The new built church was filling up
For its very first Christmas Eve.

It was finished in October
On a piece of vacant land, and
Reverend James had joined the greeters,
At its entrance shaking hands.

From seeming out of nowhere
A stranger just appeared
He was hunched a bit, and limping
With a longer gray-white beard.
His suit was black and dusty,
Like it hadn’t been used in years,
And his eyes were red and misty
Like he’d been shedding countless tears.

The Reverend grabbed his hand and said,
“Welcome!  Welcome, come right in!!
You’re a stranger to these parts I guess,
But we’re mighty glad you came.
And if it’s all the same to you,
We’d like to know your name.”

“Name’s Everett.  Everett Kent,” he said.
“Been alookin’ for this church.
Knowed some day you’d build it here.
Now I can end my search.”

The stranger loosed the Reverend’s grip,
Limped in and settled down,
At the far left end of the far back pew;
Where no one was around.

He sat through prayers and sermon,
Through a couple hymns as well
And when they got to ‘Silent Night’
He appeared to know it well.  
Silently, he closed his eyes,
The words were his release
“Round yon ******, Mother and Child,”
“Sleep in Heavenly Peace.”
“Sleep in Heavenly Peace.”

As the song went to the second verse,
The bearded stranger, dressed in black
Vanished into silent night,
Not once looking back.

The next day - Christmas Morning,
The ushers found a curious thing
A parchment in the offering plate
******* with a string.
When they untied the string they found
Much to their surprise,
A stack of Hundred Dollar bills
Of a slightly larger size.
They were from a different era,
Was this some kind of a joke?
A heartless cruel trick to play
At the expense of righteous folk.

On the inside of the parchment
In an antique writing style
Was a poem, (or a riddle?)
Now they couldn’t help but smile.

“One Thousand for the Father,
Two Thousand for His Son.
Three Thousand for the men who followed on the run.
Four Thousand for Mother Mary, who must have suffered most,
Five Thousand in remembrance of the wandering Holy Ghost.
That leaves nothing for the Devil
Though he’d like to claim it all.
May it help to pay the mortgage
On the church you built this fall.
Fifteen thousand dollars here,
Count it if you want –
I’ve had it for safe-keepin’
‘Twas much safer than a vault.”

The Reverend and the Deacons counted 15 Grand
The Reverend and the Deacons, together made a plan
Early the next morning of the very next business day,
They found a numismatist
To see what he would say.

He said,
“As currency it’s worthless
But a collector will pay well
These notes are rare and valuable
As far as I can tell.
You’ll get thirty / forty times the face
Look at the condition that they’re in!!
Where the Hell did they come from?”
And, where the Hell have they been?”

Reverend James contradicted
Remembering Everett Kent,
“Sir, it wasn’t Hell they’ve come from.
These notes were Heaven sent.
A stranger came on Christmas Eve
And left them on the pew.
All we did was count them,
And bring them straight to you.”

On the way home, Reverend James perplexed
Reviewed the strange events
Prayed that God would grant him wisdom
So he’d know what to do next
Surely the stranger didn’t know
The value of the notes
He mentioned only Fifteen Thousand
In the poem that he wrote.

A lawyer was a member
Of the Richland Christian Church
So Reverend James implored him
To do a legal search
He vowed to find the stranger Kent
To make known the real worth,
And inform him of the value
Of the bills he left at church.

Three days later, four o’clock
The Reverend heard a frantic knock
“I’ve found something that’ll interest you,
From 23 December, Eighteen Seven Two.


Richland Herald, December 31, 1872
The First National Bank of Richland was robbed last week, on December 23rd, by a man who, holding the tellers at bay with a pistol, demanded that they surrender all the money in the vault, without protest so that none would be harmed.  The thief escaped on horseback, though the Sheriff’s department was duly informed, and the Sheriff and two newly appointed deputies immediately gave chase.

On or about 4 pm the following day, a man matching the thief’s description was said to have been seen at the stage stop, run by Everett Kent, and his wife Mary, two fine people known about these parts for their hospitality and generosity.  As a testament to this fact, an itinerant preacher (known only as Reverend Jim) had been staying at the house for some time and conducting meetings at the stop whenever possible.  It should be mentioned as well that the Kent’s have a young son David, who, taking a liking to the eloquent Reverend Jim, had decided to also preach the Gospel and had taken the his first steps in that Almighty Direction.

As the posse surrounded the house, the thief, perhaps knowing that he could not escape, endeavored to bargain his way out of the situation by taking hostages and thereby securing his own safety.  Everett Kent, pleading for some shred of decency from the villain, asked that his wife and child and Reverend Jim be released, and that he, alone would serve in that capacity.  The thief relented (maybe the only time in his villainous life that he concluded a decent act.)  Mary and David ran from the building and were quickly placed out of harm’s way by the sheriff and his men.

What happened next will never be known to any but those in the building and the Lord God Himself.  What is known, is that yelling and commotion came from the house, and three shots were fired.  Perhaps upon being released, instead of removing himself to safety, Reverend Jim, attacked the villain and a scuffle ensued.  In the process, a kerosene lamp was broken, and the building caught fire.  Although Mary implored the sheriff to rescue her husband who had been tied to a chair, the Sheriff exercising judgment, if not valor, determined that it was already too late.

The thief (identity forever unknown), the valiant Reverend Jim and the pious and unfortunate Everett Kent all perished in the fire.  When the house had burned to the ground and the bodies could be examined, it was determined that the thief was shot through the heart and Reverend Jim also had received a mortal wound.  Everett Kent, though tied to a chair, had somehow procured a bullet wound to his right leg.

The spoils of the robbery, according to the First National Bank, $15,000 in uncirculated $100 bank notes, were never found, and presumed burned to ashes in the fire.

Reverend James felt faint
His knees and legs were weak
He sat down at his desk, and
Heard the lawyer speak.

Reverend James, there’s something more
That you have a right to know.
The stage stop never was rebuilt.
The widow moved away
And raised her son in another town
Very far away.

The son became a preacher
And later changed his name
In honor of the Reverend Jim,
Called himself David James.

You are David’s GG Grandson
You descend from Everett too.
The land where you just built the church?
Left so long ago to you?
Was once the home of Everett Kent
I found that in my search.
The widow left it to her son
And he thus passed it down.
And now you’ve built your brand new church
On that very ground.

You’ll never find the stranger
The notes are yours to spend
And the Christmas Eve Tale of Everett Kent
Has finally reached its end.

“One Thousand for the Father,
Two Thousand for His Son.
Three Thousand for the men who followed on the run.
Four Thousand for Mother Mary, who must have suffered most,
Five Thousand in remembrance of the wandering Holy Ghost.
That leaves nothing for the Devil
Though he’d like to claim it all.
May it help to pay the mortgage
On the church you built this fall.
Fifteen thousand dollars here,
Count it if you want –
I’ve had it for safe-keepin’
‘Twas much safer than a vault.”
Reverend David James III,  recounted to Philip W. Lindsey on 4/13/2015

I’m in the library, at school, trying to write an article for the school paper (and I'm not even ON the school paper). I’m on a forty-five minute deadline to complete a story someone else did poorly - on the edge of my vision I see someone step up to my table - a boy, I can tell, without looking up, from his school uniform. I’m hoping whoever it is will go away.. 44 minutes.
“Uhh-umm,” I hear.
My eyes flicker up and I ID “Everett Priestly” - one of God’s less ambitious efforts.
After a moment.
“Uhh-umm,” he does again.
“Parsley,” I say, without looking up.
“Priestly,” he answers with a sigh, "wanna play HOUSE?" he says conspiratorially, with a smirk.
"We were 7," I say, liberally applying syrupy boredom.

I’ve kind of known Everett Priestly forever - he lives two doors away from us - then my family became ex-patriots until three years ago. His family is rich, he’s handsome and I believe someone once told him he was charming. He fancies himself a lady killer but I’m willing to bet that he kills them with a combination of daddy’s money and poor driving.

“I’m awfully busy - on deadline Mr. Priestly - please send me a text,” I say, again, without looking up.
“I don’t have your number,” he says, patiently. “Would you like to go to Sandra’s party with a group of us Friday night?”
“OOOO! Let’s keep it that way,” I smile - this is too easy - 42 minutes.
“It’ll be FUN,” he says, with a smile in his voice - Oh, God, he’s trying charm.
“Everett,” I stop writing, look up and lean back. “You ask me out every two months. If you’ve made a bet with someone - like we’re living a teen movie - I’ll payoff the bet for ya if you just give it a rest, OK?”
He really IS good looking - but kissing him would be the apoco-LIPS.
“Why do you always say no??,” he asks, with a helpless 1/6th shrug and his GIGAWATT smile.
41 minutes.
“See you in January,” I say, as I slide my laptop closer in, give it my obvious, full attention and hopefully, start back to writing.
“Come to Thanksgiving!,” he says, as inspiration strikes.
“January would be MLK day,” I remind him. “Everett, PLEASE - deadline,” I plead (not looking up).
Everett, makes a snarky sound, turns around and slowly moves away - like a man headed for jail - he really SHOULD try out for the drama department, I decide. 40 minutes.

When Everett turned 16, his daddy gave him some kind of expensive foreign sports car - a really, really, really expensive sports car. Six hours later Everett guns this formula-one race-car out of a gas station, loses control, and totals it. The girl with him had to get stitches over her right eye.

His friends call him “EV” - they say it with a kind of a southern accent - that I can’t decide is fake or not, which gives it a hint of - “Elvis” - had a replacement car within 48 hours. He wrecked THAT one in less than six weeks - and his date got a concussion in the roll-over.

If he wants me to get in a car with him, he’s gonna to have to taser me.

