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Danielle Furtado Nov 2014
Nasceu no dia dos namorados. Filho de mãe brasileira com descendência holandesa e pai português. Tinha três irmãos: seu gêmeo Fabrício, o mais velho, Renato, e o terceiro, falecido, que era sua grande dor, nunca dizia seu nome e ninguém se atrevia a perguntar.
A pessoa em questão chamaremos de Jimmy. Jimmy Jazz.
Jimmy morava em Portugal, na cidade de Faro, e passou a infância fazendo viagens ao Brasil a fim de visitar a família de sua mãe; sempre rebelde, colecionava olhares tortos, lições de moral, renegações.
Seu maior inimigo, também chamado por ele de pai, declarou guerra contra suas ideologias punk, seu cabelo que gritava anarquismo, e a vontade que tinha ele de viver.
Certo dia, não qualquer dia mas no natal do ano em que Jimmy fez 14 anos, seu pai o expulsou de casa. Mais um menino perdido na rua se tornou o pequeno aspirante à poeta, agora um verdadeiro marginal.
Não tinha para onde ir. Sentou-se na calçada, olhou para seus pés e agradeceu pela sorte de estar de sapatos e ter uma caneta no bolso no momento da expulsão, seu pai não o deixara com nada, nem um vintém, e tinha fome.
Rondou pelas mesmas quadras ao redor de sua casa por uns dias, até se cansar dos mesmos rostos e da rotina daquela região, então tomou coragem e resolveu explorar outras vidas, havia encontrado um caderno em branco dentro de uma biblioteca pública onde costumava passar o dia lendo e este seria seu amigo por um bom tempo.
Orgulhoso, auto-suficiente, o menino de apenas 14 anos acabou encontrando alguém como ele, por fim. Seu nome era Allan, um punk que, apesar de ainda ter uma casa, estava doido para ir embora viver sua rotina de não ter rotina alguma, e eles levaram isso muito à sério.
Logo se tornaram inseparáveis, arrumaram emprego juntos, que não era muito mas conseguiria mantê-los pelo menos até terminarem a escola, conseguiram alugar uma casa e compraram um cachorro que nunca ganhou nome pois não conseguiam entrar em acordo sobre isso, Jimmy tinha também um lagarto de estimação que chamava de Mr. White, sua paixão.
Os dois amigos começaram a frequentar o que antes só viam na teoria: as festas punk; finalmente haviam conseguido o que estavam procurando há tempos: liberdade total de expressão e ação. Rodeados por todos os tipos de drogas e práticas sexuais, mas principalmente, a razão de todo o movimento: a música.
Jimmy tinha inúmeras camisetas dos Smiths, sua banda favorita, e em seu quarto já não se sabia a cor das paredes que estavam cobertas por pôsteres de bandas dos anos 80 e 90, décadas sagradas para qualquer amante da música e Jimmy era um deles, sem dúvida.
Apesar da vida desregrada que levava com o amigo, Jimmy conseguiu ingressar na faculdade de Letras, contribuindo para sua vontade de fazer poesia, e Allan em enfermagem. Os dois, ao contrário do que seus familiares pensavam, eram extremamente inteligentes, cultos, criaram um clube de poesia com mais dois ou três amigos que conheceram em uma das festas e chamaram de "Sociedade dos Poetas Mortos... e Drogados!", fazendo referência ao filme de  Peter Weir.
O nome não era apenas uma piada entre eles, era a maior verdade de suas vidas, eles eram drogados, Jimmy  era viciado em heroína, Allan também mas em menos intensidade que seu parceiro.
Jimmy não era hétero, gay, bissexual ou qualquer outra coisa que se encaixe dentro de um quadrado exigido pela sociedade, Jimmy era do amor livre, Jimmy apenas amava. E com o passar o tempo, amava seu amigo de forma diferente, assustado pelo sentimento, escondeu o maior tempo que pôde até que o sentimento sumisse, afinal é só um hormônio e a vida voltaria ao normal, mas a amizade era e sempre seria algo além disso: uma conexão espiritual, se acreditassem em almas.
Ambos continuaram suas vidas sendo visitados pela família (no caso de Jimmy, apenas sua mãe) duas vezes ao ano, no máximo, e nesses dias não faziam questão de esconderem seus cigarros, piercings ou qualquer pista da vida que levavam sozinhos, afinal, não os devia mais nada já que seus vícios, tanto químicos quanto musicais, eram bancados por eles mesmos.
Era 14 de fevereiro e Jimmy completara 19 anos, a vida ainda era a mesma, o amigo também, mas sua saúde não, principalmente sua saúde mental.
O poeta de sofá, como alguns de nós, sofria de um existencialismo perturbador, o mundo inteiro doía no seu ser, e não podia fazer muito sobre aquilo, afinal o que poderia fazer à respeito senão escrever?
Até pensou em viver de música já que tocava dois instrumentos, mas a ideia de ter desconhecidos desfrutando ou zombando dos seus sentimentos mais puros não lhe era agradável. Continuou a escrever sobre suas dores e amores, e se perguntava por que se sentia daquela forma, por que não poderia ser como seu irmão que, apesar de possuírem aparência idêntica, eram extremos do mesmo corpo. Fabrício era apenas outro cidadão português que chegava em casa antes de sua mãe ficar preocupada, não que ele fosse um filho exemplar, ele só era... normal, e era tudo que Jimmy não era e jamais gostaria de ser; aliás, ter uma vida comum era visto com desprezo pelos olhos dele, olhos que, ainda tão cedo, haviam visto o melhor e o pior da vida, já não acreditava em nada, nem em si mesmo, nem em deus, nem no universo, nem no amor.
Como poderia alguém amar uma pessoa com tanta dor dentro de si? Como ele explicaria sua vontade de morrer à alguém que ele gostaria de passar a vida toda com? Era uma contradição ambulante. Uma contradição de olhos azuis, profundos, e com hematomas pelo corpo todo.
Aos 20 anos, o tédio e a depressão ainda controlavam seu estado emocional a maior parte do tempo, aos domingos era tudo pior, existe algo sobre domingo à tarde que é inexplicável e insuportável para os existencialistas, e para ele não seria diferente. Em um domingo qualquer, se sentindo sozinho, resolveu entrar em um chat online daqueles famosos, e na primeira tentativa de conversa conheceu uma moça do Brasil, que como ele, amava a banda Placebo e sendo existencialista, também sofria de solidão, o que facilitou na construção dos assuntos.
Ela não deu muita importância ao português que dizia "não ser punk porque punks não se chamam de punks", já estava cansada de amores e amizades à distância, decidiu se despedir. O rapaz, insistente e talvez curioso sobre a pessoa com quem se deparara por puro acaso, perguntou se poderiam conversar novamente, e não sabendo a dor que isso a causaria, cedeu.
Assim como havia feito com Allan, Jimmy conquistou Julien, a nova amiga, rapidamente. De um dia para o outro, se pegou esperando para que Jimmy voltasse logo para casa para que pudessem conversar sobre poesia, música, começo e fim da vida, todos os porquês do mundo em apenas uma noite, e então perceberam que já não estavam sozinhos, principalmente ela, que havia tempo não conhecia alguém tão interessante e único quanto ele.
Não demorou muito para que trocassem confidências e os segredos mais íntimos, mas nem tudo era tão sério, riam juntos como nunca antes, e todos sabem que o caminho para o coração de uma mulher é o bom humor, Julien se encontrava perdidamente apaixonada pelo ****** que conhecera num site de relacionamentos e isso se tornaria um problema.
Qualquer relacionamento à distância é complicado por natureza, agora adicione dois suicidas em potencial, um deles viciado em heroína e outra que de tão frustrada já não ligava tanto para sede de viver que sentia, queria apenas ler poesia longe de todas as pessoas comuns, essas que ambos abominavam.
Jimmy era todos os ídolos de Julien comprimidos dentro de si. Ele era Marilyn Manson, era Brian Molko, era Gerard Way, Billy Corgan, Kurt Cobain, mas acima de todos esses, Jimmy era Sid Vicious e Julien sonhava com seus dias de Nancy.
Ele era o primeiro e último pensamento dela, e se tornou o tema principal de toda as poesias que escrevia, assim como as que lia, parecia que todas eram sobre o luso-brasileiro que considerava sua cópia masculina. Jimmy, como ela, era feminista, cheio de ideologias e viciado em bandas, mas ao contrário dela, não teria tanto tempo para essas coisas.
Estava apaixonado por um rapaz brasileiro, Estêvão, que também dizia estar apaixonado por ele mas nunca passaram disso, e logo se formou um semi-triângulo amoroso, pois Julien sabia da existência da paixão de Jimmy, mas Estêvão não sabia que existia outra brasileira que amava a mesma pessoa perdidamente. Não sentiu raiva dele, pelo contrário, apoiava o romance dos dois já que tudo que importava à ela era a felicidade de Jimmy, que como ela, era infeliz, e as chances de pessoas como eles serem felizes algum dia é quase nula.
O brasileiro era amante da MPB e da poesia do país, assim como amava ouvir pós-punk e escrever, interesses que eram comum aos três perdidos, mas era profissional para ele já que conseguira que seus trabalhos fossem publicados diversas vezes. Se Jimmy era Sid Vicious, Julien desejava ser Nancy (ou Courtney Love dependendo do humor), Estêvão era Cazuza.
Morava sozinho e não conseguia se fixar em lugar algum, estava à procura de algo que só poderia achar dentro dele mesmo mas não sabia por onde começar; convivia com *** há alguns meses na época, mas estava relativamente bem com aquilo, tinha um controle emocional maior do que nosso Sid.
Assim como aconteceu com Allan e Julien, não demorou muito para que Estêvão caísse nos encantos de Jimmy, que não eram poucos, e não fazia mais tanta questão de esconder o que sentia por ele. Dono de olhos infinitamente azuis, cabelo bagunçado que mudava de cor frequentemente, corpo magro, pálido, e escrevia os versos mais lindos que poderia imaginar, Jimmy era o ser mais irresistível para qualquer um que quisesse um bom tema para escrever.
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Julien era de uma cidade pequena do Brasil, onde, sem a internet, jamais poderia ter conhecido Jimmy, que frequentava apenas as grandes cidades do país. Filha de pais separados, tinha o mesmo ódio pelo pai que ele, mas diferente do amigo, seu ódio era usado contra ela mesma, auto-destrutiva é um termo que definiria sua personalidade. Era de se esperar que ela se apaixonasse por alguém viciado em drogas, existe algo de romântico sobre tudo isso, afinal.
Em uma quarta-feira comum, antecipada por um dia nublado, escreveu:

Minhas palavras, todas tiradas dos teus poemas
Teu sotaque, uma voz imaginada
Que obra de arte eram teus olhos
Feitos de um azul-convite

E eu aceitei.


Jimmy era agora seu mundo, e qualquer lugar do mundo a lembrava dele. Qualquer frase proferida aleatoriamente em uma roda de amigos e automaticamente conseguia ouvir sua opinião sobre o assunto, ela o conhecia como ninguém, e em tão pouco tempo já não precisavam falar muita coisa, os dois sabiam dos dois.
Desejava que Jimmy fosse inteiramente dela, corpo e mente, que cada célula de seu ser pudesse tocar todas as células do dela, e que todos os pensamentos dele fossem sobre amá-la, mas como a maioria das coisas que queria, nada iria acontecer, se achava a pessoa mais azarada do mundo (e provavelmente era).
Em uma noite qualquer, após esperar o dia todo ansiosa pela hora em que Jimmy voltaria da faculdade, ele não apareceu. Bom, ele era mesmo uma pessoa inconstante e já estava acostumada à esse tipo de surpresa, mas existia algo diferente sobre aquela noite, sabia que Jimmy estava escondendo alguma coisa dela pois há dias estava estranho e calado, dormia cedo, acordava tarde, não comia, e as músicas que costumavam trocar estavam se tornando cada vez mais tristes, mas era inútil questionar, apesar da intimidade, ele se tornara uma pessoa reservada, o que era totalmente compreensível.
Após três ou quatro dias de aflição, ele finalmente volta e não parece bem, mesmo sem ver seu rosto, conhecia as palavras usadas por ele em todos os momentos. Preocupada com o sumiço, foi logo questionando sua ausência com certa raiva e euforia, Jimmy não respondia uma letra sequer. Julien deixou uma lágrima escorrer e implorou por respostas, tinha a certeza de que algo estava muito errado.
"Acalme-se, ou não poderei lhe contar hoje. Algo aconteceu e seu pressentimento está mais que correto, mas preciso que entenda o meu silêncio", disse à ela.
Julien não respondeu nada além de "me dê seu número, sinto que isso não é algo que se conta por escrito".
Discando o número gigantesco, cheio de códigos, sabia que assim que terminasse aquela ligação teria um problema muito maior do que a alta taxa que é cobrada por ligações internacionais. Ele atendeu e começou a falar interrompendo qualquer formalidade que ela viria a proferir:

– Apenas escute e prometa-me que não irá chorar.
Ela não disse nada, aceitando a condição.
– Há tempos não sinto-me bem, faço as mesmas coisas, não mudei meus costumes, embora deveria mas agora é tarde demais. Sinto-me diferente, meu corpo... fraco. Preciso te contar mas não tenho as palavras certas, acho que nem existem palavras certas para o que estou prestes à dizer então serei direto: descobri que sou *** positivo. ´
Um silêncio quase mórbido no ar, dos dois lados da linha.
Parecia-se com um tiro que atravessou o estômago dos dois, e nenhum podia falar.
Julien quebrou o silêncio desligando o telefone. Não podia expressar a dor que sentia, o sentimento de injustiça que a deixava de mãos atadas, Ele era a última pessoa do mundo que merecia aquilo, para ela, Jimmy era sagrado.

