Jan 15, 2014

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lots of fun with unicode!

Safty first: retrofit cabinet locks!

Always in Need of edit

In Wicked Need of an Edit

Political and Media Inanity

by Truck-u-later

How to not avoid New Jersey

Republicans may be loathed, but loved too for much. Many when in power prove themselves capible. I guess the anger comes so strong because we expected that the NJ Gov was actually reigning in the rediculousness of institutional governance like what must go on in Democratic New Jersey. If it were Democrats doing the same thing (I'd never heard of any) they'd be hounded from their jobs too because people in government, for the most part, want to do what is right. And on the highway, it's stressful enough. We don't need political zeros (who are just in their position for a little while becuase they get cast out) ruining our day and leaving us in the highlane to no where off in the clouds of the sky on the highway, next exit nowhere, no way out, no exit.

It we are talking about the politics of graft: graft is supposed to be spread evenly to all of the worthy. Who are the worthy? If you get caught you aren't any more. If we have state-graftism as a form of government (state-graftism is not a technical term) then there are rules. Like if you steal a lot you gotta (you gotta) salt it back into the community. Like if you are a hoarding money you better be up front with the donations to widows and orphens. You better be a jobs machine. You better make sure that your house is not that much better than all the other graftopians. Cause your kids gotta go to the same school (if they don't you violate the rules of graftopia). And if you gotta big job with a big pension all the other guys your age, who hang in the same circles, working the same crappy jobs, scrapping off of the federal monies that seeped through (most of it going elsewhere). Hardscrabble politically motivated graftopia government has certain rules. First: respect. Respect. For no reason, none, ever, should it ever be allowed to put a road block next to someone's highway just to stop them because your king is mad at their king. Rediculoso!

It's funny because the people around Christie played the roll of self-entitled political snobs. And they did the one thing that in the world of graft is a major sin: they screwed with the common man on his quest for serenity. It is like kicking someone's pet because you don't like the person. Sick headed.

And as far as avoiding New Jersey goes? Well, circumvent is probably a better word. And only because if you aren't actually going there it's better to go around it. I never meant that anyone should n't go to New Jersey, and I would never say that. There are lots of awesome things there to do and fun fun fun if you want it and good people, great jobs, wonderful schools, really smart people, pine barrons, Atlantic City Expressway, The Delaware Water gap. Runnimeede. Cherry Hill. Princeton. Route One at 3 A.M. in the fog straight as far as you can see. The railroad station at Princeton at dawn on a Saturday morning April 1980 (waking up to the sound of birds). Yes, New Jersey is a wonderful place of spiritual awakenment and coming to know that it's a great place to be when you're there . . .

Were you expecting a rimshot punch line with a final jab against New Jersey? You aren't getting it.

 Truck-u-later is a
  guest columnist.

   where there used to be a song
  she still sung it in her heart
  even though the score
     called for silence
   a moment
  to remember
  she sung him in her heart
     throughout the pause
 where there used to be 
                   a song
                    it
            might seem to
   but it never really fades
                

4 Jan, 2014.

What is there to understand about
 time
 without that forward face
 of heart 
  like the buelles of love I
        grew for you?
 you broke me off

 I lay there on the floor 
                of the forest
 the sound of flies and bees 
                and pricker-bushes 
                  sticking you 
      screaming in
           pain
  
   But time?
  It just hangs in the air. 
It didn't even look at 
            the sky
       or the reflection
         of clouds
     on the screen  
      of the computer
    (refuge now safe
  at his lakeside
     hideout)

 Instead you
 wrote it's sad
 poems
 in the silence 
        of
     eternity.

 you try to hand your poems
                 to the wind
 They fly away
   some end up in the lake.
  some at the mountainside 
             parking lot
   
   Some get blown up all the way
             to the highest
               watchtower.

  were you
 thinking of me
 sitting here, cold
 and fearful you don't
      anymore . . . 
  and knowing
   and knowing.

When the march 
   is over
 the drummers
 return home
  exhausted
  

more from a newer fiction

what say ye oh milkman-popup sprite?

Milkman red devil popup :

"Merry Christmas!"

spontanious story inspired by spontanious behavior of someone else.

Midnight Texts are always interesting and can result in the truth being a blatent lie. Whatever that means. Maybe next time I'll pretend that I didn't have my phone, I won't answer the text.

I figured that someone who was texting at midnight was going to be friendly and that would be a good thing: wishing someone well at the end of the day. I'm here doing productive things at midnight, so that isn't such a horrible time to text me. In any case it's all good. I'd drive to edge of the fringe, that part were my world ends and that other one begins. but I can't go wondering those rambling alleyways and side street bar haunts, back door drinking coffee, smoking butts, kitchen in the weed, rats in the bread, midnight street and the frozen ice. snorting unknown pills. I don't do those things.

If I could have known to go and look for him that day in Brookline. He'd have been wonderously ambling towards the Blancette's Liquors. he'd be making happy eyes towards the women who push their strollers. He'd have had a fish sandwicdth at the orange sign sandwich shop. He'd have read all of the titles on all of the used books in the basement of the bookstore. Maybe he'd have phoned someone about the farmers market? Maybe he'd have had a piece of bachlava (or two). I'd have gone lickity split to get and bring him something? somewhere? somehow? Sanity? Xandu? Life long quest for God and Love? You could find it on Harvard Avenue, Brookline, or Beacon Street, College Corner. It might be there during petal fall in The Spring, while the smell of the ethnic food drifts along the sidewalks. The people might look to him with suspicion at first but realize quickly that the only one he mgiht be harming is himself. Can't he walk past a pastry shop window without wanting to sample just about all of them? Third trip to the counter and they are asking who is he here visiting?

Later he makes his train. He gets out some place only part way. Part way to where? Glittering lights! A woman in a doorway who he sees seeing him. He knows what she wants! (this is how it might work I don't know he only gives me glimpses of his lothario, the emboldened knight on the prowl nature that he sometimes displays)

He 'hey babys' her, which only works in dreams or when he is manic. He glows then. He must emit some pheremone. She wants him. He sticks his tonque down her troat. She doesn't turn away. (She was a he, a pro).

Next she is wanting money. He rips her out a twenty. Then he slips inside the doors of the glass factory.

   

 She sings her song of him
  with her every breath
 as he sings, too of her.
 all of this in silence.
        




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