Everett street, Wooveburra


One day in the Mython town of Wooveburra, there was a working class street in the suburb of Kensworth, called Everett Street, where their lived former Mython prime minister, Jack Norridge, who was the most right wing politian around, and he only is living in the street because his rich wife took her and his money to make a better life for herself and her children in Sydney Australia and Jack was left penniless and had to apply for the age pension, and mind you he had nothing in common with any of the folk anywhere on this street, you see in one house is a family who can barely feed themselves nevertheless the luxuries they give to their kids, like paying for school camps, and Jack told them, on his day he had his second job at her and her husbands age, and yes, they tore strips of him, but them, they were doing better, which suited them fine, and there were no way they will help him through what he's going through, and in another house is Fred Gordon who was the librarian, and when he came face to face with Jack, and bare in mind when Jack was prime minister, he needed to fund his new freeway, so he nearly had the library shut, and now he's got nothing, he was in no way showing any sympathy for the man,,telling him endlessly, things like welcome to my world ****, and your not so big now, Jacky, you will be killed within 3 months, mate.
There was a young couple, what about 16 and 17 who have 2 kids and when he walked passed,,the young couple always wanted to chat to him, and they chatted about why the **** did they cut their grandmas pension, she had to stop giving us gifts, and then they called Jack a two faced slimey old cow, and Jack said, sometimes we have to cut back, then he said have a look at me, and then the couple said to him, your problems are ******* self-inflicted, our problems are just us finding a mojo that you ***** won't let us have, and then Jack was getting very nervous, and went into the pub and when he got in, it looked good, and people Said hello and when Jack asked for gin and tonic,everyone looked at him, and also one ,man said to Jack, hey are you former prime minister Jack Nortodge, and when he said yes, he laughed and he laughed at him and then punched him square on the gut,
And Jack said, I will get my lawyer onto you all partiers, in my day we all did an honest days work, none of this few drinker happy hours like you guys get, and then one drinker said, well in your day when everyone did a honest days work, does that make you different to the world, cause you haven't done an honest days work ever, so ******* right wing fascioust, and Jack left to go home seeing people throwing thier fists at him, as well as sticking their fingers at him, and then Jack said, I am going nowhere, so get used to me Everett Street, I am here to stay, and every resident yelled out, but our towns heritage won't be, you'll turn this street into Las Vegas, if we give you half the ****** chance, and then Jack went inside and all the residents went to the pub and tell of all things that Jack has done wrong for the country of Myth, and everyone hated him with a passion,,and that's what happened on Everett street this week, I hope you enjoyed it.


Sent from my iPhone

A friend of mine walked up to me and asked me: "What is a good woman?"
I replied "you would know if you were a good man"
He said "Stop joking I really wanna know"
"There is no definite answer, but when you meet one, it will show"
There are many characteristics  that make a good woman, but it would take days to speak them all
Since my friend brought this to mind, I thought I would list a few for y'all
A woman who is proud of what she brings
and won't complain over petty things
A woman who is well spoken and not opposed to listening
because communication is key from the beginning
A woman who is wise and able to realize
the pit you are in doesn't matter because she will help your rise
A woman who wouldn't try to control her man but also wouldn't be a doormat
And when trouble comes up, her feet won't be flat (she's ready to go)
A woman who never stops believing in the man that you are and the man you can become
So much confidence in you, it almost makes her seem dumb
A virtuous woman who prays for you more than she prays for herself
Remembering God is number one above all else
A woman who tries to pay for herself before you can offer
Knowing the difference between selfless and selfish is something you should prefer
A woman with the power of forgiveness
But don't abuse it
Because a good woman is not stupid
She will lose it
You will lose her and have no one to blame when your heart takes the hit
If you hurt a good woman, in my eyes, you aren't worth the saliva I spit
The ice cream no one would lick
The one that gets thrown down in hope ants would leave a picnic
To pick apart your existence
Use your common sense
Realize what's in front of you and cherish it
Woman is the title a female receives at a certain age
But it takes a good man to realize a good woman is on the next page
I'm not saying a good woman needs to have this quote for quote
I don't think any woman does, if so, let me know
I haven't met any besides my family, but I don't go down that road
I'm being patient, waiting for my good woman is giving me time to grow
So I can give her the best Brandon Everett Davis, the world doesn't know
To not be on their level, would be a sin
Let's become better men for these good women

The ***, I thought. Pirates drink ***, I decided, because then the world rocks like a boat. My foot was tingling, like it was asleep, but I was just sitting on it, which seemed funny.

I managed to free my foot and the whole world seemed more comfortable.
Then a spider was on my face!
I swatted at it, but it was just my hair, which I managed, with dizzying effort, to tuck behind my ear.

Everett, slid off the couch, in front of me, like an alligator off a sand bank. I hadn’t noticed him before. He worked his way over next to me, on all fours, like a lazy, wobbly panther.

“Everett,” I said, as if to establish the fact that that blurry shape was indeed Everett.
“ANN-Ais,” he replied, and chuckled like we’d exchanged punchlines. He was next to me now.
“You’re very,” he said, as if struggling for the next word, “PRetty,” he said, petting my arm like a cat.

Then, still on all fours, he lifted one hand and touched a finger to my right breast, as if it were a sleeping thing he was trying to wake. I watched him, detachedly. He looked distorted, like a reflection in a funhouse mirror. His backside slumped down, like a lion that was full and ready to nap, and he rebalanced himself on his left elbow and licking his lips reached over again.

I gently, preemptively, pushed his reaching hand away, “Stop thAT,” I said, “yourrrrrr drrUNK.”
“YOU’RE, are TOO!” He said, in sloppy accusation, which made me laugh and then him too.

“Leave me alone,” I managed to say, pretty clearly. Prompting Everett to frown and give me a jerky, dismissive wave as he, the proud panther, began to look for other prey.

I looked around and saw my purse, on the table next to the chair that was holding me up. The strap was just within reach so I yanked on it and my purse thumped roughly onto the carpet next to me. My glass, which was next to it, threatened to tip over but settled itself upright.

I fished out my phone, while fighting a curtain of my hair that had decided to attack me when I reached for my purse. “Hey, Siri,” I slurred, “callllll CHarles.”
It rang once. “Yep,” he said.
“Come get me pleaZ,” I said, trying to get my hair and tongue separated.

Two minutes later Charles was there. He held out his hand, which I managed to take while somehow shouldering my purse. He pulled me to an unsteady stance, shook his head and scooped me, effortlessly, into a cradle carry. “Do you have everything?” He asked.

I nodded and said, “Thank you for inviting me, EVVVV!” While waving wildly as we left.
Once outside, he said, “14-year old's do NOT drink!” With a real edge in his voice.
“I’m sorry,” I said, in a tone of tired melancholia. I couldn’t help resting my face on his warm chest as he carried me to our house just next door to Everett’s.
“You’re GROUNDED for a MONTH.” He said in a growl.
Somehow, I managed to make it upstairs and into bed without encountering my parents.

In the morning, while I was busy feeling like death, Charles told my parents, “She’s grounded for a month.” I was. They didn’t ask why, and he didn’t offer to say.

I love Charles.

"Honestly? I'd just cover that up", he says

Orion's not moving. Stars don't move.
They may die, they may dim, they may traverse galaxies
Change position in the night sky with the seasons
Give me one. good. reason.
To cover up my compass home,
The one good thing, the one beautiful thing,
On this scarred and wretched body?

"We'll put Orion somewhere else, start over"

You're not my mother, ripping out a new piercing
Locking the door on a daughter and her father
Drinking and dating and thinking "start over"
My skin is just my skin, the moles and ink
And decisions are mine to live in
How dare you claim yourself an artist,
yet break down your clientele, your canvas

So Orion's not the problem, sir
It's a debauched attitude toward station
When I follow the stars tonight, I will tell them
Needles have no consideration

I would like to tell you a story about a soul. A soul that was as clean, pure and gentle as soul can be. Rarely in live do we meet someone or some animal who never wanted anything but to give love. This story can’t be told without talking about her caretaker and my wife.

About 12 years ago an injured kitten was released to Everett Animal Shelter. The kitten had no use of it’s hind legs and was incontinent. In those day it was almost 100% chance that this kitten was going to be put down. Don’t feel sad/mad about this, nature’s way can be very cruel. The her fate sealed, this was much more humane ending.

My wife took it home to see if the kitten could be rehabilitated. We had been fostering kittens for a while and had a safe room for her. After getting her settled in we look at each other saying without words “Now what”?

Well the first thing that needed to be done was give her a name. We talked for a bit and I explained to my wife “She needs a strong name. She needs a strong black female name. She going need it to help her through life”. The strongest black female name I knew was Rosa Parks. That became her name.

Rosa being incontinent was, well to be honest, was a stinky kitten. Stinky kitten became one of her many nicknames, HA. Rosa needed to learn how to take a bath. If you ever tried to give a kitten/cat a bath you know it’s not really a good idea. So my wife dives right in, picks her up and takes her to bathroom for her first bath. Rosa being the soul she was just sat in the sink and took her bath. She didn’t fight it, she never hissed or got angry. She just took her bath. This attitude towards water lead us to try water therapy.

Water therapy was a home job for us. We would fill a storage tote with warm water and put this rear palatalized kitten in it up to her neck. Now for first time in a few weeks this kitten Rosa could stand up with the water supporting her weight. This went on for the first year of her life. This was the start of many treatments such as acupuncture, a sling in her room and massage. She did all of it never complained about anything.

It didn’t take to long and soon Rosa was strong enough to stand and wobble out a step or two. After a few months of no more improvement it became clear that a decision needed to be made about what to do with her. Is her quality of life such that gets returned for euthanasia or is she happy and do we commit to her care. We knew that she could never live the life of a normal cat. She would never be able to go outside unsupervised, she could never be inside unsupervised except in her safe room. She was healthy and always happy so the commitment was made.

Rosa had her safe room but what to do with her when we can supervise her. Rosa needed a wheelchair. After doing some research we found a local company that makes wheelchairs for pets. After getting her sized up the day came she had her chair. We put Rosa in her chair and in no time she was zooming around the room. Rosa is mobile!!!

My wife and I would take Rosa and Cocoa (look for the story ‘Cocoa’s Ghost’) for walks around the block. Animal Rescue Foundation who had paid for Cocoa issues and Rosa’s early expenses told the Everett Herald newspaper about this and Rosa went mainstream. Look up the news article ‘Pets get a second chance’ if your interested reading it. Needless to say walking a cat in a tiny wheelchair got attention.

One of the things that was very special about Rosa was she loved being a foster mom. My wife would often bring home sick kittens, tiny kittens and just overflow from the Everett Shelter and put them in Rosa’s safe room. Rosa always excepted those kittens as her own within a day or two. I often thought it would have been funny to learn about the birds and the bees from her perspective.

