It Looks Like you Fell in the River and Piranhas Gnawed on your Fingertips

Second Trilogy Part Three, originally presented in April 2007. Afterwards we'll join them in Greenfield, MA, for Mexican.

Steve closed his eyes expecting the worst punch his stomach would ever feel, since it was coming from a train, and he even reacted as if the impact occurred. Only it didn't. A strong grip on his collar yanked him to safety a mere second before he would have set foot in the afterlife.

"Nice you could join us," Jacob deadpanned behind a cigarette. Nobody ever knew how he always had some kind of tobacco product at his disposal.

"Leave it to me to save your sorry behind," Sue chided with half a smile. She was soaking wet. Her visible skin was covered in dark bruises from impacts with the dark hole's walls and though the guys couldn't see it, the rest of her body looked much the same. Now that Sue had saved him, Steve had an even deeper affection for her. This would not be good. But that's a bad story for another time.

"I don't know about you, but I'm famished," Sue said changing the subject as they limped into the night sky. They were happy there were stars, even if they were under dressed for the cold night air, "Now will you listen to me the next time you want to go spelunking in a place out of hell at dinnertime?"

"NO!!" Steve replied, "I mean, I'm so grateful to you I can't even explain but look! We just survived an experience not many mortal beings have survived! How many people have you even heard of doing something like this? And it's happened to us before! Don't you see? We're meant to experience all kinds of weird things! I can't wait to be scared outta my wits on the next one!"

"Great," Jacob added sarcastically and tossed away the stub of what he'd been smoking.

"Well, I'm not looking forward to it. I have to buy a new wardrobe after each time," Sue explained, "these 'experiences' are just too supernatural for my clothes.

The heat of the car felt pretty good once their soaking wet 45 minute hike back ended. Each of them was very hungry when they pulled into a nationally known rather popular affordably priced Mexican fast food joint. The stares from the other customers though had them extremely self-conscious.

"Dude, are you alright?" this one college aged man asked Steve.

"What happened?" his girlfriend asked.

"We just got a little wet hiking today," Steve told them while he waited to be served. Jacob and Susan were in the respective restrooms.

"It looks like you fell in the river and piranhas gnawed on your fingertips."

Steve meekly smiled in reply, wishing his windbreaker collar would swallow his head. But then, that would be a bad story for another time...