Apenas uma pessoa soube da nova situação de Jimmy antes de Julien: Allan.
Dois dias antes de contar tudo à amiga, Jimmy havia ido ao hospital sozinho, chegou em casa mais cedo, sentou-se no sofá e quis morrer, comparou o exame médico à um atestado de óbito e deu-se por morto. Allan chegou em casa e encontrou o amigo no chão, de olhos inchados, mãos trêmulas. Tirou o envelope de baixo dos braço de Jimmy, que o segurava como se fosse voar a qualquer instante, como se tivesse que apertar ao máximo para ter certeza de que aquilo era real. Enquanto lia os papéis, Jimmy suplicava sua morte, em meio à lágrimas, Allan lhe beijou como o amante oculto que foi por anos, com lábios fracos que resumiam a dor e o medo mas usou um disfarce para o pânico que sentia e sussurrou "não sinto nojo de ti, meu amigo, não estás morto".
Palavras inúteis. Já não queria ouvir nada, saber de nada. Jimmy então tentou dormir mas todas as memórias das vezes que usou drogas, que transou sem saber com quem, onde ou como, estavam piscando como flashes de luz quase cegantes e sentia uma culpa incomparável, um medo, terror. Mas nenhuma memória foi tão perturbadora quanto a da vez em que sofreu abuso ****** em uma das festas. Uma pessoa aleatória e sem grande importância, aproveitou-se do menino pálido e mirrado que estava dormindo no chão, quase desmaiado por culpa de todo o álcool consumido, mas ainda consciente, Jimmy conseguia sentir sua cabeça sendo pressionada contra a poça d'água que estava em baixo de seu corpo, e ouvia risos, e esses mesmos risos estavam rindo dele agora enquanto tentava dormir e rezava pra um deus que não acredita para que tudo fosse um pesadelo.
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Naquele dia, Jimmy, que já era pessimista por si só, prometeu que não se trataria, que iria apenas esperar a morte, uma morte precoce, e que este seria o desfecho perfeito para alguém que envelheceu tão rápido, mas ele não esperaria sentado, iria continuar sua vida de auto-destruição, saindo cedo e voltando tarde, dormindo e comendo mal, não pararia também com nenhum tipo de droga, principalmente cigarro, que era tão importante quanto a caneta ao escrever seus poemas, dizia que sentir a cinza ainda quente caindo no peito o inspirava.
Outra manhã chegou, e mesmo que desejasse com toda força, tudo ainda era real, seus pensamentos eram confusos, dúvidas e incertezas tão insuportáveis que poderiam causar dores físicas e curadas com analgésicos. Trocou o dia pela noite, já não via o sol, não via rostos crús como os que se vê quando estamos à caminho do trabalho, só via os personagens da noite, prostitutas, vendedores de drogas, pessoas que compravam essas drogas, e gente como ele, de coração quebrado, pessoas que perderam amigos (ou não têm), que perderam a si mesmos, que terminaram relacionamentos até então eternos, que já não suportavam a vida medíocre imposta por uma sociedade programada e hipócrita. Continuou indo aos mesmos lugares por semanas, e já não dormia em casa todos os dias, sempre arrumava um espaço na casa de algum amigo ou conhecido, como se doesse encara
D. Furtado
Cyril Blythe Aug 2012
I assured myself again that I was completely alone. Gingerly, I sat on the corner of her popcorn-and-perfume-scented bed and allow my tingling fingers to reach out and open that sacred journal again to page one. I never really understood it but maybe if I read it one more time. “Things I Wish I Never Knew:

1. People are selfish almost always.

2. Shaking hands does matter. ******.

3. Wine hangovers are miserable.

4. Puppies **** behind things ‘cause they feel guilty; you wont find it until it smells.

5. Friends really do come and go.

6. Neti Pots absolutely **** and bring you nosebleeds NOT relief.

7. Attraction and love are different. REMEMBER THIS ABOVE ALL.

8. Joy is clicking add to dictionary in Microsoft word.

9. If you can make it through Taco Bell kisses, morning breath will be a breeze.

10. Be jovial, it’s a choice and a side effect of living in daily adventure.

11. Make sure that your family knows…” I pause because I think I hear footsteps padding up the fourteen red-carpeted steps to her bedroom. I know I can’t move, the old wood floor in this crumbling house will definitely creak and give me away, so I just sit on the edge of the bed at full attention.

        “…No, ma’am, everything’s basically back to normal again, we’re getting the locks changed on Saturday. I’ll tell her you send your love.” The footsteps and voice were at the top of the stairs and I saw a shadow fall across the dusty floor in front of the white wooden door. I know it’s my neighbor Annie because she lives here. We grew up together. “Yes, ma’am, I love you too. I’ll try to make her call you soon. Bye.” Her phone beeped to signal the end of the conversation followed by a loud sigh. I peered from the bed into the hall and saw her sitting on the floor. Annie is a pretty girl. All the girls who live here are. We used to go to school together until my grades got too bad and I started my special school. We used to play in her front yard with her sister, Kelly. One time I kissed Kelly, but we were only seven. She is my only kiss. They both leave for most of the year now to go to college but come home for Christmas break. I will never go to college, but that’s ok.

        I felt my pants vibrating and the theme song to the TV show Who Wants to be a Millionaire was somehow blaring from somewhere around my crotch. Before I could silence it, the shadow at the door became a tangible whirlwind of brown hair, sharp screams, and clawing grabbing fingers as she tried to wrench the ratty Moleskin journal from my fingers.

        “******, Cyril, I thought I heard someone in here. You give it back and get out of this house. You can’t, like, break into other people houses like this. This is just not what normal people do. Can’t your father control you?” At this point we’re both standing in the middle of the bedroom. I’m confused so I just dangle the journal in the air above her grasp. “It’s not yours and you know that. I know you at least understand that, right? Right, Cyril? What the hell would you do if Kelly had been showering or changing. Oh my god, ew, do NOT answer that.”

        “Ow,” I yelp as she scratches at my forearm to retrieve the precious journal. “Your claws are sharp, Annie, I have more scratches from you than I do Jimmy-cat and Jimmy-cat is mean, mean but fluffy… and he purrs but you don’t purr. Is that because you don’t like me?” I lower my arm and Annie snatches the Moleskine out of my fumbling fingers, avoiding eye contact at all costs. I hate it when people do that. I notice it, but they don’t think I do.

            “Cyril, get out.” Her right hand is now securely around the Moleskine and the other is shaking, pointed towards the doorway. “Now.”

            This is always the worst part. I walk out of Kelly’s forbidden bedroom: head hung as I creak down the fourteen red, carpeted stairs and make my way to the front door. It’s always quiet and I don’t like the quiet so whenever it’s quiet I count. I am good at counting. …Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…silence.

        I turn to her, “Annie, I’m sorry…”

            “Out.” She opens the front door and points me to my apartment, directly across the street. Its autumn now and the leaves and cold rustle down the street and I crouch deeper into my black coat as I step outside.

            “So maybe I’ll come over tomorrow?” I turn as I start down the steps, hopeful to have conjured up a smile from Annie, but all I see is the flash of brunette hair disappearing behind another thick, white wooden door.

            “Get off our property before I call the cops, you creep!”

            That’s what I’ve always been to these pretty girls: a creep. I don’t really understand what the word means, but I’m pretty sure from the way they say it that it’s not nice. Pops always tells me that I’m different because it’s better to be different. I don’t understand why Annie and Kelly don’t think it’s better that I’m different too.

            I decide to walk to Captain D’s and tell Earl hi because it’s Friday and that’s what I do on Fridays. Earl owns Captain D’s and has forever. Earl is my friend. Earl and Jimmy-cat at Captain D’s that I feed my left over fish are my friends. At least I think they are. I named the cat Jimmy-cat because Pops says mom used to listen to a man named Jimmy Buffett before she left us. I don’t remember those days.

            I turn the corner knowing Captain D’s is just 560 steps ahead and that to get back home I go 910 steps back and I’ll be at my front door. Counting is one thing I am good at; even the tests they used to make me take at the doctor’s office said so. I am good at numbers. Seven is my favorite number.

            I walk into Captain D’s and, like normal, its just Earl inside. He makes me two Fish-Filet sandwiches and we go stand outside. We usually don’t talk much, but I like that . I sit on the crunchy curb, put on my hood because the wind and leaves have made my ears sting. I unwrap the greasy paper on my first sandwich and Earl pulls out his red Marbolo’s and sits beside me lighting up his first cigarette.

            “Why do you smoke, Earl?” I ask him every Friday and he always responds the same way.

            “Eh. Why do the fish swim Cyril? Why do the Eagles and Crows fly? You know we don’t know why Women like shoes so much.”

I never really understand what he means but it makes me giggle and before we know it we’re both laughing. I’m pretty sure this is what friendship is. I lick the wrapper to get all the tarter sauce off and start on my second sandwich. Earl starts his second cigarette.

            “Where’s that alley cat you got trained up, boy? Go get ‘em and I’ll cook him his own fish patty.”

            He means Jimmy-cat. I wipe my fingers on my jeans, tear off a piece of the damp fish from my sandwich, and walk towards white picket fence that Earl built around the dumpster where Jimmy-cat lives. Jimmy-cat has a good life; he can eat anything in the green dumpster he wants and he is safe behind the big white fence. I don’t like the smell but maybe cats like eating and smelling the furry tarter sauce that clings on the sides of the dumpster. As I pull the lever to open Jimmy Cat’s home, I think it smells even worse than normal. After jiggling the latch a while, it clicks, and I swing the door open to Jimmy-cat’s house. It definitely smells worse. I step up one step and crunch on leaves and squish cold fries as I circle the dumpster. “Jimmy-Jimmy-Jimmy-cat, where-oh-where-oh-where ya at?” I stop as I enter the back right corner, I see Jimmy-cat but I don’t understand what is happening. I don’t understand what is wrong. He is covered in ketchup, maybe? But if that’s true what are the little white thingssss crawling around his stomach and why are they covered in ketchup and mayonnaise too? He is mewling and I’m scared. I smell fish. Fish and furry tarter sauce, one, two, three, four, my feet are crunching on the cold fries and leaves again, I know I’m at the door without even turning around.

            “Boy, what you doin’ in there?”

            “Earl?” …One…two… “Earl, can you help me? Earl, I, I don’t understand. I don’t like it.” …Three…four…five… “Jimmy-cat needs a bath, Earl, and something is eating his stomach.” …Six…seven…silence. Earl’s hand fells like a dead fish on my shoulder as he walks me back up to Jimmy-cats home.

            “Stay here, Cyril. Just gimme’a sec to see what’s happening.” Earl disappears into the leaves and fries and fur.

            eight…nine…ten

eleven…twelve…

            thi­rteen…

fourteen…

            silence.





            “Boy? Come back here now. C’mon.” Earl’s voice echoed around the green corners and I followed. One…two…three…four…five…six…seven I stand above Earl and I know the ketchup and mayonnaise and Jimmy-cat eating monsters are just on the other side of his crouched over body.

            “Well don’t be shy, come look.” Earl stands and I see his work apron covered in the ketchup and mayonnaise but beyond that in a bed of Fish-filet wrappers is Jimmy-cat and all the stomach eating monsters mewling at his stomach, as I get close I think they look kinda like little Jimmy-cats. I push my hood off my head as I lean over closer and that’s when it hit me, “Kittens! Jimmy-cat had kittens, Earl!”

            “I think Jimmy-cat may be more of a Jasmine-cat or Jennifer-cat.”

            I laid down the piece of fish I brought and Jimmy-Cat looks up into my eyes and I swear he was happy to see me.  I looked up at Earl and he was happy to see me too. I sat down in the mess of wrappers and fries and mold and laughed and laughed and laughed.
This is a short story that was written for a contest  'Magic with a cliffhanger'


The young magician had waited all day for his audition on Britain’s Got Talent.

He arrived at the concert hall in London at 7am, even though the doors did not open until 9am. Being two hours early however did not put him at the front of the queue, and the smile of anticipation turned into a scowl when he saw the crowd around the entrance. Hundreds of contestants, both young and old, and boy did they look weird.

Jimmy came from a normal family, and lived in a normal street with other normal people. Looking at this group of strangely dresses misfits, normal did not have any part in their lives.

His first inclination had been to turn away and get the bus back home, but his determination to show his true talent to the obnoxious Simon Cowell helped him overcome his disgust at what he saw in front of him.

He forced himself to join the disorganised mob that he deemed an excuse for a queue and after a few minutes, he found himself wedged between an overweight middle-aged woman and an extremely tall teenager. The woman wore a bright yellow suit with red buttons, and volunteered the information that she had always wanted to run away to the circus to become a clown. Jimmy nodded and gave her a weak smile, a smile that masked his silent opinion that the woman was crazy. Fortunately, the tall teenager kept his ambitions to himself, though the fact he wore a frogman’s outfit did have Jimmy wondering.

When the doors opened a man holding a megaphone came out and bellowed a welcome to the rabble, and he tried to create some sort of order to the aforementioned queue. His attempt failed and as that was the last Jimmy heard of him, he could only assume the man went down at the weight of the pressing mob.

Eventually Jimmy obtained a ticket with the number 304 written on it in bold felt-tipped pen. “304” thought Jimmy, “three hundred and ruddy four, I'll be here hours”.

And it did take hours, hours of purgatory before his number came to the top of the list, hours surrounded by the strangest and most pathetic people that Jimmy had ever met.
Minutes later introductions were made to the two grinning imbeciles that he had seen many times before on the television screen on what seemed like every Saturday evening since he had been born. Suddenly there was a camera in his face as they asked him about props and music. Jimmy shook his head and answered the smiling duo, “I don’t need anything, just my wand and this black cloth”

Ant and Dec ushered the young magician onto the stage.

Jimmy was momentarily stunned at the size of the audience, and more so at the noise they made.

Pulling his thoughts together and taking a deep breath Jimmy walked to the centre of the stage and stood in front of the microphone.

“Hello, what’s your name?” asked one of the female judges.

“My name is Jimmy,” answered the young magician.

“And what are you going to do for us today?”