Me “Rosa, where do kittens come from”.

Rosa “Well first you eat some food, then you ****, then you go to sleep and BAM kittens”.

There were many, many times a sick kitten would just curl up in her belly and sleep with it’s now mother Rosa. She was so good with the kittens. She would cuddle, discipline, clean and try to feed when needed. The kittens in her care got a family with a loving mother and bothers and sisters, often unrelated. She truly seemed to enjoy motherhood.

This was Rosa’s and my wife’s life for 12 years. Feed Rosa, squeeze Rosa, clean Rosa and love Rosa. Last night that most of that ended. A few weeks ago Rosa stopped eating and drinking. After $1000 of tests, weeks of fluids, syringe feedings and with no answers we made the choice and gave the gift. Rosa died the same way she came into our lives, in my wife’s arms.

I wrote this not to make you sad. I wrote this to share a clean, pure and gentle soul with you. Some of you reading this may have one of her kittens living with you now: a small piece of her soul living with you now.  Enjoy her gift to you.

In January 2018 young dolly Everett committed suicide after receiving lots of hurtful comments and she couldn’t take it anymore, so she ended her life, I went up to nirvana to guide her slowly to her next life
Because she gave up on life as dolly, after being a loving life kid with the akubra hat, I know how losing your life so young can be hard because I was Graeme Thorne in my previous life and in this life I try and have a positive attitude in life, I explained to dolly that Buddha wants you to fight your way into another ****** because you have a lot to live for and despite me saying that, dolly didn’t want to come back, the world is too cruel, and
I said yes, but the chances of being a target of bullying again is slim and I could make you come back into a great person as your mother and I got bullied in school in this life, but I never wanted to **** myself but I understand it isn’t as easy for you, so I will sit and drink methane with you for a long as it takes because my point is you shouldn’t let bullies spoil your vision of life, home and away star penny macnamee wants another baby, and I think you would be ideal to get reborn into her family and you can love life and have fun and put those dreaded bullies in your past
Dolly said, it is hard for me people were awful to me and I said, I got teased and bullied back then, but I don’t want to let that spoil my vision of life and I know you ended dolly Everett but you should give penny the chance to enjoy motherhood
And you will have an older brother and you can have fun as well and dolly sat in the Saturn pub for 3 weeks and finally penny was trying for a baby and dolly was wanting to enter it which I said well done dolly don’t let the world stop you from enjoying life and I am now on medication for schitzophrenia and if you need that which I hope you don’t just learn to love life, bullies are just problem children who could be jealous
They will never make me forget about life and your next life will be a fabulous one for you

It was suggested that we wear something comfortable (especially shoes) and that we bring a cover. I wore a black one-shoulder bow-tied satin mini dress and G Ballet Flats and I was able to fold a sheer shirt into my tiny purse (for a later cover).

The stretch limo pulled into our driveway.
“Is it prom night already?” my brother Brice snarked.
“Be careful,” my mom said sternly, pulling my short dress down a bit. “you have your phone?”
I rolled my eyes, produced my phone and she made sure “Find my” was working.
“You’re staying at Bili’s (my BFF), ya?”, she confirmed. “You three stick TOGETHER.”, she adds.
“Yes mam.” we answer, with nods all around.

As Bili, Kim (my 2 BFFs) and I excitedly settled in, the boat-like car moved smoothly off into the night. There were ten of us - five guys and five girls - but no set “dates”.

Everett (nick-named “Ev”), all business at the moment, made sure he had all of our cell phone numbers - which he sent back to us as a custom contact list called “Dance Monkeys”, HA! Then he pushed a button or two, the interior lights dimmed, background music filled the air, a partition lowered and a bar appeared. The club, in Atlanta, was an hour away.

The cover charge for the Havana club VIP lounge is $500 a person (but you get a “free” drink). Everett waved, said, “Eddie!” and two Dwayne Johnson clones parted like a bank vault door. We passed through an airlock-like foyer where “Ev’s” polite apple-pay tap allowed the ten of us to enter the industrial looking, VIP lounge area.

A pretty girl dressed in black leather named Holly was our “steward” for the night - Everett, our guide to pleasure, passed her our cell number list. A second later we all received the message, “Hi!, I’m Holly - text me if you need anything.”

We passed through one last set of black glass doors and I practically flinched as the night exploded into shards of light, ear grinding bass riffs and pure, laser-lit decadence. “Holy crap,” I said - I couldn’t hear myself so I knew no one else could either - my arms prickled - it felt like the room was 45 degrees.

We were led through an ocean of writhing people below a live, aerial, Cirque du Solei like ballet display. Video played on every inch of wall space - the song “Get out of my head” played like a jet engine - the video was skin on every surface - the effect was stunning and somewhat disorienting.

Eventually, we came to a private “cabana” where we settled in.
Someone pulled my arm and I was out on the dance floor. ****, THIS is what I’d been missing - FUN.

Every few songs I was able to get back to the table and gulp whatever drink was at my seat but then someone pulled my arm and again, I was out on the dance floor. The club seemed to morph with every video - the crowd roared each time a favorite cut, like “Wasted love” began.

I was offered, more than once, a triangular pill with an “X” on it - we (Bili, Kim and I) were pretty sure it was ecstasy. We passed on it. However, it seemed a tray of shooters arrived at our cabana every 5 minutes.

There were half-assed horderves, but I hadn’t really eaten and after about 90 minutes of shooters and dancing I was starting to spin. Then, like magic or an unconscious prayer, the field of dancers parted for - a pizza delivery!!

Ok, now, in my animal-like hunger, I’m thinking maybe Everett is a genius. People at other  cabanas point and eye us with naked envy. No one else thought of this. I greedily, unladylikely help myself to a life-saving slice of cheesy heaven and groan with pleasure at each new bite.

I’m greedy for more than pizza.

Substitutions, approximations & affiliations make my flat **** tired
among the countless ***** bank kiddies my "donations" have sired
with mucked up & mired résumé-writers happily ****** up & fired
who reject the notion that a Dutchman'll never quit a job once hired
We march in jackboots to combat the foot ball neuromas of Morton
that force us on long marches to stop, cut, soak our heels & shorten
the queer couplin' betwixt Gavin Gordon & Edward Everett Horton

Some say, we don't need black history month.
When in truth we do.
Would the contribution of African American be taught truthfully.
If we had to depend on you know who?

Obviously, they very unaware of several successful black that contributed to America's greatness.
We, very well aware they edited down facts to be turn into fiction.
Like that president that chopped down that cherry tree.

Many doesn't know the plight of Washington, Dubois, Carver.
Let alone know their first name.
It's hardly taught, if it's about us.

George Franklin, Grant-dentist
Ernest Everett, Just.-Scientist
Josh Gibson, one of the greatest baseball player.

We know very well about George, Thomas and James and John Q.

Some say, we all Americans
And in truth, they completely right.
But for reasons very well known.
We are not all equal in sights of others.

When needed, they call upon us to join in.

Some still, say-why do Black history month exist?
But all cultures knows none was eliminated through times.
Than those captured to come here and renamed after their masters.

And facts be told, this cultures lives to embrace into their children's if nothing is ever mention by certain teachers about their cultures.
Than they will keep it before them.

Matthew Alexander, Henson-Explorer
Billie Holiday-singer
Duke Ellington and Count Basie and Cab Calloway.

Greatness, we can't let fade.

Vernon Jordan
Shirley Chilsom
And hosts of present days teachers that push the issues to educate.

Those that say, we don't need Black History months.
Be crying , if we try to eliminate theirs.
Cause that's all they ever known.

Howard University.
Tennessee State and Fisk and various others came to be because of discrimination.
And has turned out some brilliant African Americans.

So our history is needed.
Cause it's about us.
Like Latin History and various others is about other cultures.

The trains cry out in the lonely hours of the night.
Their sirens beckoning, awakening me from my stupor and teasing that I'm still alive.

How unfortunate to be reminded that life continues with out me.
How self-centered to feel like I should be a part of it.

Shaping lifestyles and decisions based on sound waves.
Hiding between headphones, I escape to experiences that aren't mine.

What happened?

-Grace
August 2012

It's amazing how long I spend staring out this window.
looking past the water; past Everett.
Thinking about driving through and past the mountains;
And taking him with me.
Thinking about everything I told him last night, yesterday.
Thinking about sleeping inside the jacket that is neither his nor mine.
I washed it, but it probably reeks of; flowers, cherries, peppermint
and dreams.
I wish I could sit on this windowsill and stare for hours.

**Written about the extremely large windows of the A-building
at the ever classy ghetto-fabulous Everett High School. Third floor.

remember the melding
of gilmore and bing
the springfield gates
and desmond ring

remember the trojans
and fools in the pack
sea fair jeans
and corkscrew flat

remember the cabin
and *****’s garage
the gary point dunes
and moncton mirage

remember the warehouse
the water logged seats
tin foil caps
and simple retreats

remember the cave
and turn on the cut
emery’s mini
and hamilton’s hut

remember the burger
and shake in the air
bubs in the back
with little despair

remember the valley
and 66 ford
burgundy lips
and samworth’s chord

remember the plainsman
a 7 inch log
the ***** old frenchmen
and bore-*** hog

remember the javelin
and mushay’s wheels
beaumont’s baggie
and jennifer beals

remember tough charlie
tossing brad rand
the belyae roundhouse
and beer in the sand

remember park polo
and scaling of firs
sleeping in rafters
at 8 bucks per

remember the mayflower
and brothers von grant
the max air follies
and chivalrous rant

remember the flipper
the floyd and the clap
banana boat sunday
and pemberton trap

remember the purples
the rasp in the street
the oliver jokers
and shady retreat

remember the gators
and brick house café
a flash in the pan
and crib cult stay

remember the church
and talbs on the bridge
goofy’s memoirs
and cypress ridge

remember smaldino
whom perry cut short
***** and a ****
and moria’s port

remember the zuker
and gilligan’s isle
the pep chew bust
and 8 tooth smile

remember the action
at blundell and one
the nauseous fumes
and pump house run

remember the canyon
and rock on the cliff
a tourniquet bind
that kept us adrift

remember lake skaha
and jvc tunes
the j bain query
and peach fest goons

remember the irons
and broad entry beads
the alexander boys
we must pay heed

remember the gates
the 12 hole stare
the hospital bed
and ky affair

remember the farmhouse
an open air deck
the john deere tractor
and cowboy neck

remember the wheat field
and jimmy crack corn
the burlington plaza
and fraser street ****