The Entrapped Explorers

Originally appearing in April 2007 (when that exclamation point with the really really big flippin' Y shut it's 360 division down and shunted my blog entries to a new profile site, the entry data was no longer date specific. It only displays how many months ago an entry was made, so if I didn't date the title I'm at a loss to know exactly which date the post was made). Anywhen...

~~~~

So there they were again, Steve, Susan, and Jacob, being swallowed up by the musty depths of the dark hole as spectral voices moaned deafeningly in their ears. Lows, highs, sorrowful and scared ghostly speech bombarded them. It was enough to make them crazy. Sue started crying involuntarily. Jacob was feeling a rage like a trapped animal. Steve trailed behind the others as the mist carried him last and facing away from them. He was entranced by his senses. The dew on his arm hairs, the unique odor of smoke and mold in his nostrils. He sneezed but could not wipe his nose so a bit of mucous dripped onto his shirt. Steve was hypnotized by this sensory overload so much so he didn't realize he was now still. They had stopped being carried. The haunting aural assault had seemed to be closed behind the mountain wall as well and a deafening silence plugged their ears.

The smell of the mist hadn't disappeared, but instead was just faintly noticeable. Their arms were soaked with moisture but the mist no longer bound them. Instead a thick impenetrable blackness did. In the dark they felt suffocated. Sue almost hyperventilated but she knew nothing was clamping on her chest, it only seemed that way. None of them ever thought of speaking, each figured they were witnessing the end of their lives.

We've gotta find a way out of here Sue thought. Up to now, each had been too overwhelmed to move, but Sue forced a step forward. Her left foot followed until a booming voice, not unlike that of a famous all-knowing wizard, stopped her.

"You are not allowed to move!" he yelled.

"Who says?" she yelled back.

"Young lady, you will abide by your manners here and wait until you are addressed to speak."

"I don't think so, whoever you are, see, we didn't choose to come down here. We were just hiking down the mountain when brainiac here started looking at the entrance back there, freezing our asses off, and then we're here arguing with somebody we can't even see. I'm done and I'm walking out of here. I'll go back out into that freak show you've got going on out there too. It's late, I'm hungry and I'm going home..."

"SILENCE!!!!!" the booming voice echoed in the dark hole, "you're not going anywhere. You've insulted the sacred ground of those who've lost their lives with your rash disrespect and rudeness. "

"And YOU!" he addressed Jacob, "with your spitting saliva and tobacco onto the hallowed ground these souls fought so hard for. Your arrogance will bring your death as well!!"

"NO!!" Sue screamed and started running, stumbling and tripping as she went forward across the uneven natural floor of the mountain's interior without being able to see where she was headed. She splashed through deep water numerous times that soaked her above her ankles and she ran smack into the mountain wall knocking her backwards onto the hard floor and stunning her.

In the meantime, Jacob continued to disrespect the sacred ground of the voice's dark hole by spitting out his chew-juice as he was verbally assaulted by the booming voice until he had been grabbed by the throat by an unseen force. This force was choking Jacob and he could feel his feet were no longer on the floor. He didn't know how far off the floor he was being lifted, by his throat still, and his chew-juice squirted out of his closed lips like ooze from a dying body, staining his chin, throat, and shirt. His face was turning purple from the lack of oxygen.

This looks like the end Jacob thought as he contemplated resisting the urge to give up I wonder if Steve's gonna get out of this one.

"Excuse me," came a plaintive voice from seemingly far away, "may I address you?"

"For what reason?" the wizard-like voice not so booming now replied.

"I'd like for my friends and I to leave your sacred place and that you forgive our intrusion and ignorance." It was Steve, though through death Jacob could barely hear him.

"I can not do that," the unseen voice affirmed, "your transgressions come with a consequence and that price is your death."

"No, I don't think so either," Steve countered. He was getting his confidence back now that his senses were adapting to his surroundings.

"Hello?!" spurted Jacob,"don't encourage him dude. I don't have much time left." Steve continued:

"We came here as prisoners. We didn't just walk into your home and take over. We weren't even planning on stepping foot inside the tunnel. It was getting dark outside and we were gonna head back home once I finished trying to read what was on the plaque, because I was curious. I enjoy learning about historical places and such and thought your plaque was one of those historical markers like along roadsides at battlegrounds or first settlements or something like that. None of us knew it was a warning or a...a secret code to gain entry. I couldn't pronounce it and I didn't even know any of us could, yet here we came. So now if anybody has to pay a price, take me, it's my fault we're here. Let them go."

"NO!!!!!!" yelled the voice, now booming louder than before.

"Then stop me!" Steve brazenly yelled and he sprinted towards the dangling Jacob and jumped like a basketball player making a lay-up. He hooked Jacob's ankle in his hand and gravity did the rest. The tight grip around Jacob's throat broke its hold under Steve's weight and the two men were dashing into the darkness splashing through water and cutting their fingers as they traced the mountain interior to stay on the pitch-black path. Soon the haunting wails of the dead souls of the dark hole surrounded them again, but as they kept running the apparitions could only dive-bomb them, as the ghosts couldn't grab the men as long as they were running. Once they knew this, the two explorers kept up their pace until they could see light.

"That's funny," huffed Steve, "it should be the middle of the night now."

"It IS you moron!!," choked Jacob out of breath and with an irritated throat from being strangled,"that's a *^%#$^* train!!"

Indeed, our intrepid adventurers were still very much in the dark hole and now 16,000 horsepower of four locomotives and the kinetic energy of 8000 feet of train length was barrelling down on them, and they had nowhere to go.

I'm glad Susan's not here to see me die thought Steve.

~~~~

When oh when will our three goofballs learn a much needed lesson? Certainly not anytime soon as right now new plots are marinating for our lackluster trio. IN the next days part three of their Second Trilogy will conclude this tale (well, I did spoil the suspense didn't I. We all know now that they live -- well, this time. There's still another trilogy (yes a Trilogy of Trilogies ****a weird vibe washes over the writer and a familiar yet haunting chant of number 9 number 9 number 9 builds until it becomes a hypnotic drone -- like trance music (cuz three times three is -- never mind) *shakes head*

Sorry where was I?? Oh yeah. See ya next installment, bundle up we're running for the border with a Chihuahua for dinner.

The Spectral Mists of The Dark Hole

Surprise Surprise Surprise! *clears throat after Gomer Pyle impersonation*
I'd initially planned on taking a break from our hapless heroes hilarity for an entry or two, but since Fleeting History doesn't want to upload images direct from my harddrive I need to link the images from my photostream(s). So the entry originally planned for this post is hereby frozen until the related images are posted in stream next week.

In the meantime I present to you, dear reader, with a modicum of pride and embarrassment, the first part of the second trilogy featuring our three friends (Gah! More math!!!)

The Spectral Mists of The Dark Hole

Starring our intrepid friends from that town whose people want its name changed and a railroad tunnel as the Dark Hole:

In ancient times, when stories and legends were shared among mankind by word of mouth, before stone tablets and before any form of paper recorded these fables, beings existed who were capable of wondrous actions. Societies and cities (though not as we know them now) thrived. Architecture and subterranean construction reached astonishing levels (some of which exists today withstanding the test of time and far out lasting those who built and lived there). But with great triumph comes great tragedy and whole races of people faded from the land.

