost an arm in battle. You need two strong arms to take care of a baby." Wonew Maet held up her stump left arm as she cradled the baby in her right.

"You will learn. Noblesse Oblige." said the Captain sternly. A slight smile folded the ugly scar that ran from his temple to his chin as if it were weathered parchment.

"What's done is done, what you cradle in your arm is the hope of our people and yours. All of you will be safe here on Ploutos. The Magistrate Dactyls will be hunting for her, so keep her hidden, keep her safe until she is of the age to fight them."

"Oh! Oh! The little..." with a look of disgust, and turned-up nose, Wonew Maet held the baby at arm length.

The laughter of the Captain echoed through the rocky canyon as he walked to his spaceship, the infamous Coq au vin.

Gag Factor

Diane Arbus a gutsy welder,
With a wild wonder eye.
Photos, see special people,
Camera breaking the rules.
Black and white showings,
Tool of the gypsy trade.
Tickets to see, easy to swallow.
To live by the polished sword...
We all get the point in the end.
Tent pegs hold ropes in the wind,
Finger snaps light study,
Caught in the nick of time.

To Be In Balance

This is a photo I took several years ago, it was taken outside by back door after a rain storm.
I'm learning about copyright rules.
When I started blogging, I learned to click on photos from around the world and save them to my computer so I could use them on my blog. Now I find out that's not lawful if the photos are copyrighted. I have a head full of ideas and questions as to why. I don't have the money, or know now to copyright. Does that mean only rich people can be an artist? People have stolen so much from me, I say, take it, but only if I give it.

I am blessed with many gifts. There are many people in my life who know and love me, and most of all, they trust me. I am a trustworthy person. I sleep very well at night (that's a blessing too). I wouldn't think of stealing somebody's art work and selling it as my own...Hell, I give most of my shit away. I would love to have some of my work published, but as you can see my spelling and grammar isn't up to par. So I'm not as smart as those who make moneyat writing. I don't need lots of money.

I know how to make money. Work! I have been self employed most of my life, and didn't have the time for school learning like most people. I was busy working, yet I love to learn, and have paid a high high price. Being cold and hungry, spit on, lied to, etc. is no fun, but it made me dig deep within myself. I can stand up straight even though I'm gay, look anyone in the eyes and be afraid and also have courage. I would like to say what other people think of me doesn't bother me, but that would be a lie, because I do. It hurts me...somewhere I read, "It takes a river of tears to water the soul."(I wonder if the saying is copyrighted?) As my mother would say, "You can't get blood from a turnip, and they can't cut you up and eat you." I don't know ma, they are sure trying. If she was here she would say, "Bless your little pointed head." and follow that with a kiss and a hug. (Mom, I could use a hug right now. Don't worry daddy, I'm still standing. It took four of then to knock me down, but I got right back up. Now there on the run.":) It's hard to stand in the middle ring, to be in balance, tell the truth to the best of my ability. When you tell the truth to the best of your ability... what more could a loving and kind God ask of me? I'm no saint that's for sure, but I am blessed with my life and what gifts that are mine to do with as I please.

I make mistakes true, but I am not a mistake. I learn from my mistakes. It's a blessing to know when to hold on and when to let go, when to fight, and when to forgive. I will try harder to understand about copyright laws, but what has been given to me, is mine to do with as I see fit. Stepping on people's toes just isn't me, but I'm tired of being stepped on.

Because I was taught as a child to be a giving person, people give me things, most of which I gave away to those who are in need more than myself. My daddy never had very much, because he gave everything away. It's a blessing to be able to give. Stealing is something else. As a friend of mine would say, "Touch my cup, and there will be hell to pay." I'll let my friends in high and low places judge my work.

I think my family has been, is, and will continue to be proud of me. My family may have been poor, but they gave me the best they had to give... heard lessions about life and a whole lot of love. Balance is the key. I stand on strong shoulders and walk a tightrope, my net has always been spirit's loving wings. They hold me high and protect me with their love. :)