remember the pincers
and wee ***** white
the concubine fractures
and strong overbite

remember the carving
portrayed at the scene
the billy goat battles
a young man’s dream

remember lord brezhnev
and moby the ****
the second beach sun
and paper bag trick

remember the screening
the silver light show
banshee boots
and phipps’s throw

remember the epic
and baby oil block
trash can brassieres
and window rock

remember the law
jack rabbit in may
an 8 track mix
on alpine way

remember the dunes
a pig on the spit
the underarm hair
and corn bull-****

remember old frankie
and bursey head post
the koa leaves
and tiki shore host

remember b taupin
the lyrics he left
cold muddy waters
an odd treble clef

remember street regent
the trips in the night
the trailer park cap
and lightheart fight

remember kits causeway
mortimer and beaks
jk's cabin
and muscle bound freaks

remember glen cheesy
and billy the less
the frozen puke patties
and borkum mess

remember the catfish
and pickerel rock
the emerald meadows
and rainbow dock

remember port dover
with fish on a stick
wayne in a bunker
holding his ****

remember the ironside
limes in a tree
the usc campus
came with a fee

remember the duster
an arrow in heart
the frog man bug
that would not start

remember the zimmer
the ram air hood
a family wagon
with panels of wood

remember peace portal
the 33 back
the power built drive
and dangerous tack

remember the reds
the blues and the greens
the furry point island
and country book scene

remember the springs
and i 95
a lone state trooper
with blood in his eye

remember may’s cabin
and stuff in between
the frame and the picture
and morning snow scene

remember the boss
with a 302 scoop
the diamond tuft console
and back seat coupe

remember ioco
the **** and the spit
the skid road race
and hurst floor kit

remember the shore
and tents in the park
a campfire roast
and kerosene bark

remember the hooger’s
kit kat club
the colvin’s and setter’s
a man called bub

remember the creature
with silk strand hair
and afternoon flask
with little despair

remember quilchena
and robbie the mac
the rice stead box
and tap on the back

remember miss williams
a pilgrim’s salute
the fairmont sister
with all of her loot

remember port ludlow
a scotman on dock
the everett street bridge
and single leg sock

remember the masters
and all of the roar
the faldo follies
at norman’s door

remember jeff samson
tied in a tree
the robertson fastback
with white leather seats

remember the balance
and pulling of 4's
the moncton warehouse
and hollywood ******

remember the hospice
with carter in wear
the power of gospel
and magic in prayer

remember the mini
counting the crows
aberdeen villa
where all of it grows

remember the ballroom
the battle of bands
the buccaneer bikers
and front row stands

remember the steely
and 50 odd pulls
the crook in the cranny
and pilsner bulls

remember the mustang
tb paul
the ****** shack sergeant
was missing a ball

remember dear kevin
head first in the pool
a sheik in a minefield
and ****** gas fool

remember the rumble
and bats in the night
an old lady screaming
to a young man’s delight

remember cliff olsen
that sick little ****
who will be in shackles
on lucifer’s truck

remember the bumpers
and cutting in line
the mice on the ****
and bo in the pine

remember the law
stabbing the corn
a bucket of ammo
and mekong horn

remember s boras
the piercing of yes
the color line paper
sikosie at rest

remember the pinto
and seven road plants
mother’s fine pizza
a trial lawyer’s rant

remember the kennedys
with ***** painted black
a pond in the shadows
where monty looked back

remember von husen
the sea to sky test
a farm hands daughter
was one of the best

remember mr pither
and mao sae tung
helena the cougar
and egg foo young

remember the cinder
and frances road bake
***** the whitehead
would make no mistake

remember the quan
and mental mix
the java hut sister
with pixy sticks

remember j rosie
banging his head
in a moment of dr
we thought he was dead

remember the hammer
discussions caught short
siddrich and roger
and monty’s abort

remember 6 nations
and KOA
the pool hall fight
when everyone stayed

remember the skinners
and tommy the med
the lost tough china
and bubs in the shed

remember the doobies
zeppelin and cars
floyd and the *****
and shankar’s sitar

remember old dustys
the blue and red chair
the cypress hill caves
and mullet cut hair

remember the promise
and vows that we made
on the 2 road stairs
in goodman’s brigade

remember those moments
and handle with care
for the garamond stamp
will always be there…

My bed is empty. I count the seconds down until you appear: 1...2...3 times you've asked me to leave you alone. Leave you alone? How can I let you be so cruel, so uncaring, and so completely and totally near to my voice. I can't. It's not who you are in this world-we call reality sets in and I grab my **** as the black of guilt sets in.

Black. Gray. White. What room am I in? There's ten feet of tile by ten feet heaven bound. The claw foot tub grips at the **** stained floor, fighting gravity's nagging whine. It's all too real. All too fictitiously crisp. All too false.

The ivory room slips into the field as the brown drains from the vomitorium. Bathhouses, **** me. Lesioned tricks, **** me. Loneliness, *******-off to Cair Paravel.

I'm an ice cube in an ocean. Don’t drown, don't go, just come.

Rhythm stops and I study the damage. Laying alone on my bed, skin burning with the genocide of my seed spilt for you, I realize you are gone. With the revival of my senses I realize: You are a dream. A fabrication of lust and desire. But this moment, these feelings are ever changing. This moment is real. This time it's you. Tomorrow night: Tommy Anders, Brent Everett, Mr. Corrigan! Pornstars extraordinaire.

That's all I get nowadays.

RECORD: LIFE'S A BEACH
FROGMAN: DJANGO DJANGO


It's only after you've lost everything, that
YOU'RE FREE
to do anything.
-- Tyler Durden, Tacky Frogman

Suzy's: Indeed, a lesson that might help one to burn off

How dangerous the acquirement of data is
and how much clappier those Brads and Janets might be
whom believe their native thought to be The Word,
than one who aspires to be greater
than their creader will allow.
-- Victor Frankenstein, Suzy

Dr. Everett Scott: Janet!
Janet: Dr. Scott!
Brad: Janet!
Janet: Brad!
Frank: Rocky Bottom!
[Rocky frunts]

Dr. Everett Scott: Janet!
Janet: Dr. Scott!
Brad: Janet!
Janet: Brad!
Frank: Rocky Bottom!
[Rocky frunts]

All-Present!

STOP: TURN THOUGHT

RECORD: THIS TIME TOMORROW
FROGMAN: THE KINKS

Magenta: How fraking mental.

Riff Raff: And also ANGEROUS of you.
               You see, when I said that 'we' were to return to Ninetbeen,
               I referred only to Magenta and myself.

               I'm sorry, however, if you found The Word misleading,
               but you see, you are to remain here,
               in Thought, anyway.

Dr. Everett Scott: Great heavens! That's a Colt .42!

Riff Raff: Yes, Dr. Scott.
               A Colt .42 capable of relaying a Time Spiral of Pure Confusions.

Johnny Five: You mean, you're going to confturosel me?
                        What's
                        my
                       crime?

Dr. Everett Scott: You saw what became of the TEMPORAL EDDY.
                             Brads and Janets must be prefected.

Riff Raff: Exactly, Dr. Scott.
               And now, Johnny Five,
               your mono-ch[R]oine has come.
               Say good-bye to all of this...
               and hello to PROL-TARI-DOM!

. . . ]

Stephanie Speck: But you can't be con-a-fused.
                               You're an alive.

STOP: END'me'THOUGHT

I could not talk him down, or
listen him up,  though that is
what I was trained to do, tried to do  
he gazed only at the street,
his final resting place, where  
he would soon be
a crushed crimson spectacle
for greedy and empty eyes  
whose mouths would tell
of his demise, but none
even knew his name,
I learned it was Everett, and  
that he had three daughters
lost in suburbia, eons from this ledge
where he stood, and talked to a stranger  
who was stranger than he  
for I looked to the skies
above the humming city, as if
they would be my salvation  
an airy home to spread wings
with angels, and glide endlessly
through blue heavens, but Everett knew  
there were no winged saviors awaiting him  
to grab him before his lonely leap
only the unmovable slab of concrete below
the craned necks of other flatlanders  
who would watch his final descent
and not realize his brief eternal fall
through the invisible place between two worlds  
would be the closest any would ever be  
to freedom

Leong and I are at a party, a graduating-high-school-senior throw-down. Their school year is over, and they are ready to darty. We’re at a lake house, well away from parents and neighbors.

These are the kids I high-schooled with - I just got promoted a year early. I get a lot of nods, waves and winks from some guys but none of them approach, like a mysterious inversion of attitudes has occurred - as if Yale were a nunnery and I’m a known novitiate. It’s just as well, I’m not looking for a hookup.

It’s Friday night, about 11:30 pm, the party started long ago and it’s britney-spears-2007. There are drunk girls in the pool in their underwear (Ok, that’s just exhibitionism, who comes to a lake party without a bathing suit?).

We’ve been here for about a half an hour, long enough to dance a couple of times. It’s hot and we’re sweaty but we can’t swim - Leong and I are moon sisters tonight - it’s our trauma bond. Our ad hoc solution, rubbing our arms and necks with ice, is congroovesive.

Leong is loving the bash, she keeps saying, “crazy,” like when large football players jump from the second story roof into the pool. It’s a huge pool, a huge party (with maybe 150 kids), a sound system that Led Zeppelin would envy and the house is a beach.

Everett, the host for tonight’s decadence, comes over and takes a seat by Leong and my lounge chairs. He’s a handsome guy, but there’s a cocky, entitled edge there that’s off-putting. He can be nice when he’s not trying to impress anyone.

There’s a break in the music. “You’re traveling this summer, I hear - me too - what games will you be playing?” He asks,
“I have my switch with me,” I say, “it travels well - not the whole console mind you - that seemed too extra - just the switch. So I’ll be playing Animal Crossing and Zelda - what about you?”
“Oh, I’m gonna play Grand Theft Auto - It was my favorite as a kid,” he says.
“You played GTA as a KID??” I gasp, “Why has THIS never come up?”
“I don’t know.” He admits
“How did your parents let you have that?” I ask, astonished.
“My dad’s the one who turned me onto it,” he confides, “he wanted a partner.”
“No wonder you love ******* music!” I say, making new connections.
“I DO.” He laughed. “You do,” I confirm, knowingly.