“I am going to make Simon disappear”

The crowd roared with laughter, the noise was quite overwhelming and Jimmy stepped back a few feet feeling quite dizzy.

Simon Cowell got to his feet waving his hands at the audience and spoke to Jimmy.

“OK, young Merlin, it seems like this unruly mob want to see your trick. Do you want me to come on stage, or are you going to magic me away from there”.

Jimmy regained his composure when he heard Simon’s pleasant voice, and saw his beaming smile.

“Can you come up here please,” said Jimmy.

Simon walked up the steps onto the stage and stood before Jimmy.

Jimmy unfolded the black cloth that he had been holding, it became bigger and bigger as it unfolded and the crowd roared with yet more laughter.

The young magician asked Simon to cover himself in the cloth, which he did without objection.

The crowd roared some more as they heard Simon shout out. “Hurry up Jimmy, I can’t see anything from under this cloth, and I'm scared of the dark”.

Jimmy took out his wand and waved it around while he mumbled a few well-chosen mystical words.

“Hubble, bubble, away from here, obnoxious Simon disappear”

Jimmy tapped the black cloth that was completely covering the self-professed “biggest man in show business”.

The black cloth crumpled to the stage in a small pile as the cheers and screams grew louder as the audience witnessed the disappearance of Simon.

Jimmy knelt down and refolded the black cloth as Ant and Dec strolled onto the stage both clapping in unison.

“Brilliant,” said Ant.

“Where is he”, said Dec.

“Gone” replied Jimmy...

as he walked off stage.
This is a short story that was written for a contest  'Magic with a cliffhanger'
silasa Jun 2013
Jimmy please say you wait for me.....
i'l grow up some day you see,,
saving all my love just for you,
i''l b signed in love forever true......,


Jimmy was the guy ,whu lived next door ,
and i knew him since ,ten years of more,
i wrote him a letter one day ...
and this is wt all i hv to say.
he read dat note for once again ,
and then went over to my house next door,
tears fell down rim and tim,
and i told jimmy wat i hv to say.....

"Jimmy please say you wait for me.....
i''l grow uo some day you see,,
saving all my love just for you,
i''l b signed in love forever true.".....,



Jimmy said to me dear jonney you,
just forget me.. bye nd bye! coz
ur jst fifteen and i am twentytwo,
and my dear Jonney , i cant wait for you,
i have to leave my little home town,
to find me job and settel down....
he packed his clothes
and cought a plane,
and my heart was filled with his memories,
all the words dat jimmy said to me!

"Jimmy please say you wait for me.....
i''l grow uo some day you see,,
saving all my love just for you,
i''l b signed in love forever true."........
...........
............
.............
...........­..........
...................................


i said  to him...
dear jimmy u,please forget me ....
bye and bye!
tears fell dowm ...
rim and tim ...
and i told jimmy, what i have to say!

jimmy jimmy please dont cry ,
you forget me bye  and bye!
itz five years since u have been gone...
and i got married with  ,
your best friend john!
JIMMY large nose natural hipster totally informed clever funny sincere yet aloof

JOEY tall tan lanky physique long thick brown hair in braid striking good looks yet self-unaware

SHANNON athletic build attractive brunette accomplished poet so good she doesn’t need to prove it emotional sensitive tough

ANNE Joni Mitchell good looks bohemian self-effacing impulsive submissive *****

ACT 1 scene 1

a deserted chic indie reception area somewhere present 8:30 PM

JIMMY (singling out Anne) you’re so beautiful i want you so bad

ANNE oh yeah you’re sweet to say that

JIMMY i mean it you symbolize hope inspiration in me

ANNE hope? oh god

Anne looks away runs fingers through her hair

JIMMY hear that song over the speakers?

ANNE yeah

JIMMY it’s “Home” Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes very cool check out rough trade east version on youtube

ANNE yeah right

Anne blows air out her nose looks away in Shannon’s direction

SHANNON (singling out Joey) do you read?

JOEY yeah some

SHANNON what are you currently reading?

JOEY uh a text about economic international relations

SHANNON hmmm interesting do you ever read literature or poetry?

JOEY nah not much

SHANNON like movies?

JOEY yeah sure some

SHANNON what’s you’re favorite movies?

JOEY “The Devil Wore Prada” “Eddie” “I’m Not There” i don’t know there are tons of movies i enjoy

SHANNON interesting

JOEY i need to ask Jimmy something excuse me

Joey walks across area to Jimmy

JOEY that western shirt looks so cool on you

JIMMY thanks yeah it’s a hip shirt what up dude?

JOEY oh god Shannon is hitting on me she’s way too full of herself way too available

JIMMY hmmm nice toned body bet she’s a tiger in the hay

JOEY not interested

JIMMY me neither but i could be persuaded honestly i’m blown away with Anne

Anne approaches Shannon

ANNE Jimmy is a conceited **** he thinks he’s so cool Shannon you look so beautiful this evening your hair complexion

SHANNON funny I felt so blah all day what did Jimmy say to you? he’s not my type but not so bad if only he had Joey’s looks Joey’s shy sweetness look at Joey over there his eyes lips he’s so **** I think I’m falling in love and yet i recognize falling in love requires a huge territory of untried tolerance

Anne’s fingers stealthily pocket Shannon’s tortoise-shell comb while Shannon observes Joey fawning over Jimmie across room

ACT 2

refer to ACT 1 scene 1
David W Clare Nov 2014
intro . . .
Have you ever noticed how many wild-guys out there through-out the world-over who have a wild-streak that are named Jim or James or Jimmy?
I mean take a look at the personalities of the many famous and not so famous men who are just a bit left-of-center and rebellious in nature.
For instance Jimmi Hoffa or take wild guitar man Jimmy Page or the great actor James Cagney or James Mason. Now consider Jimmi Stewart or James Garner.
What about everyones favorite spy James Bond. The wild genius of Jim Carrey. The old time character vaudvillian master Jimmy Durante. What about the historical
Jimmy-The-Greek. The rebellious outlaw Jesse James. What about the many musical legends like James Taylor or Jimmy Buffet. Who isn't amazed by the one and only
James Brown? What about Jim Morrison of The Doors or one-of-a-kind Jimi Hendrix. Then there's the wonder of James Dean himself - the ultimate hellion.
Well I wrote a song for them all... it's an original number called...  

Jimmy Rebel

by:  David Wayne Clare   aka David John clare

Hard Rockin' Country  (Rebellion Theme)

You've been upset for so long, at your dad, and at your sister
We heard your mom, she run and gone, well you're not sure to where but you know you'll miss her

Fed up with all the lies, never found true family ties
Not much, to leave behind, got some friends, but theyre not your kind


Well... Jimmy Rebel, meaner than the devil
His world is so hard to understand
Whoa... Jimmy Rebel, you got a score you got to settle
Youve taken all you can, stupid kid . . . brilliant man

You dont get pushed around, though people put you down,
Yeah, some would even throw rocks at you
You were born to speak out loud, without making any sound
Known by some ***** looks, a collection of scars, lifes true tattoos
You've lived the black and blues

Whoa... Jimmy Rebel, badder than the devil
This world's so hard to understand
Jimmy Rebel, you got a score you got to settle
Come on you know the plan, ugly boy... **** man

Feels like everybody hates you, yet you never run and hide
You're from a broken mobile home; yet your heart is double -wide
No matter how strange youre made to feel, you wont get pushed aside
Standing tall in a cruel crowd, not many a man could out survive
Out survive...

Jimi Rebel, stronger than the devil
some say...
Hes got the master plan
Jimmi Rebel
Gotta score you gotta settle
Now he knows they cant understand just what it is...
Yet I can...  yet I can... yes I can understand

Jimi Rebel

Stranger in a strange land
Viscous one deserves a medal
He knows they cant understand, just what it is...

Yet I can, Yes I  can, yes I can
YES... I  Can . . . .

D. CLARE   (c) In Perpetuity  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
JET-SET  21ST  CENTURY  PRODUCTIONS
Clairvoyant Music / BMI
Jimmy rebel theme
party zone with johnny brown


johnny’  hi dudes and welcome to party zone’s very special aussie day eve edition

and we had ruth o’brien come out first, and she got the party right inro the right mood

and the families were gathering in with their picnic lunches and cyrus was next on stage

and, dudes, he was really cool, and he played some great songs to party on to, and nathaniel sang a prince song

and dude was he supplying us with the goods, here is one of the guys giving us an australia day jingle

tom

australia day is great, man

it is really great

it’s really great in fact

it finished half an hour past half past 9

i really like jimmy barnes

i would’ve danced all night

and then nirvana bought out a storm

and cancelled the barnesy night

and now here is a jingle from another person

hey now hey now baby, it’s time to party party party

with smantha jade, and i wanna party party real hard oh yeah

you see i liked her on the  xfactor and she is pretty rad

but cancelling jimmy barnes, my pal was really really bad

johnny’  hi dudes welcome back and here is jimmy barnes to jnterview, jimmy

how did you like nirvana coming up with thunder and lightning cancelling your big show

jimmy’  oh well it’s nothing we could do about it

johnny’  at least you sang flame trees for TV

jimmy/  yeah, that was a great version of a great song

jimmy/ i will sing working class man for you and your viewers now

johnny’  you go over to the AAA stage and i will introduce you

ok dudes, here is a great singer who had his concert on the lawns of parliament house cancelled

so we bought hi, in here to play a hit, ladies and gentlemen please welcome jimmy barnes

with working class man, take it away jimmy

working hard to make a living
bringing shelter from the rain
a fathers son left to carry on
blue denim in his vein
oh oh oh he's a working class man

well he's a steel town deciple
he's a legend of his kind
he's running like a cyclone
across the wild mid western sky
oh oh oh he's a working class man

he believes in god and elvis
he gets out when he can
he did his time in vietnam
still mad at uncle sam
he's a simple man
with a heart of gold
in a complicated land
oh he's a working class man

well he loves a little woman
someday he'll make his wife
saving all the overtime
for the one love of his life
he ain't worried about tomorrow
cause he just made up his mind
life's too short for burning bridges
take it one day at a time
oh oh oh he's a working class man
oh oh oh he's a working class man
oh yeah
yes he is
well he's a working class man
oh
ma ma . . . . . . . i tell you he's a working class man

(bv)
working class
working class man


johnny’  thank you jimmy and now we have a jingle from betrice

betrice, ok take me out to the mudslide at parliament house where it;s rad

buy me some water to take my pill

before i end up a right old dill

i wish barnesy did his show, but who cares cause he did it here

so mr barnes, i wonder just one thing

will there be an encore

of just one more song

johnny’ thanks for that song and jimmy had just left, family commitments

but your jingle was ace, mam

johnny’  ok that is it and we will see you next friday the 29th

for episode 1 of party zone for the year

catch ya later dudes
N Paul Nov 2015
Jimmy returns from a grand escapade
Bruised and bloodied and laughing,
His smile too wide and a glint in his eye
“How proud and wild a figure I cut”
He wears the thought like armour
Because he’s a charmer, a rogue,
A brave renegade.
Fuelled by laughs and tuts and praise
Of those he loves, he’s blind
To their concern.

He sees the sighs, the rolling eyes,
The cries of ‘classic Jimmy’
But to him they’re just his just desserts;
An ironic awe. Reserved for he who flirts
With danger, uses outrageous behaviour
With a smile and a wink
So that this charmer,
This rakish renegade can get away with ******.

Oh no!
Here comes Billy
See Billy’s a bully and Billy thinks Jimmy’s a c*.
Where Jimmy is eloquent, Billy is blunt.

Now Billy, this boorish bully,
This hulking brute, leaves Jimmy's flesh untouched
But he creeps upon our hero still,
A pat on the shoulder
A warm tone of voice
He whispers in Jimmy’s ear.
At the sound our hero frowns, but continues to entertain.
He can’t quite push aside
That shiver that climbs his spine
At the memory of sinister whispers
And the pain he had to feign away
With smiles that never quite
Reached his eyes.

See, words from the mouth of Billy cut as good as any knives.
They linger first, but soon
With practiced deftness, cut at the straps,
The leather tendrils that keep Jimmy’s armour in place.
Until it falls, with a clatter, to the floor
And where, not a minute before,
There stood a God resplendent
Now cowers a boy.
And this ugly, naked,
Whimpering wretch gazes up in fear and hope,
And now all he can see are the sighs behind the smiling eyes.

And now every time he laughs too loud
Or unwittingly draws attention.
With every look just a little too long
With every ‘what?’ or ‘huh?’
He feels knives digging into his back
And sags a little lower.



Until one day, they’re gone
The whispers are far away
And Jimmy finds he’s come up for air
To a place where things are bright and fair
And laughing means more
Than just a social game - a display to spare feelings.
And there are things to love and cherish.
The sweet taste of wine; the brush
Of a pair of soft and willing lips.

The racing of theories and thoughts
And the meanings of things; shocking
In the clarity of their colour.
Fattening the soul in shades of cyan and amber.
Filling this bedraggled wretch with the glowing warmth
Of a crackling fire. Shooting through his limbs and trunk
Until he expands and stands on legs of iron.

As the furnaces of joy are stoked
A grin begins to spread.
The flames a glitter to light the eyes;
Quenching fears put to bed.



Yet still, deep down he knows, that every
Time he comes back up
And dons his shining armour,
He feels just a little weaker.
And the armour hangs a little looser.
Paloma Oct 2012
My mind pities my emotions,
Sometimes it mocks it,
They never see eye to eye...