Present day in a wooded glen nestled in snowy mountains: Steve, chew-spitting guy and Susan/whatever she wanted to change her name to, are hiking along a creek of snow-melt run-off at dusk. According to the Farmer's Almanac the sun won't set for another hour or so, but in reality it is already behind the mountains. Sue/whatever is finishing the last bites of her granola, or energy, we're not sure which, bar and stuffs the empty wrapper in her coat pocket. Since the sun's down, the late March chill is noticeable. She quivers and picks up the pace to keep up with the men.

"When you said let's go on a little hike, I didn't think you meant all day," she retorts, huffing her breath in a big visible chuff. It was a harsh hike, even downhill. Jacob the chew-spitter spits juice.

"What's the matter? Afraid of another episode like last time?" he asks with a snicker.

"Come on," says Steve, the most vanilla of the three, "Really, how many of these portal thingies really exist in our time/space continuum?" the question makes him ponder, though, as the phrase "time/space continuum" had been used for two blogs in a row on a site he frequented. Surely that couldn't just be coincidence. (search for Mark O's blog on Yahoo pages 14 & 15 to see for yourself)
"I'm just saying I'm not in the mood for some extraterrestrial experience, that's all," Sue states as the steep slope levels and they round a spruce tree older than them. That's when they see it. A cave-like opening with an inscription above it.

"Abandon hope all ye who enter here," Jacob jibes with juicy emphasis.

"This isn't time for jokes," Sue tells him and gets the shivers.

"Or quoting 'The Inferno'," adds Steve, pointlessly.

"This has got 'bad' written all over it," Sue shares, "darkness, more darkness, and beyond that? DARKNESS! I mean, how crazy are we to go walking into that dark hole while night falls?"

"Look!" calls Steve, "I've found an inscription carved in the rock."

"Well?" Jacob spits more juice and wipes his chin.

"You're disgusting," Sue tells him.

"I can't understand it. One of these words looks like it should mean some form of dancing but the letters are all wrong..."

The cold bites into Susan, she feels as if the slight breeze is a brutal arctic hurricane-force wind. Her jacket doesn't feel warm enough so she starts stamping her feet and bouncing where she stands, making audible displeasure groans. (Do you see where this is going?)

Initially, none of them see the smoke-like formations slowly floating out of the opening. That is, not until they are damp as if they were standing in fog and they sense a heavy musty odor about them. That's when Sue gives a clipped shriek.

The above story originally appeared on my first blog in April 2007

The Last Leg of Their Journey

Part Three of Steve, Sue/Alexandria and Jacob's first incredible journey was originallY! posted on March 9, 2006, so away we go:

Ultimately, our three characters (and they ARE characters) wound up in some very big trouble.

Steve and Jacob wound up floating in midair for what seemed like an eternity until Jacob yawned and the capillary disturbance dropped them into a free-fall of an indeterminate depth, through what they thought to be air. Gaining speed, what they knew as wind was blowing -- nay SCREAMING -- past their ears, a deafening roar that...

"Wait!" said Steve coming to the conclusion that he wasn't falling anymore, it only seemed like it. Jacob looked at him blankly.

"We're not dead!"

"Duh!" Jacob deadpanned and found a cigarette in his pocket. (He forgot he traded with a guy also held at the jail. He lit up and took a long, glorious drag off of it).

"Dude! This is soooo coooool!" Steve exaggerated. He thought for sure they were done for, but he'd never admit it. He looked off into the horizon and saw nothing. Not the icon diner or jail or even the shimmery gritty city off in the distance. There really was nothing to see except the Sahara Desert's Cousin everywhere. Sand for as far as their eyes could see and nothing else other than a figure running and stumbling and was it purposely somersaulting?

This figure kept running and what not toward the men, constantly moving like a horribly done spoof of Cirque du Soleil. The two men kept watch as the figure became more discernible in the heat waves rising up from the desert's floor. It was Susan/Alexandria stumbling and running. Tripping in the dusty sand. After an exhausting eternity (it seemed anyway, after all it was way too hot in the empty dusty desert) the three portal jumpers reunited.

Sue was a mess: hair dirty and matted, white sweater brownish from the desert, and her ankle boots were untied and flopping loosely now dust colored.

"Half of this desert is in my boots," she wheezed, "I've been running for hours."

"We're glad we found you," Steve gushed, like a boy in love with a supermodel.

While Sue was emptying the desert from her footwear, Jacob's cigarette flared like a fireworks sparkler just before burning out. Upon doing so, a strange orb enveloped them and they were brought back home.

"Let's not do THAT again," pouted Susan as she tied her laces, "I'll need to stay in the shower for a week." She did and all lived like they had before this story ever got written. THE END

Now, in dusting these pieces off I'm reminded that the contingent to rename their town (Hartsdale? I wasn't really ever paying attention all this time. The townsfolk are truly obnoxious sometimes and more than a little stuck up) well, that contingency/committee has still not resolved anything and almost half of the town are STILL fighting to rename at least their half to something more appropriate (Snobsdale perhaps?)four years later. Thankfully the motions to rename keep failing (like my computer keyboard).