He holds a bottle of deep red something near my glass and raises his eyebrows.
“You can gas me up,” I laughed, “I’m not driving, I’m ok with it.”
Leong holds up her glass as well and he pours generously into our Sprites.

“What song can I play for you?” He asks, as a reward.
“I’m going to go basic,” I announce, after thinking about party music, “Beat it, by Fall out boy”
“You got it,” he nods, taking a moment to text the request to the DJ, before moving on to the next table.

After a moment, “Beat it” begins, there are a few cheers, but conversation becomes impossible.

Congratulations seniors everywhere!

Am I alive In your world?
Or am I the dead cat in the box,
Just like you are in mine?

It ends here, now.
This compromised soul,
this tired acceptance of a dead hope;
too much time wasted in longing
for something that brings forgetfulness.

Somehow, I love you.
And everything you still stand for.

I don't know how many disguised lines
were puked up by me in dark alleys,
or scribbled in a ***** notebook
alongside tradecraft and parameters.

So many years and I'm still bound by something,
some smiling morality whispering
seductively of what might have been,
if only I had thrown loyalty and that
outdated wraith called honour aside.

I understand that I'll never see you again,
will never have the chance to rectify
the wrong I did to your heart and soul
in the name of something that doesn't exist.

Never did I understand why Everett tried
so hard to put you on display; but looking back
now I get why you wanted Krum so bad,
and why you tried to trust me.

Regardless of what may have passed,
I still want to thank you.

Thank you for giving me a place to sleep,
and a friend when I had no one.

Two folded sheets of paper
were hidden in his stovepipe hat.
He mouthed the phrases with his lips
on the platform where they sat.

The air was cool and tolerable
on that remembered day.
The stench of death hung in the air
from heroes Blue and Gray.

A Doctor of Divinity intoned a simple prayer.
A local band then played.
Doctor Everett spoke two hours
In his solemn practiced way.

Only then did Lincoln rise.
His face seemed aged and somber.
I was then a child of five
standing fifteen feet yonder.

There upon the Field of battle
amidst the legion of the dead.
He did honor to their sacrifice
And the sacred cause he led.

He spoke about equality
He promised a rebirth.
Government of the people
would not perish from the earth.

That is all that I remember.
of the consecration day.
I was then a child of five,
Now I am old and Grey.

This word was invented in 1935 by Everett M. Smith, president of the National Puzzlers' League (N.P.L.), at its annual meeting. The word figured in the headline for an article published by the New York Herald Tribune on February 23, 1935, titled "Puzzlers Open 103d Session Here by Recognizing 45-Letter Word":

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis succeeded electrophotomicrographically as the longest word in the English language recognized by the National Puzzlers' League at the opening session of the organization's 103rd semi-annual meeting held yesterday at the Hotel New Yorker. The puzzlers explained that the forty-five-letter word is the name of a special form of pneumoconiosis caused by ultra-microscopic particles of silica volcanic dust...

Subsequently, the word was used in a puzzle book, Bedside Manna, after which time, members of the N.P.L. campaigned to include the word in major dictionaries.

This 45-letter word, referred to as "P45," first appeared in the 1939 supplement to the Merriam-Webster New International Dictionary, Second Edition.

On my feet are black moccasins
threaded with runs of bright turquoise
alongside patches of clay orange and dust yellow.
The feet inside grip cool, suede bottoms
to tread on ground still firm,
but pregnant, heavy with rain,
so that the worms lay like fallen soldiers,
victims of a thunderstorm
and scattered on the sidewalk
the way they were that morning
at elementary school
when a boy was squishing them for fun,
and my heart filled with grief for the worms,
whose only crime was trying not to drown.
The rain is a reminder of how poorly
these shoes function when wet,
how they rub my toes
in just the wrong ways,
leaving circular patches of reddened skin
on the outsides of my feet.
The worst blisters I’d ever had,
happened the day my brother and I
were lost in the dense forests of the national park,
and when we finally found the road,
were two miles from home,
and at the very bottom of Everett hill.
Those woods had a cabin by the river,
we only ever found a handful of times.
Our father had warned us
of the homeless drug addicts
who frequented it, which in all reality
were just boozing, ***-smoking teenagers
with an affinity for smashing bottles
and starting fires,
but we were never brave enough
to find out for sure.
And on the banks of that crooked river,
the spring undoes the twisted knots
that winter had created, and washes away
its cold to uncover the relics of autumn’s leaves,
rotting in colors of soupy brown
with tiny pools of grimy rainwater
collected in their palms.
And as I break through the veil of humidity,
to breath air crisp with the scent of fresh, wet earth,
I’m careful to tread lightly,
as to keep clean these moccasins
from their bright turquoises to their dusty yellows.

Eternal knowing
Enter this holy sacred place an actual event in history the most important action to ever occur in human history this determines
destinies in the manger is the Christ child dwell think of the implications your journey can be in some cases the same as the wise
Men a long and arduous one nothing is more precious or crucial now look up from the past to the present but more importantly
The future this is a dark future for sure the area that I have to explore this story will set the tone I believe most knows this poem
A man without a country written by Edward Everett Hale (1822–1909 it takes you into the world of a young naval officer who is found
Guilty of high treason against the United States his unusual punishment was felt to be fitting although the toughest sentence ever
Passed on a prisoner if he could be that calloused and cold against such a nation who’s high ideals and love of freedom could be
Trampled under without care then his punishment would be for the rest of his life he would never set foot on this blessed shore again
The story details his first reaction of brashness but then as time passes he has a change of heart he falls in love with his native land
But his plight is to always be shifted to a ship that is setting sails to faraway lands his home only the hold of ships it tells in deep detail
The strain on the men that must continue this punishment and his own life as it ages the despair the reality of not belonging the
Aloneness that crushes him and grips your heart as the reader while this bears on your mind I will take you into mine this is what rips
My heart as this man I look at people I don’t just casually glance I study them at deep levels when I see them hug someone touching
A most human need to be loved and give love to be accepted then my burden beyond the manger the cross as I said before beyond the
Open grave that is the ultimate reason of his birth the word says who shall escape if they neglect such a great salvation as this just like
The young naval officer that betrayed his country here is the punishment more awful than even the flames of the lake of fire see as I see
These precious real people separated from Jesus the greatest love never as the song says sheltered in the arms of God never hear his
Voice his touch that’s true hell my friend our families will follow us in to this domain but it’s called outer darkness we will be all alone
Before we had distraction on earth quiet peace oh yes and we consume more alcohol at the time that is supposed to be set aside to
Honor his birth than at any other time of the year all will truly be burned as wood hay and stubble we have this great invitation to be
His home by becoming the temple that he will live in from a desolate waste land to a land where ever you go he is with you a king
Above all king’s resident within your body that has become his temple with all the gifts of the spirit love mercy peace and many more
That elevates you to the highest plane giving you opportunities the base life never can even hint at the only thing is it does benefit and
Feels God’s love though it is imperceptible this will end I hope we don’t lose all that is human and become like the enemy I met a
Demonic angel when I was in Napa California he was trying to act as a messenger from God words can’t explain the instant recognition
Of who was there though unseen it was repulsive my mind pictured something bubbling with every imaginable disease how appropriate
Since hell is where all sicknesses comes from and instantly I understood the ease of this and his kind how they perpetrated the holocaust the word
Says my sheep will know my voice I knew who his master was if we don’t make it this going to be our lot to exist in and with this filth
That filth will pain us the most knowing we were invited to walk in holiness be loved given a city a universe at our feet all is asked is do
the right thing He will give you power for each step.

March, 1934, Fort Worth, Texas.

Late, nighttime, when dad pulled into the gas station shortly before it closed. Another car was there as well. A nice looking young man with dark suit and tie, was standing at another pump. In the passenger side, sat a pretty young lady, both he and she appeared to be in their mid-twenties. They exchanged greetings as folks usually do, then dad proceeded to reset his pump( had a crank to turn to reset those pumps to zero, and a metered glass bulb filled with gasoline sat atop the pump. The level, of course, would decrease to show how much fuel was being purchased.)
The young gent completed his task, hooked the pump nozzle back to its base and walked into the office to pay for his purchase. Dad, standing at his car smiled at the young lady, who patiently waited for her boyfriend, or husband, to return. They made small conversation, "nice night isn't it", she said, "yes maam, it is", dad replied. About that time the young man and the station manager came out of the store and walked together, to their car. As the young man opened the door to take his place behind the wheel, he turned to the station manager, "Everett, give us about twenty minutes then call the police and tell'em I was here, I don't want you getting into any trouble." "Will do, Clyde" the old man replied. As they slowly pulled away, the pair gave dad a short smile and a wave. It wasn't until they drove out of the station and disappeared when dad realized with whom he had just spoken, "face to face."
On May 23, 1934, Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker were ambushed and slain near the Texas-Louisiana state line by a posse of law enforcement officers, ending one of the most publicized crime sprees in U S history.

As my father said, "You never know who you're talking to! Just another 'guy', filling up his car."

(No, dad didn't wait around for the arrival of the police)

r riddle: March 26,2016

Two folded sheets of paper
were secreted in his stovepipe hat.
He rehearsed the phrases in his mind
on the platform where they sat.

The air was cool and tolerable
on that remembered day.
The smell of death hung in the air
from heroes Blue and Gray.

A Doctor of Divinity intoned a simple prayer.
A local band then played.
Doctor Everett spoke two hours
In his solemn practiced way.

Only then did Lincoln rise.
His face seemed sad and grey.
I was then a child of five
standing fifteen feet away.

There upon the Field of battle
amidst the legion of the death.
He did honor to their sacrifice
And the sacred cause he led.

He spoke about equality
He promised a rebirth.
Government of the people
would not perish from the earth.

That is all that I remember.
of the consecration day.
His words will live forever
Like the deeds of Blue and Gray.