I discovered something that brings me joy,
Lets call it jimmy,
Jimmy stimulates me...
Mentally,
emotionally,
My soul jubilates because it has finally found something it's compatible with,
Jimmy is like a river flowing, it creates a path where there isnt one,
it's soothing, relaxing, its tranquil, and it embodies life both known and unknown....
Jimmy is like poem, no one interprets it the same way,
it  inspires you, it evokes emotions in you that you have never felt before or were too scared to feel,
Jimmy is what I crave,
but I'm afraid to indulge at the risk of being hooked,
Hooked on every lyric that flows into my soul, unites with my soul,
Oh Jimmy....
If only I wasn't so afraid to embrace you, Jimmy...
Michael Blace May 2014
Jenny and Jimmy were the best of friends
spending long days together that would seem to never end
picking up sticks and swinging on trees
blowing dandelion flowers in the warm summer breeze

now jenny was a beauty dressed in little boy’s clothes
with her pony tail lose an' freckles splotched on her nose
and she couldn’t give a hoot what those other girls’d say
cause she liked to be with Jimmy and the games that he played

now Jimmy wasn’t smart, but he knowed what he loved:
skippin' rocks, catchin' frogs, and his baseball glove
and that silly freckled girl that would always hang around
the most pretty little flower that he ever had found

they would lie in the grass, staring up at the sky
hoping life would never change, as the world passed by
they would always have each other and their lush green wood
with the birdies and the trees and everything that was good

but the winter was a’comin and the kids went inside
and the flowers and grass and the leaves all died
and a perfect white snow covered up all the fun
and it silenced all the laughter and it froze up the sun

so they sat and they waited for what seemed like years
and so Jimmy got angry and Jenny found tears
and even as they hoped and they cried and they prayed
the winter wasn’t going, it had come along to stay

so then Jimmy got up and he put his boots on
and Jenny got her gloves and her scarf from her mom
they each waved goodbye to their nice warm home
and they set off in the night in the deep cold snow

the ice was holding tight to every step they would take
and the wind was blowing hard and it made their bodies shake
but they kept moving forward cause they knew they had to be
in the arms of each other beneath the big oak tree

Jenny saw him first as she came over the hill
and she ran so fast she forgot about the chill
and Jimmy was amazed as a smile found his face
as he lifted Jenny up in a strong warm embrace

and as the two of them smiled and they hugged and they swayed
the winter and the ice began to slowly melt away
and the two stayed together up until the very end
because Jenny and Jimmy were the best of friends.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
.penta - come in: like i said, horror movie soundtracks, i fall asleep listening to them... they're so atmospheric i, simply can't resist their inherent allure.

the infamous Croydon cat killer...
i'm not buying what the media is selling...
i'm currently in the possession
of a quasi-pet...
  a fox...
comes round my garden for food,
leftovers...
which i give to him with overcooked
rice...
      no... i'm not buying the police report...
two reason...
you know where Croydon is...
and when the next incident happened?
north east London...
   did the fox... ******* swim?!
a fox is not a migratory animal...
   it's niche...
   it's local...
   if it has a sustained food source...
scavenger that it is...
omnivore like a petted dog...
  no...
i don't buy it...
              why would it transverse
south west London and strike in
north east London...
    did Herr Fusch
and why were the bodies left as evidence?
this fox has a *******
fetish for cranium meat or something?
i'm no Mr. Softie for the company
of a fox...
     but on the outskirts of London...
cats and foxes share a strange
   symbiosis...
   ever walk the dark Essex roads
at night, and peer into the fox
and the house-cat look at each other with
curiosity?
      like all serial killers...
it begins with animals,
there's always the audacity with animals...
most of them would probably become
model citizens, if they were allowed
a job at a slaughter house...
   so the mainstream media explains
the Croydon cat killer as a fox...
a fox that decapitates a body...
   and doesn't eat the torso?!
******* magic!
that's not how mature nature of
the wild works: you either eat...
or you're eaten..
        my neighbors owned ducks...
you think that when a fox
dug a hole beneath the cage...
there was a duck torso and a missing
duck head?
ha ha! good luck!
       why would a wild animal **** something...
and not eat it?
    a Swizz fondu makes more sense
than this explanation!
no cautionary animal,
that is primarily a scavenger,
travels from south west London
to north east London...
             BULL...****...
       BULL... ****!
           i don't feed my Brody because
i think he's cute...
   i feed him...
     because i randomly feel like it...
do foxes even own the concept
of a head terrine delicacy?
   my little ******* will eat
rice mingling with off-cuts of meat
and fat...
           so... he bit the head off...
but left the torso for evidence?!
BULL... ****...
oh i'm pretty sure a shy, a very shy
bored Jimmy is lurking in the shadows...
shy bored Jimmies need
a canvas of innocence...
animals are their primal choice...
  well... considering that Cain
was a vegetarian and Abel wasn't...
          he's lying low...
he needs to wake up from the adrenaline
rush...
   he needs for it to cool down...
a fox doesn't leave torso evidence...
and what would be the point of...
   did they say whether the heads
were guillotined, or chewed off?
no ******* animal chews off a head,
unlikely for an animal
to decapitate another animal...
   only human imagination provides that
sort of ingenuity...
         crock ****... basic crock ****...
blame the foxes...
     ha ha!
find me this shadowy little Jimmy before
he boasts about
the human sin of being gullible....
thank **** i'm not a campaigner...
   what i do with "my" fox is concerned
with ecological advantages...
also something akin
  to a Monday morning...
and how my neighbor's trash isn't littered
over the road... because
the wolf was fed, and so the sheep
too...
                 there is no logic to
the claim that a fox made methodological
killings of pets...
   if you ever walked
the streets at night,
and watched the stare-off between
a fox and a cat...
   last time i checked:
   cats have claws and a ferocious bite...
foxes? no claws...
just the bite...
oh, right... what am i listening to?
    penta -            come in...
   i'm still thinking of little Jimmy in the shadows,
collecting his decapitated
   cat heads... and stuffing them
with fiddles of a post-scriptum
to the Hollywood movie genre...
   oh believe me...
from what i heard of Eddie the Gain...
20th century alternative culture
was basically him
being covertly cited...
            no...
a fox wouldn't do it...
   if it was a a duck / chicken affair...
sure...
   but cats being decapitated...
and the torsos left as evidence,
i.e. not being eaten?
         little Jimmy is taking a break...
given that: i'm pretty sure a Bonsai
tiger knows a few tricks about
how a predator defends himself...
          then again, the explanation
could be:
  too many cat videos...
             cats aren't cute...
they're bogus critters who are in
the potential of biting and scratching...
come one...
all the way from south west London...
to north east London?!
foxes don't travel that far,
and the closest route would be
by a hypotenuse vector...
   sooner proving Santa Claus
exists...
    and...
              it couldn't be the same fox...
wild animals are analogous...
but they're certainly not original copy-cats...

coming from a newspaper
like the times:
   i'm vaguely allured to claim them
left-leaning... right-centrist for sure...
but they're still quasi-Guardian
types...

the topic at hand came,
thanks to no. 10,154 sudoku puzzle...
and the narrative...

1    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    5
0    5   ­ 0    0    2    0    0    3    0
0    4    0   6    0    5    0    1    0
0    0    2   0    0    0    8    0    0
0    0    5    4    0    3    7    0  ­  0
0    3    0    5    0    2    0    6    0
0    6    0    8   ­ 0    1    0    9    0
5    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    1
­0    7    0    0    6    0    0    4    0

ut 10,153 was a mess...
i can only suppose it was too simple...

let's just say i had to think
of something,
esp. little Jimmy...
    
                        and the scapegoat fox...
after all: it's the easiest route...
   pretending that a wild
animal is to behave in a civilized manner...
but even wild animals
do not behave like
meticulous killers...
          and decapitation?
it an example of a civilized
meticulousness of a killing...
        
i sniff a rat, a see a rat...
             mainstream media is a load
of *******, and hardly an outrage
of der stimme...
    
foxes don't assert methodological killings...
little Jimmy... whittle Jimmy...
taking a break...
having made foundation
in the first membrane of audacity...
sooner or later...
little Jimmy is moving from cats,
and into the territory of humans...

they all do...
  "they"?
        serial killers!

          that wasn't a fox...
i'm petting a fox at this moment in time...
well.. petting is a lose term...
otherwise strapped to:
"petting"...

           but as you do... solving a sudoku...
here's the linear
narrative:

   (b) 8 8 1 1 3 4 7 9 7 7 9 9 4 9 7 9 4 7
(a) 1 1 5 5 5 1 6 6 7 7 8 2 3 4 9 6 6 6 8 2 3 2 4 4 8 3 9 3 9 2 3 2 2 8 8

and you do think up crazy ****
while you're at it...

1    2    6    9    3    8    4    7    5
7    5    8    1­    2    4    9    3    6
3    4    9   6    6    5    2    1    8
4    1    2   7    9    6    8    5    3
6    8    5    4    1    3    7    2  ­  9
9    3    7    5    8    2    1    6    4
2    6    4    8   ­ 5    1    3    9    7
5    9    3    2    4    7    6    8    1
­8    7    1    3    6    9    5    4    2

but then the everyday newspaper
you read on the everyday
from Monday to Friday....
and there's a newspaper magazine...
ah...
   so that's the problem...
i'm not bundled up in a demographic
nearing retirement age?!

the Croydon cat-killer is still out there...
  a fox wouldn't leave a decapitated
torso as evidence...

as the one simple rule of nature suggests:
NATURE DOESN'T BELIEVE
IN LANDFILL SITES...
IT BELIEVES IN RECYCLING...
a fox that chews off a head
of a cat, and doesn't drag the torso into
the forest to eat?
   well... let's just suppose
that idiocy doesn't exactly permeate
in the wild...
              less a stupid animal...
more a selfish / slothful animal...
  foxes are neither...

             little Jimmy is still out there...
with his love for souvenirs of
cat heads...
           and he's buying time...
so a scapegoat emerges...
  
        if a fox did what was "supposedly" done...
i'm pretty sure there would be
no evidence...
          left...

you get the picture?
  Michael Myers began experiments
on animals... as did Jeffrey Dahmer with
road-****...
                can't someone make an outlet
for these people to work
in slaughterhouses?!
                    they'd be perfect!

decent human beings:
in the most indecent human conditions -
and i'm pretty sure these guys
would love working
in the slaughterhouses...

  i could, for some reason,
forget vegetarians akin to Adolf ******
by then!
Latiaaa Mar 2014
It was the midsummer of the 50’s and my girls and I went out for a bite. Jimmy’s Burgers was a block away and boy were we hungry! We could eat a cow for all we know. Jimmy’s jukebox can play music day in and day out.

My girls and I parked our blue Thunderbird Convertible, and hopped on in Jimmy’s. That place is always filled with younglings like us. You can smell the fresh potato cut fries fryin’ up in the greasers. The burgers are always my fave! I would beg to just get a bite out of those succulent, juicy ground babies.

Everyone in this joint always seems to be dancing their little feet off, the girls with their casual oxfords and pastel loose skirts; the guys wearing leather, pompadours, and their high-wasted pants. I love to crank that jukebox with only my quarters and dimes I have left in my purse. The girls and I sat on down in one of the red booths. A young waiter came over with bottles of coke with his pen and paper.

“May I take ya’ll lovely ladies’ order?” He was chewing on that mint gum.

Boy was he handsome! That sweet southern twine had me going bonkers. He looked all fancy in his all white uniform; his apron had ice cream stains and fry grease. His sandy brown hair was cascading behind his ears. I loved his paper hat too. His big brown eyes were looking into mine as he was getting our orders. I couldn’t help but stare back. He gave us our cokes and gave me a little wink behind his thick black glasses. I really didn’t care bout’ those pimples, his face made a girl melt like Texas asphalt on a hot beach afternoon!

I made myself look sweeter than a peach. I fluffed my hair and fancied my outfit, hoping for that rascal to come on back. The jukebox was still kicking tunes in the back, that’s when the cute waiter came back.  His tall, slender, perfect body walked on over and sat our tray of burgers down. My face was red hot like the time I first took a bite out of a chili pepper. The waiter got close to my ear and whispered,

“You wouldn’t mind if I take your sweet self on the dance floor for a second would you?”

Wasn’t that boy supposed to be working? I didn’t care. That rascal waiter grabbed my hand and swung my little waist on the dance floor. We twist, kicked, and shimmied. I was having the time of my life! I didn’t know my girls were staring at me, cheering on. Too bad the cutie had to go back to work. I walked over and sat back in the booth.

My girls were giving me the, you’re his sugar girl look. Not my fault he was sweeter than maple syrup!
The girls and I were finished at Jimmy’s Burgers, so we started to head out. Before I even opened the door, that waiter grabbed me by the waist and said,

“Hey sweet thing, leaving too soon? I didn’t catch your name?”

I looked into those eyes again; I felt my heart skip a beat like the jukebox when there’s a bug in it. His southern twine again,

“My name’s Robert James, but you can call me RJ.”

He kissed my hand and gave me that wink again. I gave him a smile and went outside. My face was peachy like a baby’s bottom! I didn’t even tell him my name, dog-gon shame.  From now on, I’m hittin’ Jimmy’s Burgers just so I can see that waiter.
I'm obsessed with the 50's era lol. Had to write this <3
Nicholas Kurtz Aug 2015
The river runs it runs with greed
The fast cash of the lucky
Makes it's way to sea

And poison floats with this poison greed
The will of millions, cry out silently

Because they have no idea
about this poison greed
Nurotoxicity
Poisoning our cities

The doctor tells the single mother
To eat an apple everyday
Which only supplement her daily
Methlyphenidate
Neurotoxicity

And baby was born just few pounds light
The tired mother relieved
Baby swaddled in a sheet
Of polybrominate
Neurotoxicty

But all ends were it began
The conspirers of greed
Don't have to loose a thing
The toxic poisonous sludge doesn't run through their garden greens
Somethings
Fish-y
Or is it all the mercury?