At any rate, we'll definitely be seeing our three hapless heroes again in the near future when the re-recounting of their SECOND Trilogy gets reposted here on Fleeting History

What's In a Dimensional Rift Anyway?

Here's the second of three installments featuring the first appearance of Steve, Susan/Alexandria (all will be explained this ish) and Jacob. Part Two of the First Trilogy was first published on February 5, 2006 at mY! first blog. Here it is celebrating it's fourth birthday, three weeks early of its second month penning freshly polished and proofed better than it first was. (And I HATE math)



"Wow, this place smells like coffee and cigarettes," noted Alexandria (who realized her new name had been lacking the "i" until now).

"How observant," deadpanned Jacob.

"And how do you propose we get out of here?" Alexandria queried. She panned the room not really caring for an answer from the guys but rather was looking for one on her own. Nothing but the stereotypical diner setting. You know the 1950's American roadside icon type. And they were standing in it. "Eeww, these shoes cost me eighty bucks. You're a *#^%@*% pig Jacob!"

In reply, Jacob spat more chew juice at her feet.

"I'm going to the ladies room to clean them off," Alexandria walked across the grimy used-to-be white tiled floor of the icon diner and entered a narrow restroom barely the size of a half stall with a sink. "Man, a person can barely fit in here. How can someone even sit on the toilet?" she turned on the faucet but no water came out. Instead a brown oozing slime trickled out like cold molasses. "What kind of place is this?"

Before she would find out, however, the slime expanded into an air bubble and enveloped her. Alexandria's world went dark.

"Women," Steve thought aloud, "what the hell takes them so long in the john?"

Jacob shrugged and spat.

"Do that again and yer moppin' the floor!" yelled the lady in the apron behind the counter.

"Five more minutes then we go in after her," Steve seemed to have a plan for everything.

Naturally, five minutes went past. When the two guys opened the ladies room door the apron chick slapped them both on the cheek and threw them out of her diner.

"You didn't see a woman in a white sweater and jeans in there did you?" Steve stammered.

"No one in there. No room." apron lady replied,"now on with yuhs!"

It's painfully clear thought Jacob he doesn't have a plan for this

Susan/Alexandria (because she just can't shake her birth name) opened her eyes to find herself in a tan room with moderately not enough lighting and found her bottom sore from sitting on hard dirt for an uncomfortable amount of time. Her wrists were tied together with rope and her eighty dollar ankle boots were laced together binding her feet. She heard voices around her but didn't understand the language. This is some bathroom.

Steve and Jacob tried breaking into the icon diner later that night during the two hours it was closed between three and four a.m. (okay it's really only closed for one hour but it's another dimension remember?) and they got caught by apron lady who had them arrested and thrown in jail.

"I'm tellin yuhs there weren't no woman in the ladies room!" she charged upon their protests.

So Jacob and Steve are in a jail in this shimmery world where everything's grimy once you're lured in (there's some sort of literary metaphor going on there but I'll be darned to know what) *wink* So Steve is wondering aloud what to do to get out of their predicament and find Sue (because he didn't like her self given Alexandria name he preferred her birth one). During his pacing the floor the gritty sensation on his hands began to irritate him more and more so he went to the sink to rinse them. When he turned the water on however nothing came out of the sink. Instead an opening in the cell wall under the bottom bunk opened up.

"What the #$%*?" wondered Jacob aloud. He'd never seen anything like this in his life.

"It goes somewhere!" said Steve egging his partner on, "I think we see where it goes and get the heck out of here!"

"What if its another dimensional portal thingee?"

"Well, that's a chance we need to take. Susan's out there somewhere and it's doing her no good for us to be stuck here. Besides...What's in a dimensional rift anyway? We went through one okay right? Come on!"

Steve's exuberance was too much for Jacob. "But like isn't this illegal? breaking out of jail?"

"Hardly, we're from another dimension whose laws don't apply here," rationalized Steve.

Maybe the punishmnet's worse here Jacob thought and followed suit, dreading every inch.

Hyper Subspace Portal

It's February 18, 2006 and a blizzard swallows up Scranton, Pennsylvania, in its bone chilling frozen grips (this happened to be the last time I went railfanning without proper head gear, the temperature was so cold).

The National Park Service and a handful of railfans are undaunted and the day's activities continue unabated. My brother and I took advantage of some down time in the activities to tour the Steamtown shop and check in on the progress of some steam locomotive restorations. At one such juncture inside the shop a white sport utility vehicle is parked nose to nose with the frame and fully opened smoke box of what was a steam loco under massive repairs. Such a scene thus invoked my over active imagination (and having watched "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" right around then also, well two and two came together...(originally posted on mY! first blog February 20, 2006)



The story unfolds in the unsuspecting, thriving city of let's call it Hartsdale (because it's the only thing coming to mind as I write). Most people are happy in Hartsdale, but there's a growing dissatisfaction among townsfolk about the town's name. Eventually, they'll be petitioning this author to go ahead and do something about that but in the interests of keeping this story moving, there aren't enough interested parties interested in petioning yet.

whew So okay, two guys and a girl (yet unnamed but their internet avatars are attractive) set out one day and accidentally on purpose drive this white SUV on a muddy Winter's day through said fake portal (the disassembled steam loco smokebox. It works better with the accompanying photo which is currently unavailable) into a new environment that the three were totally unexpecting to find.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Steve (because he was the first to be named but more importantly because his senses were overwhelmed by the undescribable scene sprawling in front of him infinitely.