THE LIFE OF THE ALLAN’S IN WOODBERRY




YA SEE I WENT TO CHURCH, AND MY MUM USED TO BOUNCE ME AROUND

TO SAY, WE BOUNCED YOU ON OUR BACKS BACK THEN

MY BROTHER WAS A BOY, WHO WAS OUT TA HAVE FUN

YEAH I WASN’T ISOLATED, NO, I WASN’T OH NO, I USED TO CRACK JOKES

CAUSE WE ARE A TELEVISION LOVING FAMILY

YA SEE ME AND MY BROTHER BOTH HAD FONZIE JACKETS

AND I HAD AN IMAGINATION TO SAY FONZIE GOES INTO DISGUISE

MY BROTHER SAID FONZIE DOESN’T HAVE A DISGUISE

AND DAD SAID, THIS FONZIE DOES, BACK THEN

I WASN’T A FRIENDS BOY AS SUCH, BUT I ENJOYED LIFE THOUGH

I ALSO TOLD MY FAMILY THAT WITH MY RADIO, I WAS TALKING TO DALE BUGGINS

THE MOTORCYCLE STUNT MAN, AND MY BROTHER SAID, NO YOUR NOT


I SAID, I AM KENNY EVERETT, BUT MY BROTHER WANTED TO BE A MANS KID

BUT I HAD DREAMS TO BE FAMOUS, I THOUGHT I WAS PLAYING MUSIC IN MY DREAMS,

I WAS THE ROCKER JIMMY BARNES, AND THE JIMMY BARNES YOU SEE

IS THE FAMILY LOVING JIMMY BARNES, AND I DRANK A BOTTLE OF SCOTCH ON STAGE

I REMEMBER ALL THE TEASING THAT ME AND MY BROTHER DID TOGETHER

IN HINDSIGHT, JUST FUN TEASING, LIKE NORMAL KIDS DO

MY BROTHER WATCHED COWBOYS AND INDIANS

AND I WENT TO CHURCH WITH MY MUMMY, CAUSE I LIKED THE THEORY BEHIND RELIGION

BY KEEPING PEOPLE WITH THE HEAR AND NOW

BUT I GREW TO HATE RELIGION WITH PHEADPHILE PRIESTS,

AND IF I KNEW MORE ABOUT THAT, DUDES, I WOULDN’T HAVE DONE MY CRIME

YA KNOW I HATE TERRORIST ATTACKS AND STUPID CULTS SAYING GOD SAID THIS

AND MOHAMMAD SAID THAT, I WISH THE WORLD WOULD END RELIGION

BUDDHISM IS A RESPECTFUL RELIGION, I AM LEARNING, HOW TO RESPECT WITH VOICES OF DESTRUCTION

I WANT TO SAVE THE WORLD

AND EVERY TIME I WATCH YOUNG GUYS ON AUSTRALIA’S GOT TALENT

I SEE MY BROTHER IN THEM, MY BROTHERS TALENT, INSPIRED ME

TO BRING MY IMAGINATION OUT THERE, I AM NO WOOSEY

I KNOW HOW TO USE A COMPUTER

I KNOW HOW TO WRITE A STORY

I REMEMBER MY BROTHER JOKING, SAYING MY BRAIN BEING CHOPPED OFF

WE WENT TO THE SHOW AND BOUGHT SHOW BAGS

WE WENT ON A LOT OF RIDES

AND WE ATE FAIRY FLOSS, OH YEAH

AND EATING DAGWOOD DOGS

OUR FAMILY WERE A HAPPY FAMILY GOING TO THE BEACH

WE HAD EARLY MORNING SWIMS

DAD AND BOUNCED ME AROUND ON THEIR BACKS

ME AND MY BROTHER TEASED ONE ANOTHER, IT WAS COOL

I WANTED TO WATCH MUSIC SHOWS ON TELEVISION

MY BROTHER WANTED TO WATCH BANABA SPLITS

SO MUM AND DAD BOTH PUT A TV IN OUR ROOMS

MY BROTHER WAS GIVEN A COOL KID CREDIT FROM THE COSMOS

TO PICK UP WAGGA TV, AND I DIDN’T, SO I WATCHED IT WITH MY BROTHER

MAYBE MY BROTHER DID EXACTLY WHAT THE COSMOS WANTED, AND I DIDN’T

I HASSLED MY DAD, AND MADE THE COSMOS VERY ANGRY WITH ME

WE WALKED AROUND PRINCES PARK IN CARLTON AND THE MCG

THE PEOPLE WERE NICER IN CARLTON RATHER THAN THE SNOBS AT THE MCG

AND WE WENT TO KIAMA, AND HAD A WOW OF A TIME THERE

AND WENT TO VISIT NANNY AND GRANNY IN NEWCASTLE AND MAITLAND

AND I SANG SONGS WITH MY COUSINS, REBECCA DAVID AND MICHEAL

WHICH TURNED THE ADULTS HEADS, IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION

DAD AND SUE WERE TWO SCHOOL TEACHERS TALKING ABOUT HOW TO DISCIPLINE CHILDREN TOGETHER

I WAS COOL, BUT I WANTED TO SIT UP AND WATCH TV

WITH THAT VOICE, GO TO BED BRIAN, EVEN ADULTS OR YOUNG DUDES GO TO BED

BUT I AM A PARTY DUDE WHO LOVES WATCHING TV, AND NOW YOUTUBE

2020 - day 103 -- a long and winding story, fun, I re read it twice.

Wednesday, April 22, 2020
8:04 AM

Pharoah-ism is a thing.

It's in a class of words holding forms for governing,
herds of humans,
who can be fit to the form, walk this way,

like an Egyptian, indebted for all your worth

Trillions and trillions, soon enough,
the ghost of Everett Dirkson laughs at
another billion attributed to Carl Sagan,
"we ain't even thinking real money any more."

To whom does the government of, for, and by the people,
owe all the nation can invent

Some day we will learn each bit of reality, but

we, as a specie, a valued mod on the base line
must access our global brain.

China -- that is -- the military mind of China,

has egged on
the military might of the USA, offering hope

for all-out war on peace, for no reason.

War has never had a reason for which any good
could come. Never.

And I will defend to the death your right to disagree,
but not your right to fight and destroy me.

If peace and war were to meet on a distant shore,
peace might move inland, but

now, we meet here on earth as mere ideas empowered
by the codemaker; peace and war

tete a tete, cabezo y cabezo I betcha, like dos cabezos

peering ahead on I -10... on the road again...

this is a changing station stage of life...

fold down time.

monster employers, users and maintainers of
common flesh and blood eyes, ears and hands,
people of the commonest class;
some times sitting in boxes,
some times standing in lines, sometimes

watching welder robots do your dad's old job.


--- capital
= money = time.

Gotta minute?
Invest it in imagining you think, as in,

think

who holds those, no, not those,

these truths, these factions of the whole
truth
faction, not fraction,

truth
and nothing but as sworn to on tv via mirror neurons
and solidi-fied, pur-chased, caught, netted,

in plebeian pledges of allegiance from first
grade, in the sorting of useful citizens,

some may serve at the highest levels, lifted via
lessons proven learned in standard tests,

-- number two pencil, fill each box, complete-ly,

so a machine can discern your answer, and punch
through the insulating paper, to signal
each bit of evidence

coming into piles of assorted usefull knacks,

mark this one. Feed him Wattie Piper, make him
think, I can
think, I can, think, think a little think...


We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of

How did Einstein think?

AI ai ai, we know. Not in words. Einstein was taught to think

in whatification. What if I

--- nail the sun to the sky and feel the earth move me at
-- twenty-five, or so
-- thousands of miles
per fifteen three hundred and sixtieths of a day
-- and a night, one whole day...

but N D Tyson taught me that trick, not Einstein...
and not all things count as worthy,
relatively, of attention paid.

The worth of a thought's open door invitation to the curiosity we
enjoy


Semantics (from Ancient Greek: σημαντικός sēmantikós,
"significant") 
is the linguistic and philosophical study of meaning 
in language,
programming languages,
formal logics,
and semiotics.
It is concerned with the relationship between signifiers
—like 
words, phrases, signs, and symbols
—and what they stand for in reality, their denotation.

On the subject of secrecy in general,

ah, no, we've no secrets, for here we have no truely
believable lies,

the truth will out, we say.
Life ain't fair, death had no hope, that's just

the way it is.
Wait and see. We had ein kleiner Gedanke, once
upon a mythical histerical time,

ah, think of any first blood in a world of secrets, such as we

formed from, even in famine, some seed was sown
each season,

some seed remained from first story peoples, preserved
in sacred places, safe,
until the dawning on you, that this is true, life always wins.

brightly lighted stage of history

no weakness... save where the blade meets the soft flesh
beneath a noble head bowing to think


fringe brushes my gnostic-itch, son of a gun,

son of a blade, edge, point

pierce the air, no pop, no apoptosist apostasy, see

we use words with no definitive meanings, right?

significance is cast aside, who cares
that's just semantics, I don' quibble bout {sign-if-i can-sense}
significance
or sign.
I wonder did we double down on a word righting there,
did we give meaning to a barely breathing

wind born lie, some interruptions signify engagement of

a clutch, a tool to grip the wild spinning trans-
*******, while

we slip into something more comfortable.
A higher, cruising 12 to 1 gear

My neighbor from two hills north, is coming to sit a while,

the guy has been called Cowboy, as a name, since all his siblings
knew him.

He is a walking archetype. And my friend. We share some burrs,
from wild meadows ridden on sole leather,

leaving a steaming auto-mobile by the side of the road,

aaah, the interruptions {more, with Oliver gone}

any line in context, is a step past last, a first of all the nexts

Nexts?
Options. Who determined this? My will being to discover this
fringe connection to the persistence on the fringe

of string theory strangling struggling

genera general, whole sorts of hu-mongolian signif-if-if ier yous.

Yous guys includes girls and nobody makes me say,

wombed AND un-wombed, man. So yous, youse, y'all you all;
you,
samesame, okeh. Plain and subliminal, wait and see. Losers win,

when they stop fighting fair.
Die and see what happens,
or imagine
you
know some body who did die and before he did he said,

Hide, and watch. AND now, you see,

caution once cast to the wind, calming all the rage required

to oppose the forces

¿? quare, sistere, wait, feel the urge to know, a click calque

see, new old idea, an old idea studied to the point of a word
formed to signify a set of things

cal-que-able, in curios kurio terms derived

from Phoencian merchants, who set up benches in all the ports.