East of the railroad tracks
The man smoking crack
Behind a tree
Now breathing PCB's
From car exhaust and factory
Poor ****** breathes
Neuroxicity

And the lucky on lookers equipped to
Notice such a thing or anything
Watch in disbelief
They should all find relief, the poison is fair
It flows through everybody, everywhere

For nothing makes the people sing
Like a mix ethanol and manganese
Neurotoxicty

Spin round and round and sing
This is called brainwashing
Drink your mix of ethanol and manganese
Watch your team throw the polyethylene
Trickle down, trickle
Your loosing the cells right from your brain
While a doctor writes you a prescription to go insane

After years of manganese and PCB's
Jimmy B is lost in the sea of toxins
But mom knows best
He's a hyper brat
Takes him to the doctor to get him
Correct
Doctor gives Jimmy a prescription
The devil's speed
Dextroamphetamine

Jimmy was focused
Jimmy didn't bother
Jimmys brain a couple grams lighter

The doctor intrigued gets a free meal
To switch Jimmy's speed
Four more Jimmies
Doctor can vacation expenses paid
By the sea

Jimmy keeps on taking his pills
Then over night
Jimmy hits his first pipe
Now that's some ******* good speed

And the story goes
Without relief
The government we know
Deligates neurological slavery
If you value life
You should value the mind
Jimmy Aldaoud was deported
He was American to the bone
He never set foot in Iraq
Arrived here at six months old

Jimmy was born in Greece
And Michigan was his home
He was very good at Chess
His health problems were known

Diabetes and schizophrenia
Is what Jimmy battled most
ICE showed up one day
And took him from his home

Jimmy was sent to Iraq
ICE said he had to go
They threw him on a plane
He landed in Baghdad alone

He was living on the streets
Jimmy didn't know a soul
He couldn't get anything to eat
His insulin was dangerously low

'I don't understand the language.
I don't understand the money.
I don't understand the street.'
Jimmy said in desperate worry

Jimmy couldn't speak Arabic
And he had nowhere to go
Someone found his body
He died in Baghdad all alone

Jimmy Aldaoud was fourty-one
He died in a place he didn't know
ICE just sent him to his death
This administration has no soul

Jimmy didn't have to die
In a far off land he didn't know
Today he would still be alive
America was his only home


'Donald J Trump is responsible for his death.'
- Andy Levin, U.S. congressman


© 2020  Michael Messinger(All rights reserved)
Justin Forkpa Jun 2017
Little jimmy was curious and nosy
His cheeks were fat and rosy
He always had to find out why
One way or another or he would cry

This made his mother angry
If it was YOUR things he broke you would agree
It was a hot summer day and little jimmy was lounging on the floor
His brother watched the dog, the dog watched jimmy and jimmy stared at the door

Through the door his mother came grunting in
When his mother grunted, there was always things she would bring
She told his brother to get the rest of the bags from the car
On his last trip, he brought in a box black as tar

What could this little box be? Could it move? where would it go?
Jimmy just had to know
His mother told Jimmy that the radio was not a toy
If Jimmy touched it he would be a bad boy

Jimmy wanted so desperately to know what made the radio talk
He failed many times till he learned to walk
Now he could go as he please
He could track down the radio with ease.

He found the lradio on the counter in the kitchen
Using his stool he climbed up to listen
He thought there must be little people singing in there
He needed a way to get them out here

He opened the top but still they would no show
Irritated and impatient he started to grow
He had to force them out
to get what he sought

But fate always has a twist
With just a flick of the wrist
A loud bang filled the house
He knew what he did deserved no applause

His brother ran in fearing what harm he brought to himself
All he saw was the radio removed from the shelf
Disappointed and sad jimmy sang his own song
Terry Collett Sep 2013
Two sets of pram wheels
a plank(some kid's dad
brought that)

a wooden cross beam
a nut and bolt
to hold

the cross beam
in place
a piece of rope

(Ingrid gave that
an old skipping rope)
an orange box

and the go-cart
was ready
by the bike shed

and Jimmy said
I best drive it first
as I'm the eldest

ok
you said
Ingrid said nothing

she looked at Jimmy
hands in her
cardigan pockets

biting her lip
Ingrid supplied the rope
you said

she deserves
a ride too
sure sure

Jimmy said
climbing
into the orange box

and taking up the ropes
into his hands
right you push

he said
I brought
my mum's prop stick

Ingrid said
you can push with that
she pointed

to a long pole
by the shed door
yes ok

Jimmy said
so you took up
the pole and placed it

in the back
of the plank
and began to push it

through the Square
Ingrid stood watching
as you pushed

the go-cart
at running speed
on on

Jimmy said
and he steered
the go-cart

around the Square
as you ran faster
then let go

and the go-cart
went at its own volition
and you walked

and stood by Ingrid
will he let me ride it?
she asked

he will
you said
or I'll not

push him again
you watched
as the go-cart

slowed down
and Jimmy drove it up
to the bike shed

where it came
to a stop
why'd you stop pushing?

he asked
couldn't push any faster
you said

it needs constant pushing
he said

I'm not a machine
you said
he sat looking

at Ingrid
she can push
he said

she's a girl
you said
I can push

she said
and she took the pole
and shoved it

at the back
of the plank
and began to push it

off as best she could
with Jimmy steering
along by the sheds

and off once more
into the Square
and you watched

her push
her hands tight
around the pole

her legs running
as fast as she could
and there

as she ran
and her skirt rose
you saw red marks

on her thigh
her old man's work
you said with a sigh

then it was gone
as she ran down
the *****

and out of sight
with the sound of Jimmy
cheering her on.
SET IN LONDON IN 1950S.
Charlie Wonder Oct 2016
Where was Jimmy when Martin was cheating on Coretta.
Jimmy the cricket.
If we all listen to Jimmy, our lives would be better.
Jimmy the cricket.
I needed him when I was writing God this letter.

What happens when Jimmy is screaming, but you turn the deaf ear.
Our choices are tainted and we live our worst fears.
Just because we pretended we didn't need to hear,
"Jimmy the Cricket."
Make the conscious call
Dr Strange Sep 2015
Bang bang
Little boy jimmy was only four years old
But at four years old he already knew what death taste like

May 16, 2012 at 11:59pm

He was found laying in his bed soaking in his own blood
It was a minute before his birthday, he was turning five on May 17, 2012
He was hit by stray bullet
Or that is what they say...

May 16, 11:56 pm

Three cops barged in Jimmy's house claiming they received a call of a disturbance
Jimmy's dad died the day after he was born and his mom was single
There was no one in the house but jimmy and his mom katrina
On the police report it read that when the cops arrived Jimmy was dead and his mom was found in the corner brutally beaten and *****
She had been shot twice in the chest and once in the head
She was permantly brain damaged and paralyzed from the waist down
Everyday she cried tears of blood and no one really knew why
But it is obviously what really happened that fateful day

May 18, 2013

Katrina was found hanging from her balcony
She committed suicide
Or was it ******
Bang bang
Thus end story of Jimmy and his family
Anna Razz Jan 2016
Plant a fertile garden in summer & harvest all of the fruits and vegetables.
PIckle all of the vegetables.
preserve all of the fruits-leave some
Apples for pie.
Place pickles and preserves in the darkness of the root cellar.

Order How to ****** a Farmhand in 10 Days from the book catalogue.
Order the Art of War also just in case

Invite Handsome Jimmy Pike from the neighbouring farm over for pie.

Get Uncle Abe to cover the dirt floor with planks.
As Mama always said a frozen dirt floor is just for the dirt poor.

Bake Pie. Place on windowsill.
Waft the smell
Of hot pie over toward the woodpile where Uncle Abe is chopping wood.

Invite Jimmy to play Gin Rummy the evening when Uncle Abe is mysteriously ill of a stomach complaint and sleeping in the barn.


Show Jimmy Uncle Abe's tongue and groove method of log cabin construction.
Ask Jimmy to show me the **** and pass method of using unmilled logs to **** up against each other without notching.

Spike Jimmy's tea with ***.
Show Jimmy the root cellar.
**** up against Jimmy with notching.
WITH LOTS OF NOTCHING.

Fall pregnant.
Tell Uncle Abe and have a shotgun wedding.
Bake another special pie.
1.

I’m told it’s a “living thing”, a given thing and, moreover, is a terrible thing to lose. ‘Nuff said, ‘kay?

2.

What was she doing at the reception? Why was she so envious of his riches? How many drinks under her belt since she started on that glass of wine she‘s holding in her hand right now? So possessive.

I always seem to run into her at the drug store. I wonder what kind of medication she takes. Some incredibly strange desire to know this floats through my ghost. Some generic anti- depressant or maybe something stronger, along the lines of thorazine or haldol. A bizarre sense of arousal consumes me as I fantasize about popping those pills with her. I don’t care what kind they are…if they cure what ails her then they’ll probably take care of what’s wrong with me.

I remember…it was just a week or two ago. Once again I bumped into her at the drug store. She was looking good. Real good. The prospect of reading the labels on her medicine bottles was overpowering, finally knowing the names of the many prescriptions she had filled once every month.

My plan was thwarted, however, when she ordered a soda. I never did find out those drug names, but I learned something which I felt could very possibly change the odds of she and I hooking up. And that is this: her favorite flavor is cherry red.

I don’t think she has a boyfriend, but there is this guy who is always coming around for no real reason. He seems to think that he’s her old man. I often pretend that I believe it as well. One night the three of us went to a karaoke bar. I got just drunk enough not to care if I made a fool of myself having fun. The other two in our party had no problem nominating me for the opening act.

I walked behind the booth and introduced myself to the DJ.

“Yo, yo,” he said, after I told him my name and shook his hand. “I’m DJ Crackhead. Steady chillin’ and ill feelin’, I got the wax and the tracks if you got the crack, Jack. Now get off my back ‘less you got somethin’ you want to karaoke to.”

“Actually, I do have a request. Do you see that hot little red head in the ******* tank top? The one sitting next to the pimply faced weasel? Well, I’m wantin’ that dame for my own and I need to lose him. I need to shout out respect to my ***** and be dissing this dweeb at the same time. Can you play some Stones? I’m thinking ‘Satisfaction’ or maybe ‘Get Off Of My Cloud’?”

“Gee, G! I can float them joints easier than the pope be funny dressed. ‘Get Off Of My Cloud’, baby?”

“Only seems fitting. Let’s do this, Rider!”

As the short, sharp beats of the song bring down the house, to thunderous applause I strutted to the microphone. “People!!! All 6 of you! That’s not counting the bar tender or the wait staff, so we can’t really count this as the largest crowd we’ve ever had attend one of our shows. But I’m gonna tear the rood off this sucka’ with a brutal Rolling Stones tune I’m gonna send out to my gal’s old man, Jimmy!”

I wailed the hell out of that song. Jagger would have been proud of me, that’s for sure. He would have invited me back to the limo to maybe mainline a little smack with him. Everyone in that place was getting into it, but not Jimmy. Oh no, not Mister Jimmy. You could tell he was getting into the song itself, but not the singer.

As the song faded out I returned to our table, sweat dripping off of me like raindrops that fell into her wine glass. Wiping myself with a napkin, I turned to her and asked, “Did you like that one, babe? Did that spectacle turn you on?”

She replied, “O God, yeah! Yeah on both counts!” She leaned towards me and whispered in my ear, “You know, if we could ditch Jimmy I would sure be up for some kink-a-dee-kink. All the time you sang about “not hanging around” and how “two’s a crowd” on your cloud, I could only think of this leach. You’ve got to help me, sweetheart, you’ve just GOTTA!”

“I’ll do what I can,” I said quietly, then turned to Jimmy. “ Well Ol’ Jimmy, Ol’ Jimmy “ Boy, what did you think?”

He looked me square in the eye. I knew he meant business. You could tell by the squint in his eyes. He blinked once and said one word…”Dead”.

3.

Did we really count to one hundred? Why were we counting and perhaps even more important, WHAT were we counting? Why did the object being counted need to be counted to? Was 100 the exact count? Could we count further than 100? Did we have to keep counting even if there are only 79 units in total? Can you explain? I can’t.

4.

You got a big mouth. You know that’s an undisputed fact. When it comes to informing the town about the fine details of my alcohol problem…well that‘s where I draw the line. You are one hypocritical, self-serving, self-righteous biddy who doesn’t know when to shut up.

Everyone knows I’ve been drinking and foolin’ around. The Lord knows I’m sinning and God knows sinning ain’t right. But we’re gonna chat it up tonight, and if you want to see a change of attitude and tone, well I suggest that you stick a sock in it.

5.

Chewing on a piece of grass.
Walking down the road.
Wishing on a falling star.
Waiting on the early train.
Aging with time
Alligator lizards in the air…

Interlude.

All is quiet, save the ringing in the ears. The darkness envelopes me completely, I’m lying in it’s arms. Insatiable demands we’ll make against the wisdom of the Overlords. Who see it through those eyes that criticize all they don’t understand. They don’t understand me or you. You or me.

6.

Sometimes I just like to sit back and take in a good nostril or two of pungeant skunk stank. Years have come and years have gone but one thing has remained…I ain’t a-offended o’ the smell o’ Pepe LePew.

I don’t know but that my opinion might change if one o’ them little rascals were to saunter up to me and spray his stench on my leg. The buck will probably stop there.

But anymore that stuff just reminds me of the killer bud.

7.

The wolves ain’t the only critters howlin’ at the moon tonight.

That’s what she told me as inspiration swirled down the drainage ditch into the vat of apathy.

“Jump in, Jim, let’s go for a swim.”

She took off her clothes and I couldn’t help but stare.
John Stackpoole May 2013
Ten minutes resounded throughout the vault of his mind.
It was the time set before the big match he was ordered to throw in.
An Italian immigrant, Jimmy was a man of few words.
But with his gaze, which I’ve seen before, you could see his stories.
And through them, he was left little choice, but to be a dog
For a gang of sharks; all to keep his family away from their teeth.

And before he could settle the debts with his conscious,
He marched to meet his maker before the blood stained ring.
Slick, with what seemed like squid oil, his hair shined like the northern star.
A cocky Chicago **** by the name of Machesturn.
They met gloves as dictated, but in one second
A dagger like spit ball fell against Jimmy’s glove.

