Thursday, March 29, 2007


It was a feud that went back many years. For it to be pin-pointed to a specific year was less than easy and exact to do. Both sides most would say had their good and bad points, but neither side ever seemed to look beyond this and reason some kind of agreement or truce. All attempts, did in fact, go up in smoke. Moderators were brought in from a few underground groups set out to try and quell the ever-perpetual decline in the feuding parties' ability to reason and simply work things out to a sappy medium. This frustrated, in addition, many others outside the aforementioned underground who also tired of hearing about it when so many other problems seemed abound in their lives. If things continued the way they were presently going, lives would be lost. Homes would be burnt down. Disease would spread undoubtedly. The quality of the air would be depleted. People would cry.

Conversely, if things changed, freedoms would indeed be lost. All persons would be manipulated into paying another replacement tax (because things that are taxed never go away, and if they do, the elders that be, find another, a most often more ridiculous thing to tax. One such proposed surrogate tax, if the other side won, was being labeled the Sex Tax, and already people were burning up about it) that only one side had paid before. Furthermore, a loss of one personal freedom surely would lead to another, and so on. Although some of the moderators found this to be an invalid slippery slope argument, chances were that further subjugations wouldn't subscribe to subsiding. The personal freedom camp claimed with vehemence that people died for their freedoms all the time, and that's why life is so expensive in the first place and inflation is always gaining. Some saw this as very flawed.

The two sides were the smokers and the non-smokers of the land Retmusch in the territory of Pholoxix. The smokers said the non-smokers were uptight and elitist hogs...the non-smokers said the smokers were stained yellow and blinded like moonstruck cows. Both were right. Both were wrong. Both were Pholoxixians of Retmusch. Many moderators and underground Pholoxixians had set up a contest for the sides to compete in a test of wills, with a possibility of triumph and glory. Moreover, contractually they were both obligated to come to a truce agreement of some sort guided by the outline in the contract's small print- as it always is. In a game played on a shiny court that only the most gifted of Retmusch's zesty inhabitants could participate, it all came down to this. This game symbolically representing years of struggle, now, possibly coming together in accord. However, there still was a chance the Retmusch body of elders could veto the proposed bill regarding the game and its out coming agreement proposed by the Pholoxixians, although it was thought unlikely by the general populace.

As the three moons of the land set, game time was set to start one day in late summer. The non-smokers planned to wear yellow jerseys and just as fitting the non-smokers planned on the white jerseys. They trained and consumed hearty healthy diets. The smokers still smoked, but swore by its enhancing capacities. New research in fact coming away from the smokers' camp was that smoke may actually be good for you. Not surprisingly, the nons thought this to be a jaded and biased study, straddling badly the line of ethics and the whole scientific process. It wasn't known then exactly why, but the smokers kept up with the nons just as well on the running track. In addition, in all other physical facets of and relating to preparation, the smokers always kept up and sometimes they far outdid their counterparts. In fact, some nons converted and started smoking, but were not near as good at blowing those smoke ring things. Whether the former nons performance improved it is not known as the empirical process was sabotaged, leaving behind only unsupported hypothesis and opinion. The nons denied any knowledge of this on any level what-so-ever.

As it always does, the time came before they knew it. Fall was approaching soon, indicated by the three moons' positions in the high sky. Pregame warm-ups were taking place. The smokers coughed. The non-smokers scoffed. The moderators were proud. Years and years of a divided society teetering towards inevitable destruction and chaos would all be stomped out tonight. The stadium was filling up more than was to be expected.The organizers and moderators were worried the stadium's capacity wouldn't suffice the interest and monumentality of the event. The line went up off into the distance over a nearby grassy hill. Sure, some off the incoming didn't have tickets and were crossing their toes on the chances of coming across a scalper. It was said the tickets were insanely priced, but the money was put back into social welfare programs benefiting Pholoxixian youth (although, it was thought filtered and some elders seemed to take a little off the top).

Before the giant game was played the crowd was on its feet clapping insistently, waiting and watching just as intently. It was told later the roar of the crowd was almost unbearable, albeit the anticipation delightfully distracting them. They played the Retmusch anthem and some cheered and some hollered. Then a representative from each of Retmusch's territories, including one proud Pholoxixian, strutted the Colors of the Territories quite gloriously. A noticed lift in decibels arose as they paraded...for the Retmusch people were proud of their Colors and what they stood for, irrespective of what said territory or if they really meant anything at all anyway. Anticipation continued to build, as echoes continued to bounce, and the contestants (combatants) were full of smiles and pride.