"Unbelievable," said Sue (who hated her name. It sucked really, she thinks of herself more as a um...a uh, Alexandra. Yes she's also in favor of changing the town's name. So please forget her name is Sue because it's now Alexandra). And she was in awe of said undescribable scene, but imagine if you will a sparkling city of shimmerey light not unlike the Emerald City if it weren't green tinted and more disco ball like.

The third party member, not impressed by the sight, carried on as normal because he still had no name and was more interested in finding a light for his cigarette.

"This story is about as cool as my Grandmother's recounting of 1920's Easter gatherings," deadpanned Sue/Alexandra (because its easier to type Sue but Alexandra is a nicer name. It fits her avatar better too). "I'd like to see some action soon, anything more interesting than this."

Jacob spit as a reaction to getting a name. Just then there was a big solar flare. Well the three travellers thought it might have been a solar flare, but it was really the guy using a torch on the steam locomotive. I mean it was the portal sealing them into this new dimension.

"What do we do now?" cried Sue (yeah, forget Alexandra for now, her birthname is Sue so deal).

"Duh, find a way out by going in!" Steve said in a Freddy from Scooby Doo manner.

"Genius," spat Jacob. He couldn't find a light so he stuffed some chew in his gum. And the three began heading towards the shimmery lights of Discoville. *enter Star Wars episode three Cabana music and exheunt*

As also posted in the original any references to pop culture icons are for reference only for ease in descriptive purposes. Looks like I'll have to post the accompanying photos and edit in the appropriate links. The stories of these three characters are inane and I should really have my fictitious writer's guild card revoked and burnt for even typing them...parts two and three of this first trilogy to follow soon.

Stranger Danger

There's no denying it. I really like trains. I've established that. As such I enjoy photographing them and also model railroading. I'm going to single out the photography side as I'm going to relate an encounter I'd really wished I'd diffused immediately, instead of being the nice guy I aspire to be.

June 7, 2009, Sunday, Sunbury, Pennsylvania. My "fate"ful visit to my alma matter has ended and I'd really like to photograph the local freight that runs past the campus, for the modern spin on the old classic, and because I'm all about the nostalgia. It's quite a nice late Spring day and I hear a train a-comin' *momentarily breaks into Johnny Cash then composes self. THEN makes note to Feral about "borrowing" blog techniques*...

Anyways, throwing obsessive-compulsive security measures to the slight breeze with full abandon I dash out of my van with my trusty pixel sidekick on my neck and run to get into position; leaving both windows of the van wide open, the doors unlocked, mp3 player, radio, cell phone all inside awaiting the closest thief.

What appears to be a local man is meandering down the street with his dog Murphy. I know it's Murphy because after the train went by and I'm returning to my van this dog walker yealls Son of a B----! like he's just blown his chance of van-jacking me because he was watching the train. Good news for me. So the dog walker, who introduces himself as Gunner follows me back to my van and introduces Murphy (where I learned the dog's name) and asks if I may give him and Murph a ride to the VFW. He accidentally left his keys there the night before and his car is at the hotel across the river in Hummel's Wharf. Now, I'm buying all of this because in my college experience there wasn't much more to do than get polluted on Friday and Saturday nights (I'm happy to say I never partook beyond three shots in one sitting and have never been polluted in a drunken sense. I was the late night d.j. on the radio after all... sort of encouraging them).

So, even though I would rather have been going after the train, I let Gunner & Murph inside. A few empty soda bottles fell out of my van as Murphy jumped in. Gunner suggests I should clean my van (ironic that a guy who's seemingly living on the streets tells me to clean my van -- well, I didn't know his actual condition at this point, in all fairness).

"Okay, Gunner, where's the VFW?" He guides me through a couple wierd turns down sidestreets in Sunbury proper and he's asking me about Connecticut and Fairfield County specifically.

"You know Route 11 is closed up here don't you?" he informs when I tell him which way I'm going home.

"Yeah," and I explain how I now about the detour because that's the way I came INTO town Saturday morning, "Where's this VFW?"

"Take a left and go across the river." It's bad enough I went the opposite way of the train, I'm now over half an hour behind it and I'll never see it again wondering with each second when Gunner is gonna van-jack me.

"It's closed," Gunner comes back. Now I need to bring him someplace else and his stories raise another yellow flag (the first was his getting in in the first place. THAT one should have been RED). Ultimately we wind up headed back towards the river again.

"I can ride with you to Berwick," Gunner says. I pull over into a factory driveway along the main route.