And into the first round, the bell rings like it’s judgment day.
Machestrun flies back like a sparrow, weaving and bobbing,
But my man Jimmy poses still like the great thinker,
Feeling the weight of such a small drop grind its way off his pride.
And in no time, Machesturn begins his assault
With every punch shattering Jimmy’s castle.
Like Atlas giving up on his duty for the world,
Jimmy listens with every earth shattering punch
The screams of his soul wanting to be free.

A left hook; he sees his mother,
A woman who could take the breath of the sun and fill him with light.
A right hook; he sees his father.
A man who lost three fingers in one of his 17 hour jobs.
And even so he worked despite that he’ll never give his family the life they deserve,
But he’ll work his back even after the camel breaks.
And with the upper-cut, his castle grinds to dust.

He sees his sister, Anna-Maria.
She’s turning twenty if his memory served him right
For he had not seen this beautiful girl since they had first arrived in the land of hope.
She deserved a life better than what God ever had in store for her.
He wanted her to smile till rapture,
He wanted her to shine like the stars in the big screens,
And he wouldn’t let her doubt herself, he wouldn’t let others tell her she was any less, but perfect.
Oh no, he would scream before that happens, he would **** before that happens,
He would bleed before that happens, and he would die before that happens!

And with that, Jimmy takes a step back with the fortitude of a mountain,
Eyes geared forward and piercing with the determination of a hawk!
His right arm comes forth bearing the souls of those past in heaven and hell,
With the eruption of his soul screaming like the opera singer he had dreamed of!
To sand became Machesturn’s jaw and Jimmy’s collar flung off.
Terry Jordan Mar 2016
I think that Jimmy Carter
A true and noble man
Should monitor the voting
Check on ballots being scanned
Watch over our elections
The suppression of our votes
Long lines, few polling places
Jimmy Carter, that’s no joke!
I pray that Jimmy Carter will
Monitor our elections
I trust he’ll keep them honest while
We’re making our selections
When there is no paper trail
And lines 5 hours long
Votings not for weak or frail
Be Jimmy Carter strong!
The man can still build houses
Even though he’s 91
Please watch those ballot boxes
Or Democracy is done!
chump Jul 2016
jimmy walking home
no street lights no phone
wrong side of the walk
ruff thugs jimmy all talk
pigs all stumped about the whos and the dids
jimmy trying to get back with some milk for his kids
im eighteen and crying
cant believe jimmy is dying
my world getting grim
so i got to the gym
hitting the bag, not the ****
crushing the heavy, building the speed
fueled by rage
and my economic cage
gonna make the **** bleed
if im his next evil deed
just a trying normal dude
forced to be evil and rude
workin' and scrapin'
among the death and the rapin'
dont know no god now im the fear inside satan
keepin' my head up lookin' out past the skids
holdin' my own and bring milk to jimmy's kids
There it was on the calendar, Saturday May 11,2013. Big red circle around the date and written in black pen in the middle…SPELLING BEE. Plain as day, you couldn’t miss it. One of the biggest days of the school year for geeks and nerds alike.





Today was the day. In two hours, The 87th Annual Cross Cultural Twin Counties Co-Educational Public School Spelling Bee, would begin.  This was a huge event in the history of Thomas Polk Elementary School. It would be one of the biggest, if not THE BIGGEST in the history of The Twin Counties.



There would be twenty-one schools represented with their best and brightest spellers. The gymnasium would be full of parents, grandparents, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and media representatives. Yes, invitations had been sent out to both of the local papers in The Twin Counties, and both had replied in the affirmative. Real media, in Thomas Polk Elementary School, with a shared photographer….the big time had come to town.



Inside the gymnasium, work had been going on all night in preparation of the big event. The Teachers Auxiliary Group had set up bunting across the stage, purple and white of course, for the school colours. The school colours were actually purple and cream, but, there was a wedding at Our Lady of The Weeping Sisters Baptist Church later, and they had emptied the sav-mart of all of the cream coloured bunting and crepe paper. So, white it would be.



It looked spectacular. There were balloons tied to the basketball net at the south end of the gym. It wouldn’t wind up after the last game, so something had to be done to hide it. Balloons fit the bill. There was three levels of benches on the stage for the competitors, a microphone dead center stage and two 120 watt white spot lights aimed at the microphone.  Down in front, was a judges table, also covered in bunting and crepe, with a smaller microphone sitting in the middle. There was a cord connecting it to the stage speaker system, taped to the gym floor with purple duct tape, just to fit in. Big time, big time.



The piece de resistance sat at the right side of the judges table. An eight foot high pole, with an electronic stop watch and two traffic lights, donated from the local public utilities commission, in red and green. The timer had been rigged up by the uncle of one of the competitors, possibly to gain an advantage, to help keep the judges honest in their timings. Besides, it looked fancy, and it had a cool looking remote control.











The gym was filled to capacity. One hundred and Seventy Five Entrants, visitors, judges and media were crammed into plastic chairs, benches, and whatever lawn chairs the Teachers Auxiliary were able to borrow, that weren’t being used for the wedding at the Baptist Church. It was time to begin….



The three judges came in from the left of the clock, and sat down. The entrants were all nervously waiting on stage on the benches. The media representatives were down front, for photo opportunities, of course.



Judge number one, in the middle of the table clicked on the microphone in front of him and turned to the crowd. In doing so, he spilled his water on his notes and pulled the duct tape loose on the floor in front.



“Greetings, and welcome to the 87th Annual Cross Cultural Twin Counties Co-Educational Public School Spelling Bee.” There was some mild clapping from the family members, along with a few muffled whistles and two duck calls from the back. The weak response was due to the fact that most of the parents either had small fans (due to the heat), donated from the local Funeral Home, or hot dogs and beer (from the tailgating outside), in their hands. Needless to say, it was still a positive response.



The judge carried on…”Today’s competition brings together the top spellers in the region of the Twin Counties to do battle on our stage. All of the words used today, have been selected from a number of sources, including Webster’s Dictionary, from our own school library, Words with Friends from the inter web, keeping up with modern culture, and finally from two books of Dr. Suess that we had lying around the office. Each competitor will get one minute to answer once his or her word has been selected. We ask that you please refrain from applause until after the judges have confirmed the spelling, and please no help to the competitors. We now ask that you all turn off any electronic media, cell phones, pagers, etc. so we can begin”.



He then turned to the stage and asked all competitors to remove their cell phones and put them in the bright orange laundry basket, usually reserved for floor hockey sticks. Each student deposited their phones, all one hundred and thirty-seven of them in the basket.  We were ready to start.





“Competitor number one…please approach the microphone and state your name and your school” said Judge number two. Judge number two would be in charge of calling the students up, it seemed. She was the librarian at Thomas Polk. She had typical librarian glasses, with the silver chain attached to the arms, flaming red hair, done up in a bee hive uplift, just for the event, and was called Miss Flume. She was married, but, being the south, she was always addressed as Miss.



The first student advanced to the front of the stage. She had bright pink hair, held in place with a gold hairband, black shoes, and a yellow jumper. She looked like a walking number 2 pencil. The two duck calls came from the back of the gymnasium along with scattered applause. All three judges turned and looked to the back, and then turned to face the young girl.



“My name is Bobbie Jo Collister, I am a senior at Jackson Williams School of Fine Arts and Music”. “Thank you Bobbie Joe” said Miss Flume. Bobbie Jo, smiled nervously and put on her glasses. “Your word is horticulture” announced Judge number one, “horticulture”.  Bobbie Jo took a breath and without asking for a definition, usage, root of the word or anything, just ripped through it without fail in three point two seconds, according to the mammoth timepiece at the end of the table. After conferring, the judges clicked on the green street light and she sat down, amidst more duck calls and clapping.



Student number two went through the entire process as did students three through eight. Each one had glasses, no surprise there, and were all dressed in monochromatic themes. Together, they looked like a life sized box of crayolas ready for a halloween party. Each child spelled their words correctly and were subsequently cheered and applauded.



Student nine then approached the microphone, stopping about a good seven feet short and three feet right of it. “My name is Oliver Parnocky” squeaked the lad. “I go to George W. Bush P.S 19 and am a senior.” Miss Flume, grabbed the small mike in front of her and said “Oliver…put on your glasses and move over to the microphone.” She leaned into the other judges, and said “He goes to my school, he doesn’t like wearing them much, and he’s always outside at recess talking to the flagpole after everyone else has come inside”.



“Oliver, please spell Dichotomy” said Judge number one. Judge two started the clock and they waited….and waited…then out burst this voice….DICHOTOMY…D I C H O T O M E E, , no, wait..D I C K O….****!” The crowd erupted in laughter, Oliver was busted. The judges conferred, and after informing poor Oliver they had never heard it spelled quite that way with an O **** at the end, they triggered the red light and Oliver left the stage to sit in the audience with his folks.



The next three kids, all with glasses, like it was part of an unwritten uniform dress code for the day, all advanced and sat down. The next entrant, number thirteen, luckily enough stood from the back and struggled down to the front of the stage. There were gasps and some snickering from the crowd. She was taller than the previous competitors,  and a little more pregnant as well. “Please state your name” said Miss Flume. “My name is Betty Jo Willin and am a senior at

Buford T. Pusser Parochial School”. At this announcement there was a cheer of “Got Wood at B.T. Pusser” from the crowd. The judges turned, asked for silence and the offending nuns returned to their seats. “Miss Willin, how old are you exactly?” asked Judge number one. “Twenty Two sir”. “And you say you are a senior?” “Yes sir” came the reply. Betty Jo was shuffling a bit as the pressure on her bladder must have been building standing there in her delicate condition. After conferring, judge number one said “That sounds about right, your word is PROPHYLACTIC”. The few people in the crowd that knew the meaning of the word laughed, while the rest continued eating their hot dogs and drinking their sodas and beers. “Please give a definition sir..I don’t believe I know that word”. The judges looked at each other with a definite “I’m not surprised” look and rattled off the definition. When she asked for usage, the judges really didn’t know what to do. Should they give a sentence using the word or explain the usage of a prophylactic, which regardless would have been too late anyway.

After a modicum of control was reached, she attempted the word, getting all tongue tied and naturally messing it up. The red light was triggered and she left the stage.



More strange outfits, bowties, hair nets, jumpers, clip on ties, followed. It looked like a fashion parade from Goodwill and The Salvation Army rolled into one. Most attempted their words and were green lighted onwards to the next round, while those who failed, were red lighted back to the crowd and the tailgate party in the parking lot. As each competitor was eliminated, the betting board that was being manned outside by one father was updated with new odds and payouts.



The first round was approaching an end with only three kids left. “Number nineteen please approach and state your name” said Miss Flume. He plume of red hair was starting to sag and was sliding slowly off of her head due to the humidity in the gymnasium.



Number nineteen came forth, glasses, tape across the bridge like half of the previous spellers. He was wearing the most colourful shirt that any of the judges had ever seen. It was not from Dickies, they surmised. “I go to J.J. Washington P.S 117 and my name is Mujibar Julinoor Parkhurloonakiir”. The judges froze. He obviously was new to the district. They had never heard a name like that before, ever. Not even in Ghandi. This was a powerful name. There had been sixteen cominations of Bobby, Bobbie, Billie, Jo, Joe, Jimmy, Jeff, Johnson and Jackson prior to Mujibar. Stunned, judge one asked “Son, can you spell that please?”

Mujibar, not sure what to do, spelled his name, unsure of why he was being asked to do so. “Thank you son” said Miss Flume. The odds on the betting board in the parking lot changed right then.



“That boy is gonna win fer sure” said Jimmy Jeff Willerkers. Jimmy Jeff ran the filling station two concessions over and had fifty bucks on his nephew Bobby Jeff, who had already flamed out on “yawl”. “How was he supposed to know  it had something to do with boats?” asked Jimmy Jeff. “That Mujibar is gonna win…jeez, he’s been spelling that name for years….anything else is gonna be easy breezy.” The odds went down on Mujibar and the money was flying around that parking lot faster than the rumour that the revenue people were out looking for stills in the woods.



“Mujibar…please spell SALICIOUS”…asked the now red pancake headed Miss Flume. Doing as he was told, Mujibar, spelled the word, gave the root, a definition and a brief history of the word usage in modern literature. Judge number one was furiously scribbling down notes, and trying to figure out how he would get a bet down on this kid before round two started.



Entrant number twenty from Jefferson Davis Temple and Hebrew school advanced which brought up the final entrant from round one. “Number Twenty-One please advance to the front of the stage”. After adjusting his glasses, after all he didn’t want a repeat of what poor Oliver did, he approached. “My name is C.J. Kay from William Clinton P.S 68” Judge one, confused by the young man’s name asked him to repeat it. “C.J. Kay” said C.J. “What is your full last name boy, you can’t just have a letter as your last name….what is the K for?” “Sir, my last name is Kay”, said C.J. “It’s not a letter”. “It most certainly is son…H I J K L…rattled off judge one. “It has to stand for something, you just can’t be CJK, that sounds like a Canadian radio station or worse yet, one of them hippy hoppy d.j fellers my granddaughter listens to. What is the K for?”. C.J said sir “My name is Christopher John Kay… not K, Kay” and then spelled it out. This only confused judge one more than he already was, and the extra time figuring out his name was doing nothing to Miss Flume’s hairdo.



“Christopher John….please spell MEPHISTOPHOLES “ said Judge one, after realizing he was never going to find out what the K was for. The crowd was getting restless and wanted to get to the truck to get re-filled and change their bets. C.J. knocked it out of the park in 2.7 seconds…”faster than Lee Harvey Oswald at a target shoot in Dallas”, one man said.



After a ten minute break, to get drinks, ***, re-tape some glasses and prop up Miss Flumes ruined plumage round two was set to begin. This went faster as the words were getting tougher, although randomly selected, judge one was inserting a few new words to keep his chance of winning with Mujibar alive. PALIMONY, ARCHEOLOGY, PARSIMONIOUS, TRIPTOTHYLAMINE , and many other words were thrown at the competitors. Each time the list of successful spellers was reduced, and the amount of clapping and the duck calls were less.