Obviously both sides had something to prove. Some seemed nervous, some seemed happy, and finally some felt relieved that the day was here (there). The whistle went off. It was as if time had stopped as everything went really fast. The sound of the crowd continued to crescendo, as the tension of the warring teams reached ultimate gamely conflict. There was concession stand; however, no one had time nor attention for such insignificant buttery or sticky details. What they were watching unfold in front of them was all at that time they really cared about at all. Even the usually staunch upper-administrative elders seemed to be enjoying themselves. Some of the elders were smokers, but their position(s) of power made the issue of smoking or not smoking outside the proverbial ashtray, so to speak. Players in both teams dropped out from unrelated events having none to do with their smoking or non-smoking. By games end the floor was less than shiny, littered with blood, sweat, tears and cigarette butts.

In the end the smoking or the non-smoking was of no consequence what-so-ever to anyone. The game's outcome only the participants and the crowd truly knew and saw (although it was rumored still years later, that the smokers had won). The smokers and non-smokers had spent so much time together training, sweating and sharing with one another that they actually took the time to get to know one another, and from getting to know one another, began to understand and see where each were coming from. The social problems associated with smoking actually had nothing to do with smoking at all--it was said and proven due empirically later that smoking was only not bad for you, but was actually good for you. Certain molecules of the smoke were found to repair and strengthen the mitochondria of the cell and further the biochemical process of things such as muscle contraction and energy storage (by better hydrolysis of adenosine triphosphate to adenosine diphosphate in the cytoplasm of the cell and vice-versa) (and this is a biological facet and not a social-biographical one, or are they the one and same?).

Useful programs were created in preventing homes from burning down. The non-causal relationship between smoke and disease, led to a new law regulating the fuel and lighting-devices in Retmusch. Fumes inhaled from these fuels within lighters and such were the causes of imperialist cancer cells, and citizens of Retmusch were done with colonialism so microcosmic holocausts were slowly ushered out as ignorance associated with such words were becoming quite antiquated. Diseases dropped and the conflict eventually dissolved (the Sex Tax was created as a new paradigm in the land's evolution of taxation, but was dissolved after riots and social uprising ensued. It was also pretty costly to regulate). Smokers became non-smokers and a fair opposite just the other way. From the understanding garnered through spending the time together (some joked it was a case of the Stockholmlox Syndrome, and that the non-smokers simply led the smokers to identify with them by mentally being taken hostage), the land had become more peaceful and enjoyable for all. The moderators' years later were placed on the commonly crinkled currency spent all over. Ultimately, it was understood that it took all kinds to make the land of Retmusch go 'round (actually, up then down, and then again). Silly something so simple took so long to figure out.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Where are the Missing Spoons

“Spoon!” the disheveled youth yelled from the top of the parking ramp. It was his call, his warning, to the downtown jungle that he had arrived. Friends had been notified of his presence and his foes had been warned by the holler.

He took the stairs two at a time at first. As his pace quickened he started taking them in threes, then fours, then all at once. Grabbing the railings he could vault himself down a flight of stairs at a time. His black trench coat flapped behind him in his decent like a cape in a super hero comic.

Blood rushed through his veins as he neared the street below. The excitement of the city, the urban jungle, is what drove him. Nothing could stop him as he prowled the city streets, the jungle, his jungle.

Standing tall he made his way down the bustling street. He was on a hunt and everyone could sense it. Like frightened gazelles the throngs of pedestrians parted to let him through. No one wanted to get in his way.

The hunt would have to be put on hold until after he had feasted. A sprint and a chase for some action is no good on an empty stomach.

He strutted into one of the many restaurants along the street. With a nod one of the members of his pack scurried off when the youth walked through the door. The pack mate knew the hierarchy of the jungle and soon returned with a stake cooked rare. A junior always ensures the senior is well taken care of.

The youth ravenously devoured his bloody meat. With a grunt he got up from the feast and entered back into the jungle. Leaving behind his calling card, a single silver spoon with a smile scrawled on in sharpie.

Monday, March 26, 2007

In Case of Rapture

Ever want life to be like a trip on a major airline? I want someone to stand at the end of the aisle and preach the rules and instructions of life to me. Of course, unfortunately, if life was that simple then I, and all of the mindless drones around me, would not pay any attention. Blah, blah, blah. Year, I know. I can figure it out if the worse case happens.