"You're getting out here, Gunner. Don't forget Murphy."

"But you're headed home, right?"

"I've got something else to do first back the other way. You were supposed to have a short ride and your car is over in Hummel's Wharf."

In other words, don't let me run your rear end over and have a nice life. I waited until I could see Murphy was well clear of my van and there was a break in traffic. It took two hours to feel okay about myself again. I never should have let Gunner get so far with me.

Flashback!!

The double-entendre is on purpose for one: I shall again whisk you back in time using that literary metaphor of squiggly Wayne and Garth lines and two; because while writing my previous blog entry my brain short-circuited and recalled a written piece of mine which appears to be older than I remembered writing it. Folks, don’t let age happen to you. It’s what makes your parents the way they are.

Initially I’d thought this little gem of a remembrance had been documented in my very first blog archive, but I read each entry I’d ever written and failed to come across what I was looking for. So then, I thought maybe it was part of a non-fiction assignment I’d written in college Senior year, only I apparently no longer have those papers either. Then when I began pondering what context I’d written the recollection under I picture the three ring binder diary/autobiography I used to keep until I moved out of my parents’s house. But the binder is still there in a box in my old closet and it’s the middle of the night as I write this, so I can’t look at this moment.

But I can write about it, except the more time that lapses, the more detail fades. It was a Summer’s day at Bumble Bee Nursery School and my fellow enrollees and I were playing on the grounds behind the school. They had a tall (for a five year old) wooden play scape that very easily could have resembled a small stage and this particular afternoon it did for about three minutes.

Even at such a young age music was a big part of me and I had dreams of being a famous singer/musician, so with air guitar in hand I jumped up “on stage” and wailed away like a kid possessed by Ted Nugent. (I WAS wearing Underoos that day, and I’d swear they were Spider-Man, but I can’t remember. It’s entirely possible somebody else was wearing Spider-Man Underoos and mine were different). I vocalized wailing guitar licks which blazed as fast as my tiny fingers would operate, gyrating my body in all kinds of directions oblivious to my surroundings until I’d stopped to get some air and sing the next verse (who knows what THAT would have even been) when all of a sudden the white curtain of imagination lifted at the sound of thundering applause!! I was scared! So I turned to face the audience (my teachers) bowed quickly, and then dove off of the stage for the security of the storage shed until recess was over. Again, don’t EVER get old. If you have to, keep your mind sharp. Don’t have “Senior Moments”.

Mighty Marvelite

Every now and then I get existential. Is my life pre-destined or do I make my own destiny? Well, I'm not in the frame of mind to be deep right now, but I bring this up because of photographs I found today. Yes, I should have brought this particular one home with me and scanned it so I could share it here, but I didn't. As with other things in life, I discovered this picture because I was actually looking for an envelope of pictures from the last full family vacation my nucleic family ever took, which was to Florida. I did find those also (well most of them).

So, getting back to the first said photo: it's of me in single digit years and I'm wearing an Amazing Spider-Man shirt. Frankly, I don't even remember this shirt (did Underoos ever come with tops?? I've just been mentally transported back to a wooden playscape at my nursery school when I was pretending to be a rock star -- hmm, nothing's changed... -- oops, I digress. It's been blogged at V.1 -- I'll import it sometime, promise). This revelation (about the shirt in the photo) made me think just how prevalent Marvel comics and more specifically Marvel characters have been in my life. That's just about the whole darn time! (And makes me worry facetiously that Marvel's been brainwashing me since infancy to be loyal, etc.)

Which got me thinking about the Captain America Hot Wheels bus I've had since childhood, where you can look in the back window and see an image of Cap in action. My older brother got a van which you look in the back of and see Doctor Doom (he's since given it to me). Funny sometimes what survives childhood and stays with you through the many years (unlike all of my shirts apparently). Of course, I've previously mentioned I still have the Fantastic Four game (must rescue that from the closet at my parents' house). Ooh, and I'm really excited to have a comics convention in my proverbial back yard. So long as it's not cancelled, ComiConn is to happen just up the street from my parents in my old home town this coming May. Oh yeah, I'm there, with fake ruby quartz safety glasses on!

So what do the photographs have to do with my destiny? Darned if I can think of it now. I was planning on writing something about destined to be some kind of hero based on the old photo of me in the Spidey shirt, but then I went off on another tangent (what ELSE is new?) and pre-destiny just didn't seem to fit any longer!

Overactive Imagination

Personally, I think this title doesn't do me much justice. Sure, I've been told I have an overactive imagination. I've also been told I have a healthy imagination. Both have come with a bit of a negative connotation. I don't care. I like to write and I like to pretend (another reason Halloween is so much fun for me).