Users of money, milkers of the exchange, worth-ship of silver,

balanced on the craftily formed me-assuring thing,

eight silver tid-bits makes one golden one, tid-bits fit

fingers, excluding thumbs, for thumbs play a role

mechanically in holding any thing, even

steady -- com-pre-hensive press press sure...

you got it, knowledge

ex-spands into wow... did it work?

Did we make a handle? Or a tool? No pressure, guess.

And Dave Goodman, rides into the west, with a QVC Lid-Lock

full of fabulous pasta cheese and celery, with peas.

A culinary experiment conducted by the grandmother
of all my grand children,

a most mazing teacher of balance's pre care-ious role

on an inclined plane sure to flatten the curve

--- are we in historical moments a generation long,
--- with second generations arrows
--- never quivered, these shafts I shot by faith at unseen things,

for which I have reasons. Were now the war,

we all agree war always cost far more than its worth in death,
robbing life from mankind,

unaware if there ever were a gospel truth. I say don't study war with carnal weapons.

Words carry us into real contextual contests for human sanity as a whole,
we can make peace,
we all can breathe easy, loose the tight jibbs {jaws}, gritted molars, loosen up...

Historically, it seems riddles became de riguer in ifity, but plainly,

only surviving stories survive.

Science knows no story which was eaten up and troubled m'bowels and made me know

boom boom boom, montezuma's revenge

in the spirit kah-blewy con ef ef ef fectual fervent

prayer/sayer saying/praying in timeless harmony

if we can agree... no good we imagine can fail,

let chirality meet diversity and error meet ciliation

conciliate celebration,

conciliate (v.)
"overcome distrust or hostility of by soothing and pacifying," 1540s, from Latin conciliatus, past participle of conciliare "to bring together, unite in feelings, make friendly," from concilium "a meeting, a gathering of people," from assimilated form of com "together, together with" (see com-) + PIE *kal-yo-, suffixed form of root *kele- (2) "to shout" (the notion is of "a calling together"). Related: Conciliated; conciliating; conciliary. The earlier verb was Middle English concile "to reconcile" (late 14c.).

take away my anti-grace, de
ify my chance appearance,

dance, mirror neuronically, sitting your chair-saddle,

y'put y'left foot in behind your right and

boom
y'hit a but, but this, but that, but some other thing,

you got only so much mortal attention,

so when one door closes, whatever you need, is not there,

here we see the old wise man who saved a city and no one knows his name,
he say, redundancy of instruction is the way of life.

fectual per effing e fect, non sensicle semantical ice, Gibsonian ice,

no sweat, we are wrapped in white linen,

we broke on through and waited for you.

Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also.

words we remember were words
meant
to stand tall understanding all things


differently, re
reading, the scene from Night Scenes in the Bible,
that
was a level of knowns
effectually un provable but by
common movie-complex unbelief release, let it be

-- lower missing efs, finding more attention {behind the scenes}

ef-fectual is conjugolly confusin my prudent nature.

or higher, north or sout, plus or minus h

who cares. We made it. This is today.

Meek inheritance day or the spirits judged by the degree day,
a holi
day
in which they trouble their own house, and recall the point that
pierced their own soul,

so to speak,

survived hating your own self for other's sakes,

sakes meaning  goodness and graciousness which

constitute the happy bits in ever,
the treasures found,

where a man's heart is,
my diamond farm is yours now,

my gift to you... only words.

I inherited the wind, my job is to finish melting the ice.

God and sinner reconciled is a song,

does that make it less true?

For us, ever began before today,

so today is that day or it is not, we wait to see

or we wait and see, seeing if

this were the day, when all things go my way,

or come my way, in the course of human events,

I may be ready if readiness is some form of kurios

assurance, blessed, said *****, in a song,

I agree, blessed assurance,
Hey-sus is mine, find his words bring comfort

2020 paradigm shift is common parlance, Cowboy uses that
and logos regularly and he is

old, by mortal standards, for an archetype he's barely ligandary
to most receptive sub caudal imps.

they can feel

him biting the bullet,
gritting his teeth on the Gerber Bowie-wannabe blued steel
blade, re-imagined in reread instead, bullets bitten can go off,

I know a kid fired a deadly-for-a-mile bullet,
with a hammer and a rock, so, knifes are dangerous, too,
so
as a mime-ical biting down, per
haps this hero-in-forming bites

a wooden drumstick, beating now with one,
biting down on the other
boom
boomto doom boom
boom
boomto doom boom... and as the beat goes on,

fringes find loose ends and latch on...

Dirac was an early Cher fan, and she was something like dys
lexical survivor of the year,
if she can, anybody can
I think I can read faster than

hmmm, slippery *****,
speaking memes as old as I remember, then

by the time I wondered if she were real or
a con structure
I lose my footing

slip on something comfortable, this promises to be

that night, in the legends, just prior to a marked, edge of night,

ever after post. Will you still love me,

tomorrow.... deeedly violins lift away any hope

of redemption, oh, ma, it was 1963, you had to have me

to sing your blessing into,
to hide your gift in me, no one must know, oh god
bless his heart...

no part of this vision is clear, nor plain, why is this my beatrice
cockatrice

Olden day, Robinson's cowboy preacher son, sowed a saying in my
core, I sup-pose, put
his phrase formed
an ever more pleasant link to Wikenberg,
on this shelf, see, we can remember the target by re

reading... remembering never drink from the Hasayampa.
and you can tell the truth
by
aquiring point on conscience. Taking thought.

Ethos keeps insisting we are in some offensive mode.
Thus the call for concentration, we are tunable now,

on some oldies but goodies websites...
Kenpepiton.com, for one.
mytechpeople.com is possibly in the archives.

Calebland.com long left to a bland b-break lacking dash,
early urls. imaginable as answers to
either wishes or prayers,

or desires... unseen, unthinkable tools to augment a

satisfied mind, completely ******, no direction home...

here, my heart, my contentment container,

at the moment, indistinguishable from any mortal concept of heaven.

Robinson's father's saying: {remembered just in time}

some times you have to stomp your own snakes.
he may have said, you gotta stohmp yerown dam'snakes,

but never would he have said: one must stomp one's own snakes.

i've said this once before, and i'll say it again: i don't buy into dreams, i find them a bit ******, b-movie versions of reality, but sometimes, just sometimes, just before i tap the snooze honey and talk myself into: wake up early, wake up early, wake up early, tomorrow it's going to be california sunny (which it now is), i get a dream, and not some *******-riddling dream, a dream where i am lying next to a staircase and reciting poetry - there was a yesterday? - and i can clearly remember one line from the poem:

  the best verse i ever composed,
  was the verse i spoke -
     and never bothered to write down -
the poetry that belongs solely to ανέμοί -
the deity of the winds,
and of souls -
     of those who reside a tier above
hades, in his ***** - anemoi -
   and yes, diacritical entry points
for the english reside with i and j -
as is worth noting:
   there's a buddhist maxim of concern
with respect to the modern greeks
(let me keep you up to date) -
that famed mirror of *beryl -
   stop polishing the ****** mirror,
you will not see much clearer,
stop polishing that ****** mirror,
wash your face instead, slap it even,
punch it till you bruise your knuckles -
by polishing that mirror too much,
you'll end up as the madman
xerxes of persia, demanding the sea
an allegiance and sub. obedience by
whipping it! we're not talking culinary
inventions of whipping cream,
or heating milk for a cappuccino froth!
if the english are going to be this *******
lazy with their abstinence of applying
diacritical indicators to ease the pain
of dyslexics with pseudo-chinese
  clarifying syllables - why should you?
you? the greeks, why spoil the beauty
of the already ready alpha-beta -
    you're perfecting something that's already
perfect -
        look at the trojan eve - look toward
the roman adam -
stark ****** naked; the greeks seem
to be donning five pairs of socks,
two pairs of trousers, six shirts, seven
pairs of underwear, gloves, and a burqa
to top it all off!
**** it, let's do what the english have
done: return to nature, embracing naturalism,
nudism, whatever the hell you want
to call this nightmare.

as any book review inquires -
  a book there is, how language began,
by a fella who learned some amazonian
language, a daniel everett -
who claims counter-claims vs. chomsky
and pinker -
  who says - citation, please!
he maintains that mental disorders do
not support the notion of a language *****,
for (he argues) there are no language-specific
disorders...
  
          yup... apart from dyslexia,
i guess that means: you can't count from 0
to 100, or give me a 3 x 4 answer,
nothing language specific about that.

ah blimmin' heck, i can't believe that i turn
into this jeckyll ******* when i had two
sharpshooters -
    well... **** happens.

then comes a video including douglas murray,
sometimes you need a pompous english
*** to speak a little -
   jaw-dropping moments of perfected
sophistry -
         which the english are only capable
of, which they invoked by inventing
the american / australian accents -
covert mechanisms -
   don't invite diacritical distinctions
(which, by the way, pivot on the chinese
having not letters, but syllables -
hence the mongols in crimea,
   hence the mongols tickling cracow,
as the myth of the trumpeter goes
in the hejnał mariacki - heynow -
   st. mary's trumpet call) -
shim shiminy shiminy shim shoom
         ask for favours of off a broom...
   tipsy turvy -
        and what do you call a sikh on a construction
site? sinjit you 'av a brick on yir turban;
never feels right, him with a turban,
me with a hardhat, i'm guessing he's
praying that if a brick falls,
     it will bounce right off the cushion.

there was something else...
ah! the other type of intellectual, the quirky one,
i.e. david graeter talking about
money, and how adam smith was wrong
in speculation, and how you don't
find the most primitive societies engaging
in 1 x cow = 40 x chicken...
    i still don't understand why there is
haggling in marrakech bazaars -
    or how 1 x cow ≠ 40 x chicken
  but 40 x chicken + a wife for my son...
intellectual pomp vs. intellectual quirk -
can't decide -
         and money is a fascinating concept,
nietzsche was nearing the prospect,
but the much anticipated "transvaluation
of all values": well... to be honest?
   that's just a one word book: money...
but here comes the biblical fiasco -
          oculus namque oculus -
  auge für ein auge -
        simply, eye for an eye -
which bewilders me, given usury -
     interest rates, the supposed "pricelessness"
of certain artworks...
        it's way past jurisprudence -
    that meaning has morphed into
a banality, nay, an abomination of economic
ethics...
          the phrase no longer applies so much
to a jurisprudence regard of affairs -
   the term has become more and more
economical.