The seventh round began with just Mujibar, B.J. Collister and C. J Kay left. Before the round began the judges reminded the crowd that the words were random, and to please keep the cheering until the green light had been lit. There were more duck calls at this announcement and very little applause. Jerry Jeff was still manning the betting board, the tailgate barbeque was done, and there was only about thirty people left in the gymnasium.



The balloons on the basketball net had long since lost their get up and go, and were now hanging limply like coloured rubber scrotums and were flatter that Miss Flumes hair, which incidently, was now starting to streak the right side of her face from sweat washing out the dye. She was beginning to look like an extra in a zombie film with a brilliant orange red streak across her forehead.



“C.J.” said judge one, “please spell ARYTHMOMYACIN”. C.J. gave it a valiant effort ,but unfortunately was incorrect and the red light sent him off to the showers. This left B.J. Collister and the odds on favourite, Mujibar. The crowd was down to twenty seven now, Bobbie Jo’s folks and Mujibars immediate family.



Round after round were completed with neither one missing a word. Neither one blinked. It was a gunfight where both shooters died. These two were good, and it was never going to end. Judge one leaned over and told the other judges, “we have to finish this soon….I’m due at the wedding over to the Baptist church for nine o’clock to bless the happily marrieds and drive them both to the airport. They’re off to Cuba for their honeymoon.” The others agreed…”C.J. please spell MINISCULE said Miss Flume”. She did so, without a problem. This caused judge one to yell out “Holy Christmas” just as Mujibar got to the microphone. Thinking this was his word, he started as the judges were giving him his word. Seizing the opportunity to end it…judge one woke up judge three who red lighted poor Mujibar, ending his run at spelling immortality. “Sorry son, you tried, but, today a Mujibar lost and a B.J won.”. Before he tried to correct himself, knowing what he had just said didn’t sound quite right, Miss Flume congratulated both finalists and began the award presentations.



Thankfully, next year the eighty eighth version of The Annual Cross Cultural Twin Counties Co-Educational Public School Spelling Bee will be in the other county. Now the job of sorting out the cell phones in the orange basket begins. By the way, Betty Jo Willin had a boy …you can just guess what she named it!
not a poem, as you can see...it's a rough draft of a short story. I would love feedback on the content, not the spelling or grammar as it is in a rough stage still and needs editing.
RAO Aug 2018
2 Liters Width this Bottle Neck had her Thirsty when i Pop Off.
"Hes Got a Unique Meter!"

Thinkin outside my Thoughts Manipulate Face hands off my Clock Box a Movie Theater
Soft Drinkin my Equilibriums "DAnkh"...
Hook up The Bracelet of Anubis Call it my I Watch
Achilles Heels turning red and blue takin on a Dog WALK
no roads better to cross Sapphire bird " Call that a Cold ****¡!"
from a "Pacman" in Paris Pans Panning Labyrinths A Mazed running on music like Tha Rock whippin better then jimmy Neutrons Stovetopper
... Style makes Our Classic Modern Eighties cheatah?
UhDDuz(UDDERS+ADIDAS) "GODDARD" "SkyWalker" Call that Harry Potter at the Roboxer smoking bud from jimmy Wonkers GobStoppers.
give that a D +
Oh Gosh *** in CVS / HoMâge/ Po-ca-hon-tas chair gifted like Op-rahs-Hola-no bras vuela-ar tuoi o-Yâ aur-revior no-mas Veteran Indi-En Sit-in on ma stick shift of Mua Cö-Brâ..... engine Knocking sicker then Jehovah with pneumonia
Can we get every Ticket so i can load the Super Bowl Comon!
Makin her Jaw Drop ready to turn Dragon Rude into an tan Dra
Dolph-in ima RAOBAWT fly fishin Santa Cla₩§ Idle Hands Examined n Exposé Gods
lips im here to naturally Lift I'd Volunteer for Slavery if the Hills were rich like Jessica Albas Exposed ***

yo problems in the street
I get hi on Florida Keys You a Hero Touch Down!
Stranger Danger in my End Zone
Lo1
Eryck Oct 2018
We would collect
the wrecked
And broken toys.
The unspoken for toys,
That no one cared about anymore.

Each year on that day,
they were shipped and sent away.
Where did they exactly go?
I finally wanted to know.

I told dad these damaged toys sound like my brother Jimmy who was also wrecked and broken.
He couldn't control himself in his child like ways, was full of anger and ill spoken.

Where did you send my brother Jimmy to, was he really so bad?
Where has he gone to my brother Jimmy, where did you send him dad?

"Son, I'll be honest. Your brother Jimmy now lives with the other troubled boys...on the ISLAND OF BROKEN TOYS"!
Happy Halloween
NitaAnn Apr 2015
I miss your smile
The  way you made me feel
You, the invincible brother
Me, your faithful sidekick

Why is a question I have asked
Over and over again
It has been 9 years
Without you

So much you have missed
I think about you daily
Wishing you were here

I want to hear your laugh
I want you to come ruffle my hair

You were taken too soon
It is not fair that I am here, alone

I miss you,  Jimmy!
Experiencing lots of losses in my life right now and coming up on the anniversary of my brother's ******. Miss you, Jimmy! <3
A hippie hocked a louie on Sammy
when he landed in San Francisco.

Sammy didn't respond;
he just wanted to make
his connecting flight home.

Sammy wasn't proud about
some of things he did in the war;
so he figured he probably
deserved the garlands of disdain
an ungrateful nation bestows
upon itself in fits of self contempt.

Sammy shut down and tuned out,
soon his heart was as dead
as a tombstone until he visited
the monument.  

He would often recall the story
that as he approached the darkened
wall he could sense ghosts loosening
themselves from the black granite.   

Sammy swore that Jimmy Lynch
who went MIA on the final week of his tour
gave him a bear hug and told him
as long as the beer stays cold
and he don’t lose the church key,
everything's groovy and he’s
hanging tough until the rest
of the guys show up.

Jimmy pointed to the Lincoln Memorial
at one end of the mall and to the
Washington Monument at the other,
emphatically stating that our monument
was forever linked with the greatest Americans.

Yeah meeting up with Jimmy
helped Sammy to start shaken
off some real bad stuff.

Mazie knew her husband for a
month before they got married.
A week later Freddie was off to Vietnam.

Freddie was KIA during the Tet Offensive
and his repatriated remains are peacefully
at rest in the red clay of Georgia.

An always faithful Mazie
came to the monument
a few years after it was dedicated.  
She was struck by all the keepsakes
people left at the base of the wall;  
Zippos, baby pictures, a copy of
The Catcher in the Rye, a fifth
of Makers Mark, Pink Teddy Bears,
votive lights, a red 57 Chevy model,
a left handed catchers mitt, and
a pack of Lucky Strikes.

She palmed rosaries and
crucifixes that salved sore
running wounds and David’s
interlaced Star sounding a Shofar
pleading a case for peace.

Mazie is most moved by the names.  
Rows and rows of names. The scroll
begins in a modest manner and
as the wall climbs the names
of a country's vigilant sons and
daughters tower over her head.  
So much living history; spoken
in the unique accent of a country’s
diverse plethora of luminous tongues.

The stories written into the black granite
tell a tale from every state; claiming
the ears, heart and mind of every citizen. 
Each chiseled letter captures every bit
of sun and deep creeping shadow
inching across a great nation.

“I’m  71” says Mazie.  “When I look
upon the wall I see my 21 year old
Freddie as he looked on the finest
day of his life.  He will never look
any other way to me.”
  
“I didn't want to go to see it,” Franny said,
“a cold piece of stone won’t bring my son back.”

Franny did finally go...

When it rains the wall weeps.  
The wall wept all day,
the first time Franny went.

Many were rubbing
the impressions of
dearly departed names.

Franny too, kneels to the
presence of her son’s name.

With a mother's
grateful fingers,
she touches the wall's
damp surface; wiping
the drizzle from her
child's sodden face.

Kneeling before his semblance,
she rubs his etched edges
onto tiny bits of paper.

She sees him,
made manifest in the stone.
As if through a glass darkly,
a found son looks back,
onto the face of a caring mother.

Franny hangs onto the quiet
memory of his voice,
shimmering in the soft lilt
of a warm dark stone.

This deep core Vulcan gneiss,
at last emerged from the hardest stuff,
sculpts a perfect likeness of a tear stained nation.

The Harmonizing Four: Rock of Ages

In Honor of
The Vietnam Veterans Memorial
Washington DC

Oakland
Veterans Day
2013
Ellis Reyes Apr 2013
He entered our classroom
Quietly
Something in his hand

A slip of paper
Assigning him
to English 11b

English words
Thick in his mouth
He whispered his name,
Jaime Chavez

Jimmy Changa!
someone mocked,
Had one of them for supper
Nice to know you burrito boy.

Jaime Chavez smiled,
And remembered.

He entered our classroom
Quietly
Something in his hand

A book
Shakespeare
Carefully noted
In Spanish and English

Jimmy Changa
Someone mocked
Whatcha got there?
A book?
You don’t need them to cut my lawn.

Jaime Chavez smiled,
And remembered

He entered our classroom
Quietly
Something in his hand

An award
Superior achievement
English 11b

Jimmy Changa
Someone mocked
You didn’t earn that,
*******, ******, ****

Jaime Chavez smiled
And remembered.

He entered our classroom
Quietly
Something in his hand

Full scholarship
Princeton University
In English Literature

And something else

A bumper sticker
"God Bless America,"

Which he carefully
tacked to the bulletin board

My name is not Jimmy Changa.

My name, is Jaime Chavez

And he smiled.
Dead Rose One Mar 2018
nobody gets the cancer twice.  
(a blues guitar riff)

blood in the stool
ain’t nobody’s fool,
whent to high school
did not graduate,
but know it wasn’t no thing I ate

scale greets me friendly like,
long lost buddy from yesterday morn,
‘let get right down to it,
let’s see how much less of you borne
leftover alive from the prior day’

spirit spit blood from my gums,
got me a woman, she’s way over town,
woman said I’m brushing with
too hard a brush, alright, alright,
make no fuss, she’s good to me

nobody’s fool whent to school,
though I did not graduate,
a mean riff is better than a
slow moving woman blues cry,
got the strings to do my screaming

doctor is a fan, name is Jimmy,
played music like last time round,
Jimmy-jamming, dancing in the waiting room,
“that cancer got kick, it’s gonna get ya,
think I told ya that about hunner times before”

‘nobody gets the cancer twice,’
an old wives tale for unlucky po’ somofabitches,
do you some tests, tell ya the specifics,
right now, lay, lay down them new tracks,
no quitting time less the good lord comes a-calling’

blues guitar makes a man
cry shiver scream and shake,
progressions licks and tricks,
so you can’t tell what’s making
a grownup man cry and laugh louder

bring me my medicine
bring me my guitar
all I know is how it makes me feel,
oh baby once a night it’s true,
nobody gets the cancer twice
its a blue Monday
after Super Sunday
Americas 45th funday
yesterdays spectacle

the dip is done
the broken bones
of buffalo wings
fill giant glad bags

the ridged ripples
of broken Doritos
scattered on the floor
wait for a vacuums hum

dead soldiers rattle
a melodious cascade
the aroma of flat Bud
plunge into recycle bins

ribbed Trojans
dripping bagged ****
rim plastic trash cans
confirm an ****'s frenzy

the game forgotten
commercial reveries remain
seared into the briney mush
of compliant olfactories

collective hallucinations
successfully branded
a new and improved
global consciousness

Madmen Shamans
ebulliently channel
transactional zeitgeists
from the ripped boxes of
Best Buy plasma screens

Monday morning
water cool scuttlebutt
the planet is buzzing about...

Google's cool slap
of IPod clad automatons
the vanquishers of IBM's evil empire
Apple's brave new world is next
("meet the new boss,
same as the old boss?")

we all dug
rolling with Eminem
through the glitzy
streets of Motown

How cool is 8 Mile?
The hoods lookin good
angelic chorus lifts spirits
Swing Low Sweet Chrysler

The artistic types
faun over
the graphic beauty
illustrious aestheticism

moving story line
the epic journey
of the worlds
greatest brand

heroic product marketing pros
rival Jason and the Argonauts
sojourning trans-formative odysseys
of clever packaging and fat tail shelf life

holding precious real estate
of living imaginations
infecting hearts and minds
of future generations

realizing
everything
ends better
with coke

The State Farm Pre-Game
Jimmy Johnson's new coiff
jawed away with his old boss
rattlesnake booted Jerry Jones

A poignant embrace captured in
living color on grand jumbo trons
lording over a cavernous palace
a new stadium for Homeboys

Jimmy J asks Jerry J
"Why you overpaid
for The Boys New
Crib?"

"A billion 4,
a palace for the masses".
Jerry breaks some news
with an impish wink.
"No expense is spared
for the peeps."

"I always make out,
get a good return. I
make a profit. Ain't
America great."

This year Super Bowl
went Hollywood
and installed
a long red carpet.

Mike Strahan, collared
Harrison Ford.
Bagging his greatest sack
on a dazzling red rug.

"How many Super Bowls
is this for you?"
Strahan whistles
through his gaped teeth.

The aging Indiana Jones
came to promote his new flick,
"Cowboys and Aliens"
(I'm told an early Cannes
favorite. And it should be. Spoiler alert,
the movie is a moving story of an American tragedy.
Romo blows another one
throwing an interception in overtime.
The Aliens return it 95 yards for a touchdown.
Boy's lose again. America's Team vanquished by bubble headed Martians.
All of Texas weeps.)

Indy
coolly quips an answer
whipping with sarcasm,
"after today, one."
yuck yuck
lol

Strahan continues
to stalk Ford like a
scrambling quarterback,
"where will you be sitting?"

Ford shrugs
"dunno,
somewhere
up-there,
I guess",
he points to
the lofty
luxury boxes.
Royalty sits
next to God
in Jerry Jones
house of the
people.