Well, I never used to enjoy writing. That is until I was in High School writing stories in competition with my best friend. These weren't for class either, they were just to try and out do each other. My bud almost always had the better story. Anyways, skip ahead to college and I was talked into a Writing Minor, since I'd completed half of the required courses as part of the core curriculum. This is when I became comfortable writing in earnest. (It began by trying to become a better song lyric writer and morphed into other aspects of writing). I had a poetry class, a short story class and a self-imposed project to close the credit gap I needed to graduate (I'm STILL trying to polish this last one fifteen years later -- well, there was fourteen year exile to the storage box in between graduation and last Winter) I digress. I did graduate. (My instructor enjoyed our music trivia sessions after class and during our sessions working on this solo noose) *grin*

So here I was, November 2005, with a blog of my own. What would I do with it? Write of course! Initially I had intentions of being humorous "kill rabid porcelain dolls before those zombies eat your children" kind of thing. But more often than not I wound up espousing hot headed ignorant social commentary (which I fully resolve to not do here). Occasionally, though, I did get some creative writing (and by creative I mean somewhat bizarre) entries logged in; some will no doubt emigrate here, like these two:


Coast Evening March 28, 2006

The sun sets on another perfect coastal evening. The sea breeze blows gentle for once. Well, it's no different really, but it doesn't bother your spirits for a change. The gentle strains of nature fill your subconsciousness as the red sky darkens to a deep blue, purple then black. Your hair blows in your face, but that doesn't bother you either. It's great to be on the beach tonight. You get goosebumps on the way up the bank leading to the parking lot and the car. The two of you are the only ones out here tonight. He says something but you don't listen, you're wrapped up in your own thoughts. It's only after a few more steps you realize he's not right next to you. He's stopped, waiting intently for your answer.

"Aren't you coming?" you ask because you don't know what he said and honestly don't care. Why not? There isn't anything more pressing in your mind. No hairdresser, groceries, sales. Work isn't hard -- sometimes it's boring but isn't EVERY job?

"That depends" he replies, sadly. What is his problem now? He's going to spin his words, make you the bad one.

"On?" maybe you replied a little sarcastically but what the heck. You pretty much want to get back in the car and go home now, be rid of him for the rest of the night at least. Ugh, you need to suffer the ride home. He looks at you funny.

"Ice cream," his face suggests you answer in the positive, as if his stare will pull a 'yes' answer out of you.

"No thanks," even though some food product might be nice for a snack, "I'm tired. It's been a long day."

The breeze blows the enthusiasm from him. Good. A hot shower will make you feel better, or at least warm you up. You don't realize you're rubbing your arms until he asks if you're cold.

"Maybe a little," you say watching him turn the ignition. He puts the heat on low for a few minutes, just til you're back on the main drag. Within minutes he's pulling up to your door. You let yourself out of his car and key the lock to your gate.

"Thanks for tonight, I'll call you tomorrow," why did you say THAT? You have no intentions of calling him, not tomorrow anyway. You slip off your shoes and head towards the bathroom, still wrapped in the empty thoughts of your mind.

end



A sparkle emanates from her eyes like the glow from the full moon

A sparkle emanates from her eyes like the glow from the full moon
blue/white lasers shooting from her retinas
Cool beams brilliant to behold and drink in
coating your throat like milk of magnesia
tasting like mint
Her voice angelic
and she has a subtle aura of fruit about her body
that blinds me with her taste when I lean in for a kiss on the nape of her neck
Cynthia Miller radiated beauty in the middle of farmer Don Baggett’s cornfield
It wasn’t so much a cornfield as it was a haven for lightning bugs
They flashed and blinked like old time news photographers
Getting the scoop on the big story
"Moon Girl Lands in Millville"
Published above the fold, front page
with the story of the local millinery burning down below the fold
People thinking she did it with the moonbeams in her eyes
"It’s a damn shame" residents spoke but I knew better
Strong arms of obsession wanted lustfully to bear hug Cynthia that night
and squeeze the love out of her like Popeye opening a can of spinach
but Moose Boy could never be so lucky as to have this girl love him with such conviction
A love as true as a politician’s would be more suited to him
Years later they will still be yearning frustrated by a lack of any more attraction than the wanting of true love
Killing themselves inside from it
Stifling one’s stagnant heart prolongingly
until each of them is nothing more than a blob of human mass
Zombies still drawn to each other
Soulless but not undead
Voulez-vous couchez avec moi ce soir?
Standing motionless amidst the bugs and stalks staring soundlessly at each other

8/6/05

When it's Time to Change You've Got to Rearrange*

enter singing recognizable song from the Brady Kids "Sha na na na na na na na na Sha na na na na..." Oh, hey!

Whew, thankfully dreams like the one I previously described only come about once per year. Hopefully everyone is having a good start to 2010. I'm feeling quite a bit the same, not much better than o'nine, but certainly not any worse, and that's a good thing. My 2009 was outright pretty deplorable, eh, it happens. I'm about ready for a shaking up in my home life. At the risk of angering the Feng-Shui auras, I'm going to rearrange the decorations. I need a change. Things have been in the same place for roughly five years, and also my interests have cycled differently.