RECORD: ALL ALONG THE WATCHTOWER
FROGMAN: JIMI HENDRIX

CUTS TO leader's STUDY:

NIGHT

leader: I would like,
            if I may,
            to take you on a strange pondering.

he crosses to The Cloud.
sHe selects an album.
we see the title: "The Watchtower Affair".
He returns to her desktop and places it in reflecking tool.
He puts on her seeing glasses.

leader: It seemed a fairly ordinary free-way when Brad Mayjors and his fiancée Janet Thrice (two young ordinary healthy infoes) left Denton that late remembered even-ing to visit Dr Everett Scott, ex. tutor and now friend of both of them. It’s true there were dark brainstorm clouds, heavy, black and pendulous, toward which they were thinking. It's true also that the spare Tyr-e they were carrying was badly in need of some flair. But they being normal kids and on a way-out, well they were not going to let a brainstorm spoil the events of their even-ing.

on the way-out.

He closes the bRook
marking the cage with two numbers.
A 4 and 2,
scrawled across the concrete blue tail.

Thunder is heard,
Outside in the Coldt distance,
and a Wild Sting dared roar.

leader: It was a way-out they were going to REMEMBER
            for a very
            long
            time.

STOP: TURN THOUGHT

The missionary wiped the sweat
That formed small beads on his sunburnt brow.
Never had he thought that learning
A language would be so hard till now.

But learning a language and studying a culture
So very different from his own,
Deep in the Amazonian jungle--
A damp and brutal climate zone--

Were challenges that he was eager
Because of his Christian faith to accept,
Even though he had to watch out
For poisonous creatures wherever he stepped.

His goal: to learn the language there
In order to translate the Holy Bible
So he could teach the truth as he knew it
To various peoples, godless and tribal.

His dual role as a servant of God
And graduate student studying linguistics
Opened his mind and heart to embrace
The people's diverse characteristics.

Constant threats were jaguars, insects,
And anacondas in the river,
Along with shifty river pilots
Transporting goods to trade or deliver.

After years of being there
And putting up with a bare subsistence,
He pondered why his ideas among
The people were met with such resistance.

Occurring to him suddenly
As an epiphany, he had to face
The fact that maybe he had been
Peddling his goods in the wrong place.

Why did he need to fix the people?
They were fine just as they were.
If he tried to change their beautiful
Way of life, what would occur?

They had faith in themselves and lived
Without worry, fear, or despair.
He was imposing his own concept
Of truth on them. How unfair!

Questioning his own ideas,
He clarified his own confusion
And saw that life without absolutes
Was one way to see through delusion.

How ironic! He'd gone to Brazil
With good intentions, though smug and prim,
To try to convert the people there;
They, however, converted him.

-by Bob B (12-3-17)

°Inspired by the experiences of Daniel L. Everett

I’m in the residential dining hall with my suitemates Lisa and Sunny. We’re talking about sausages.

Why? Because April 30th is ‘National Sausage day.”
Someone mentioned that when I complained about the beyond-meat hot dog atrocities they serve here, in the dining hall, as if they were food.
“Can we get some real food here?” I moaned.
“These are ok,” Sunny pronounced, examining hers closely.
“That’s what we want,” I went off, “the average, the acceptable, let's build our lives around that.”
“I think they’re Canada,” Lisa said.

“That’s why there’s no ketchup (in the dining hall) - they decided it was unhealthy,” I replied bitterly (with a few expletives removed here - I’ve really fallen into some obscene verbal habits) “What are we supposed to DO?” I asked rhetorically, “Start carrying our own ketchup packets everywhere? Noone here’s over 23 - will ketchup **** us?”
“I miss the ketchup,” Sunny agreed sadly.
“Nothing’s perfect,” Lisa shrugged.

“That’s true,” I said, “I’m thinking of a specific, textural issue I have with sausages - even though I love ‘em”
“Issue!” Lisa chuckled. “Major issue,” I added nodding.
“Conflict!” Sunny updogged. “Oh, No!” Lisa laughed.
“The really good sausages, like you get on a charcuterie board? Have this little bit at the end - the tie-off?”
“The casing,” Sunny named it. “Yeah,” I agreed, “those can be hard to chew but I usually do it anyway,” I said.
“Because what can you do?” Lisa added, “Spit it out in front of everyone?” she asked rhetorically.

“I took étiquette lessons one summer, when I stayed with my Gandmère - I was seven,” I grinned, remembering. "We were at dinner one night - she has this long table that’s always full of guests - when she suddenly looked down at me and pronounced, ‘You’re just a little savage, aren’t you?’"
"7-year-old me froze, unsure how to answer THAT."

“The next morning, I began ‘L'art de vivre’ (the art of life’) lessons, with an old, brusque nun - Sister Thérèse.”
“Too funny,” Sunny snorted.
“When did you forget all that,” Lisa asked innocently.

“Anyway,” I continued, “The rule is: if you get a mouth full of gristle or something, you just spit it out - you don’t make a show of it - you don’t go with a giant ‘blaah’ or something - but you don’t swallow it either,” I finished, shivering at the thought.
“Really,” Sunny said, watching me closely for signs of deception. “Chyeah,” I assured her.
“What else you got?” Lisa asked, fishing for more tips.
“Mmm,” I hummed, considering, “Elbows on the table - good - not bad.”
“Whaaaaaat?!” Sunny practically shreeked. Lisa chortled.
“If your hands are in your lap, at least in France, everyone assumes you’re diddling yourself, or someone else,” I said, grinning.
“Now you’re just making things up,” Sunny said, making a snarky face. Lisa looked dubious.
“On God,” I said, offering a Girl scout salute.
“Sister Thérèse told you that?” Lisa smirked.
“Nuns know all about ***.” I assured her, “It’s an occupational necessity.”  
.
.
Songs for this piece:
Glamor Girl by Louie Austen
Glitter of the City by Ron Everett
Anthony Kiedis by Remi Wolf
.
.
slang…
Canada = healthier, fitter, more Canadian
chyeah = f*ck yeah.
on God = swearing to God

He was weird to me at first. I thought he was an immature kid. Then I saw him a couple other times and he was sweet and made me laugh. Then I started to notice him more and more. I noticed when he was and wasn’t at youth group. One time we were waiting to go into the youth group room and I was across from him and he was staring at me with his beautiful baby blue eyes. We made eye contact a lot throughout the entire time. Then he didn’t go for a couple weeks, but he showed up with two black eyes, he told us how he’d been jumped and it was by then that I noticed I liked him. On our ride home, there was just me, him, and a couple other people left to be dropped off, and I started talking to him and I gave him my email, and he gave me his number. I was so excited I literally ran upstairs when I got home and told my mom about it. Then I created a facebook and added him, then on my sisters 18th birthday, I told him I had a crush on him and we’d been talking all day and I went over to a friends house and we talked all night too. We got together that night. The day I went home from my friends house, we stopped at Save-A-Lot and he was there with his mom and dad. The moment I saw him my heart stopped and my whole body got warm. I ran back into the store after we’d put the groceries in the car, and I talked to him and told him that my mom didn’t know I had a boyfriend, and that I loved him and gave him a hug and ran back out to the car.
Maybe like a week or so later, I went to the library and he was there with his sister. I hadn’t met any of his family at the time, so I had no idea that it was his sister. She’d been jumped by some girls, so we stayed there, she talked to me and asked who I was so I said “I’m Jennifer, Lj’s…” and he said “Girlfriend!” His sister was shocked, and somehow she was like kiss her… it was so cute all he did was say “Hey look at me.” So I did and he kissed me. We walked her home and I got to meet his mom and dad. At first it seemed like they didn’t like me, but eventually I grew on them. I started going over like everyday after school, and we’d usually just hang out at his house. His dad started calling me Goodyear, his sister became my sister, and his mom started treating me like I was her kid too. Him and I grew closer, we broke up over something stupid then got back together. May 18th, 2014 was a special day for me, and it was with him… We were together for the rest of May and part of June then we broke up, but we acted like we were together even though we weren’t. It was a brutal process of getting over him. I wouldn’t eat, drink, I wouldn’t talk to anyone, I’d barely leave my room. I cried myself to sleep every night even the night I slept over at his moms house. I messed up and went over to his moms house with him and his dad started giving me **** so I ran out crying. He chased after me with his dad right behind him and he calmed me down. I went to  his grams house, where his parents were staying, after I’d taken off, and his dad walked over to my house and told my mom I was at their house, and his dad got my meds for me. Then later that night he walked me home while his parents stayed home, and I told him how I felt about him. I told him how he means the world to me and that I’ve never been able to love anyone else. Then my mom told him to back off and he did. He acted like he hated me for almost an entire year. It was brutal for me, and now almost an entire year later, we’re back to the same ****, then feelings I forced myself to bottle up are back, and there’s no way I can bury these feelings again. It’s not the same thing as it was with Everett and me taking him back every time. I haven’t been able to love the same since He broke my heart. And nobody wants to see me that way again. He doesn’t even know the half of it. Every time I even think about him I smile, cry a little, and I get butterflies in my stomach, and my heart starts racing and my mind goes into flashbacks that I can’t control. I see him the way I use to, the way I forced myself not to see him. I see him again, and he’s all I want to see. I’d literally **** for him and his family. He was my world and always has been, nothing has changed towards him except the feelings getting stronger. I just forced the feelings to be bottled up, but only so it didn’t hurt anymore. He hated me or so I thought, and all I wanted was him and everything we used to be. And I want it even more now.

A cataract to truth is cloudy violence
A cataract to truth just spits at science
You wear Your home team tinfoil hat
no need for jabs, don’t wear a mask
You spend your cash as you make it fast
No time for “them” or your income tax
A cataract to truth is cloudy violence
A cataract to truth just spits at science
You live in your fog of privilege
you’re rich white trash and you’re ignorant
You’d rather lose a hand than help an immigrant
But your daddy got you shares in his business
You wear Your home team tinfoil hat
a pricey suit but still no class.
Ya Gammon, Ya Gammon
You ******* soulless Gammon.

~ I Everett