Ford dons a green scarf.
He's down with the Pack.
Another sunshine *****
in the seat.

Michael Douglas and Zeta Jones
arrive in time to hear
Keith Urban sing
"Who Wouldn't Want to be Me?"

"He's alive
He's free
Who wouldn't
want to be me?"

Indeed who?

The parade
of heroes
continue.

The walking,talking
little S Corp, LLC's
dance their way
into the stadium
on resplendent
cushions of red.

Terrific brands
all earnestly
questing to
urgently
deliver
messages
to promote
themselves
and plug
shameful
products.

A Black Eye Peas
teaser
blinks onto
my giant
flat screen.

Will I Am
a black man
in a blacker mask
marches down the street
zapping people
with a ray gun.
(fascist culture is so cool, a
little light on liberation,
but **** does he look bad as all get out
in that leather rumble don't **** with me
outfit)

Jamie Foxx on the royal carpet leaks
that he yodeled three tunes
at a pregame party for Jerry's Kids;
T Boone and the Big W among them.

Quick cut
to Jamie's
new movie
Rio.
(I wonder if its
about Mexicano's
crossing the river?)

Wealth
Power
the perfect
image of ourselves
take a pill

I am Limitless
a new movie?
I've seen this one before.
I think I'm watching it now.

Just Go With It
Adam *******,
Jennifer Aniston
Americas sweetheart
teamed with Americas
kosher jokester.

He looks hot
in his droopy
pretend
don't give a ****
orange sweatshirt
and acid washed jeans.

Jennifer's ****, legs
what can you say
about America's sweetheart?
I think Brad Pitt
made a big mistake.

Bill O
is next.
Posturing,
arm wrestles
with the Prez,
shadow boxes
with the Big O.

"Muslim Brotherhoods
Rendition
Mubarack goes off the reservation
knows where the bodies are buried"
***!
***!

(Do we really need a dose of Fox Fear?
Is there no escape from the pernicious harangue?
Don't they know its Super Bowl Sunday?)

Bill O's drive by continues,
"Obamacare,
why do Americans hate you?"
Great journalism by this Fox ****.

Bill O is
haughty,
arrogant,
disrespectful
a despicable bully
and a self serving blow hard.

(My bladder is busting.
Its a great time to take a ****.)

We escape to
the freshness
of Owen Wilson's
smiling face,
playing two hand touch.

His bent nose
shining
he trots about
Jerry's field
carefree as a child.
(Is this a pitch, pass and punt
contest for A Listers?)

Other stars
join the light fun;
goose cheerleaders
give the cabana boys
hand-jobs
and themselves
a well earned blow-job.

Its an **** of photo ops
product placement
a sizzling collection
of dancing brands
prancing on the gridiron
of the New Cowboy field.

Ashton Kutcher
peeks over the shoulder
of a tweeting W.
I'm impressed
W knew
how to use
his thumbs.

Mrs. W's
permanent smile
was clearly visible
from the stadiums
cheapest seats.

Condie sat
way to the right
quietly stewing
lamenting
lost opportunities
of a gig as NFL
Commissioner.

On the stadiums floor
the frenetic dancing
of the
bumping
brands
fast
approaches
ecstatic elation.

Hollywood's version of
Whirling Dervishes; is
immediately stilled
as the solemn portion
of the program
commences.

The Declaration of Independence
is read by a bright galaxy of stars
accompanying armed service personnel
and other diligent American's.

"We hold these truths
to be self evident"

"United colonies
levee war,
dissolve bounds,
our day of allegiance
lives, fortunes and sacred honor
freedom is common sense,
free, equal, united"

CEO's
imprisoned
in Jerry's
luxury boxes
overcome
with
emotion
pound fists
on the glass
smearing
cocktail sauce
on the windows
of the suites.

Illegal
Chicano's
bravely
step forward
with rolls
of Bravo
and Windex
to wipe
it clean.

The focal point
of festivities
seismically
shifts like a
tectonic plate
almost as large
as Jerry's Stadium.

The stampede
of cheers
thunder like
canon shots,
the patriotic
ramparts of
militant
free market
capitalism
supplants the
shallow frivolity
of consumer slavery.

We are
compelled
to kneel
to celebrate a
Eucharist of
nationalism.

My partner explodes,
"Can't watch a football game
and view it for what it is,
a ******* football game."

The Fox
broadcasters
dedicate
this segment
of the show
to our military.

I squirm in my seat.
Sorry,
but the declaration is about
free people in free societies
not militarism.

Next up
dis old cowboy
Sam Elliot.
He knows
how to speak
the language
of real football fans.
Finally, a man of the people.

Sam introduced the cities.
He starts with Pittsburgh.

"Built on steel
a place where
terrible is good
these are the
enduring qualities
of this great American City."

The Steelers
make a timely entrance
onto the floor of the stadium,
as millionaires erupt
shaking their terrible towels.

Sam's
fuax
folkism
for
Fox Sports
continued.

"Green Bay is Title Town
the people never quit.
Crafty veterans are winners
exhorting all to greatness"

Images
of Lombardi's
toothy grin
fills my 72 inch screen.
A visitation by
America's Saint,
the sanctifier
of all competition
anoints the proceeding,
the quest to claim
the trophy named
for the games
very own
Archangel
of the
Gridiron.

The extended gig of
Lombardi's ghost
has haunted America
for over half a century;
has reportedly been seen
stalking the stage
on Broadway.

The anointed
Packers sprint
onto the field and
millionaire cheese heads
taking big bites out of life
erupt in cheers.

My hi def wide screen
made by Sharp reports
Battle of Los Angeles
opens 3/11/11.
The Chicago Code
premiers on Fox
sometime in March.

Walter Payton
Man of The Year Award
is presented
to an NFL Player
watching the game
with the troops
in Iraq.

The millionaires
don't cheer,
but the Fox announcers
are verklempt
overcome with patriotism.

Michelle Lee,
star
of Fox'***** show
Glee,
poses in front of a
sanitized choir
in blue uniforms to sing
America the Beautiful.

The beautiful song
is but an opening act
for the musical centerpiece
Star Spangled Banner.

The cameras cut
to a smiling W.
He can't get into Switzerland
but ******, he won't be turned out
of JJ's OK Corral.

Christina Aguilera
takes center stage.
She mounts
the silver football
crowning the
Holy Logo of the NFL
to sing the hallowed
Star Spangled Banner.

She fumbles her lines!
She forgot the rockets red glare!
The Steelers are crying.
The Packers are angry.
Ice melts from the stadiums roof.
The foundations of Jerry Jones
new stadium shakes.

A fly over of 4 fighters in formation
appears to be unaffected by the flub.
The planes do not crash.
They stay in formation.

The pilots spare Christina
a strafing and drone strike.
The republic remains
secure for now.

An unfamiliar announcer
addresses TV land.
He offers an apology to the fans
who cannot be seated.

The fire marshals
have revoked
Jerry's seating plan.
Greed got the better
of this man of the people.
Cowboy Stadium
is overbooked!

What is happening?
Is this America?
An ATT commercial
arrives just in time.

ATT has a new plan for America.
They encourage us to live social
with the new ATT AG.
Free market solutions
always work best.

Michael Douglas
reads another
patriotic exhortation.

"United we,
see the journey
of Acme Packers
as our journey."

"We see the resolve
of US Steel
as our resolve.
Big dreams
believe the best
journeys are
celebrated together."
(I'm down with that.
Whats good for Jerry Jones
is still good for me.
Right On! Check this stadium.
Power to the people!
It may not apply to the people who
will not be seated but tough nuggies.
This is America ******. Everybody
can't be seated at the table.
Even if they paid for their seat.
This ain't Red China.)

Neon Dion and other inductees
into the Football Hall of Fame
tosses the coin.
Steelers' call tails.
Heads it is.

At half time
The Black Eyed Peas
descend from
an upper Valhalla.

Still attired in
black fascist threads
The Righteous Peas
start wailing as
white metallic minions
dressed as
Imperial Storm Troopers
gallop to surround
their idols.

Precise formations
goose steppin bops
choreographic steps
the visceral *****
perfect counter-point
to swabbles of wiggling Peas.

Slash,
Guns and Roses
guitar hero
gunslinger
strode on stage
winging
this gal of mine
in choreographed
unison with
the leggy
Fergie.

Pumping it louder
the spectacle incites
the dancing
Imperial minions
quick steppin
and fetchin it
as Usher descends
in white unison
to leap and dance
over nasty
black peas.

The Gods
are descending
upon us.
Their words
have become
flesh.

The BEP's bleat
"kids are dying
wheres the love?"
Art does mirror life.

The neon hearts
of cheap
glow sticks
light up
the time
of our lives.

We are
cubed box heads
happily dancing along
the 50 yard line
answering China's
resounding drum
of frantic proletarians
bashing away
neocolonial disgrace
during the opening
ceremony of the worlds
greatest Olympian
display of
the pounding will
of an emerging nation
arriving on the world stage
with urgent insistence.

In America
we party on
every night
swiping
revoked
credit cards
for express lane
exits at the
local Walmart.

We are proud
highly personal
bar codes!

We refuse to be
marked down and flung
into discount bins at a
Tupelo Dollar Store.

Our light of life
flashes across screens
directing the trading pits
at the Chicago Board of Trade.

Each Super Bowl Sunday
souper bowl beggars
collect canned soup
for hungry Americans
at the local Shop and Drop

begging for larmen
boxes of Kraft
freeze dried noodles
and cans of Progresso
the feast of kings

A triumph
of the
Will I Am
BOOM BOOM
Says
Will I Am

I finish my bag of
Cool Ranch Doritos
and lick my partners
fingers clean.

Music Selection
Steve Miller,
Livin in the USA


2/7/11
Oakland
jbm
(WIP)
v V v May 2015
My heart beats wildly in my chest,
Danny seems unafraid, unfazed at
the thought of getting caught.

Snow crunches underfoot as we walk
toward the rusted hanging chain,
“do not enter” like a lone tooth
hung in the middle of a sinister smile.

The sky is clear with lots of stars,
my breath trails upward into
bare limbed trees…a breeze blows,  
frozen branches click and clack as
Danny moves quickly with the crowbar,

the chain is locked, but he doesn’t notice,
he slides the crowbar through the eye
of the large bolt and after 10 or 12 spins
the chain falls to the ground with the
padlock still attached.  

Jimmy drives the Impala across the chain
and Danny re-attaches the chain,
we all climb in and coast slowly from
the main road with only the Impala's
parking lights to lead the way.

We are headed into the deepest
part of the forest. It is after midnight
and we ride in silence, Jimmy driving,
Danny in front, Jeff and I in the back.  

After a few miles we begin to relax,
we are far enough from the main road
to avoid detection. The forest Rangers
never leave the main roads in February.

Danny pulls the tab on a can of warm
Old Style beer, takes a swig and sets it down.
He opens the glove box and pulls out
the water pipe, which I can smell immediately.

A sweetly pungent aroma, he pours
the remainder of the beer into the ****,
packs the bowl with some extra sticky hash,
and lights a flame…

        A little while later, 5 minutes?  2 hours?
        Jimmy laughs his shrieking high spirited
        girly girl laugh while re-telling the story
        of Steph vomiting in the back seat of
        his dad’s LTD, crushed red velvet seats
        smeared with Cheetohs and Boones Farm
        Tickle Pink, he told his dad he stopped
        to render aid to a dog who had been hit,
        and the dog died in the back seat while
        he was speeding to the animal hospital.

        “But why does it smell like ***** Jimmy?”
        His dad naively asked,

        “It must have been a homeless dog”
        Jimmy replied,

        and the laughter takes another leap,
        hits a higher level, hysterical,

        maniacal ..

There seems to be a correlation
between the seasons and my mania.
It doesn’t take much to get me there,
back inside a relished moment brought
into view by the changing of the weather,

the Winter sound of crunching snow,
my breath in the night sky,
the smell of the woods In February.

Spring brings different events,
Summer different places,
different friends and
different years, while the Fall
gives more of the same but
also more than the rest.

There’s something about its death,
the smell of the fall and the dying
that hits me most of all.

Its all entwined tightly In the grip of my
ever present demon and the plethora
of usual ******* he parades through
my mind,

but not today.

Today he made me smile.

Tomorrow he won’t.
lily staples Sep 2013
I remember it was the middle of winter when the family I met became my only summer. The cracks and pops of the exhaust made me so deaf to the common banter, that when I heard this group from across the dive, I knew they weren’t just another group of leather-vested dropouts. Initially it was the liquor store cologne stuck in their beards that attracted me, but I stopped and stayed when they told my back how beautiful blue eyes were. In the few minutes it took to inhale a whiskey coke, they had seen the thirst I had for freedom flowing out of my pores. They said that I reminded them of those dead flies in the corner, turned over and lifeless from the exhaustion one puts themself through when trying to live life so hard and so fast. And they were right; I had made an art out of living fast and crashing hard. When the skin on my palms tore and bled all over the pavement, it was like fine art to any peanut gallery.
    That was the night they taught me to ride. To unpin my curls and let them flow and crash in the wind like a desert ocean. They had found their horizon oasis in me. But Big Jimmy still hated me the most. I knew his secret and he saw that I had figured him out. He was a master at turning his cheap improperly functioning parts into his best character traits. But above everything, he let me learn that the open road will heal any scar.
    I’d been at war with myself. Before I knew that a desert sunrise on chrome was the best alarm clock, I only ever thought that the way I’d wake up was with rushed embarrassment to grab the ***** tip. Big Jimmy weaseled my ****** heart out of my sunken chest, and was gettin’ twitchy now that I had my hand on his. He always said at every pit stop, life was too short for traffic. And when I stepped out of the 7/11 that chilly November morning, I could hear the sounds of distant engines, howling laughter and a single tear hitting the asphalt. I was alone again. But this time, I wasn’t at war.
prose poem

— The End —