It's time to get rid of stuff I saved from my grandparents's home in hopes of selling, but frankly the effort isn't worth the return, and most of it isn't worth the effort to begin with. I guess this is Spring cleaning come early, but then I've never been one to follow traditional guidelines concerning when to Spring clean, when to put up the Halloween decorations, etc. (Halloween IS my favorite. More on THAT in the future). Of course, being a guy I've never had to worry about wearing white out of season. We guys can get away with just about anything...

That just about does it from the desk here in Oz-land (which is quite a bit different from L. Frank Baum's Oz, or Home Box Office's yet a little of each I guess can be found here somewhere, if you brush the dust bunnies aside).

*from The Brady Bunch television series and related song

From the WTF??!! Files

Bear with me, sometimes I have difficulty being concise. This happens to be one of those times. I've been divorced now longer than my marriage lasted and a couple times per year, lingering effects of the marriage ripple through the brain (ghosts and feelings don't properly describe my unconscious experiences) but I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

I do enjoy where my brain takes me on those special nights that my subconscious reveals most wondrous visions and sensations. (Oddly enough the two I'm describing this time are both medically related, hmm *ponders*)

It's December 25 (1994 I think) and I'd just gotten a stack of X-Men comics a day or two before hand (I believe about seven different issues) and I read them that day in one sitting, while enjoying a tall glass of Hood's Golden egg nog (mmm, egg nog). well, it's Christmas Day, the presents have been opened, dinner has been eaten, and I haven't looked healthy most of the day. With full belly and a two pill dose of cold medication in my system I alerted everyone that I was going to my room for a nap until desert. Well, I don't even remember the brand medication it worked so well! In my dream I was at the X-Men's Xavier mansion, in a dorm room bed and my favorite characters are gathered around me worried that I'm sick and offering bedside TLC (favorite Jean Grey still sticks out in my mind all these years later). I wound up sleeping through desert and the night but the next day I was much better. :-)

Now, I haven't mentioned this yet, but I'm also a disc jockey/karaoke jockey and I had a gig at a New Year's Eve party welcoming in 2010. The gig ran long, until 1:30 in the morning, and might have gone longer if my boss and I hadn't stopped playing music. The roads had a light snow covering on top of the mess that had been plowed earlier in the day but except for the slicker areas closest to home (which I had anticipated) were pretty much speed limit capable. I get ready to crawl into bed after I wind down around four in the morning and the aches of mid-life adulthood are throbbing (sore back, arthritic wrists) so I take two of my favorite pain reliever with a swig of red labelled well established cola and crawl under the covers with high expectations of really enjoying my dreams (meds :-)). Well, what I recall came after I had been woken up at 8am by the snow plow cleaning up the parking lot outside of my condominium. I grumble after peeking out the kitchen window and crawl back under the covers for more sleep.

I find I'm back in the mobile home my now ex-wife and I rented during the first two years of our marriage. This place defies all comprehension, whole wall sections were cut out and just laid in place, the front door was sprung and rarely stayed closed without a slam which damaged it more, empty screw holes in the walls making them look like they had chicken pox...all of this was real! The door my father fixed by adding aluminum angle pieces to keep it square and we had to frame the small window in aluminum to keep it from falling out. Anyways, I could expound upon this place for a whole blog, but the rest is irrelevant to the story.

So I'm cleaning (there's the first clue I'm in a deep sleep) and have just taken some unwanted furniture out to the dumpster in the mobile home park when I realize the front door isn't latching again. With each slam harder than before and my weight not being able to close it, I turn around to see my ex-wife laden with bags, relatives and new friends whom I don't even know come through the door (she really did move to Europe after our divorce). Well, obviously the place isn't up to her standards as it was all disarrayed from my rearranging everything to my satisfaction. The family and strangers made themselves at home so I went into the master bedroom to get away. A teacher friend of my Mom's comes in and gets me to talk about my feelings, and I'm just shy of the point of breaking down into tears and blubbering the rest of the gory marriage details when the ex-wife comes in trailing a number of dead celebrities who'd passed in 2009 (and I don't even drink coffee).

At some point the ex disappears and I'm having a conversation with a straight-haired Farrah Fawcett (as seen in one of her last guest appearances on Charlie's Angels) about how I was such a good friend with her during my marriage and that she doesn't want to lose my friendship. I reassure her she won't and the guy behind her looks sad.

"I need a hug," he says. "Well I need a hug too" I tell him (my emotions WERE in turmoil about my ex after all)

So the dark haired cut short chisel featured man peels off his shirt, drops his pants and throws me on the bed pinning me down. It's David Carradine and he's STRONG! Just when I'm prepared for the worst pain and event ever in my life I bolt awake with my heart racing. It's 1:30 pm.

Funny how I can write about this on the internet for everybody to see, yet I couldn't express my feelings to my wife during our marriage. I have theories about that, but not for the blog.

Happy New Year everybody. Here's hoping things get better! (I'm going to investigate what's in my cola)