I’ve always prepared myself for the worst case. My life is nothing but doldrums. They take a hold of me and ERGGG!!! Life sucks! School sucks! Work sucks!

Can you believe what happened after third period today? I was at my locker exchanging the books from my backpack to my locker. Well, some jock slammed my locker shut behind my back. What an asshole. Why do people have to be so mean?

But then, after fifth period, Shannon said “hi” to me in the hallway. Shannon said hi to me! I can’t believe it.

Now if only I knew what to do now. If only I had paid attention when the stewardess gave instructions at the beginning of this flight I call life. What am I supposed to do in the case of rapture? Am I supposed to reach for the oxygen masks or just sit back and enjoy the ride?

Saturday, March 24, 2007

A pair of Shoes

Big ass, thigh high, black leather boots. I feel so alive as I slip them on, caressing each silver buckle as a past lover. The two inch thick rubber soles are perfect for clubbing, allowing me to dance the night away in style. Speaking of style, my precious boots have a look that is only good on jet black hotrods and my fabulous shit kickers. Gorgeous bright red flames. The flames rise from my sole and flicker in the dance floor strobe lights. While wearing my boots, and the right slinky little number, I rule the dance floor. It is my domain, until I stomp off in my big ass, thigh high, black leather boots.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007


I’m burnt out. I’m sick of this shit. One more week and I’m going to kill myself. Anything would be better than going there week after week. Anything at all.

I don’t know what’s worse; going there week after week or keeping it from everybody. It’s just way to much fucking work to come up with a story and making sure that it sticks. I can only say that I’m staying late at work so many times before people get suspicious.

I swear to god, if I have to go to that god forsaken house one more time I’m going to kill someone. You hear that mother? Next week it’s either you or me.

Monday, March 19, 2007

Someone Smoked a Joint

Mike nudged the body with his shoe, “What do we got here boys?”

A young lieutenant, still fresh faced and out of the academy, read out of his note book. “Frank Ferriday, age 36, gunshot wound to the head. There was a Colt .45 in his hand when we got here. The boys downtown are already checking on its registration. No signs of a struggle or forced entry. Looks to be a suicide.”

Shaking his head in disbelief Mike asked, “When did you get the call?”

“At 8:35pm, about an hour ago. Mrs. Stablinsky reported hearing a gun shot. Sergeant Powell was on a beat a few blocks away from here, he’s reporting his statement now.”

“This was no suicide,” Mike said as he bent down to pick something up.

“Excuse me sir?”

“I know Frank; we shared a foxhole in the war. He would have givin his life to save mine and I would have done the same. Maybe he has hit some hard times., but he would never give in to drugs again. I helped him through rehab, dragged him kicking and screaming. Once he was clean he swore that he would never go back. Frank has never gone back on his word.”

Mike opened his hand to show the lieutenant a small roll of white paper that was burnt on one end. “Someone smoked a joint here. That someone killed Frank Ferriday. When I find out who that someone is they will wish that they never took up drugs. They will wish that they never met Frank. They will wish that Frank never met me. Even if it’s the last thing I ever do, I will get vengeance on Frank’s killer. My buddy’s killer.

Saturday, March 17, 2007


The sky was black
Pinpricks of light shone through
Wispy clouds drifted by
Red carpet of automobile tail lights
Led to the brightly lit capitol
The craft banked left
As the city sparkled by
No greater feeling was had
Then when I was at the controls

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

The Silence

Is there anything as beautiful
As the absence of sound
Stand in the middle of a field
Watch heavy snow fall
And muffle all sounds of silence
Its deafening bliss
Under the right circumstances
Bringing a tear to my eye
And a smile to my lips

Monday, March 12, 2007

The Opening

At the end of the hall
A rectangle of light shone through the darkness
What could be contained on the other side
What could be so great
That it could shine on this side
Doors block the opening
Keeping light from dark and dark from light
It is so comfortable
On this darkened side
My home is here
But yet
The light calls out
Wanting me to join
All that is good and wholesome
I can’t go through
The door in the opening
Is my wall

Friday, March 09, 2007

Parallel Play

There she is
On the dance floor
Just a few feet from me
A smile on her face
Gleam in her eye
And grove in her step
All illuminated by the strobe lights

With my unique brand of funk
I slide into place next to her
Flashing a smile
When ever she looks my way

But alas my efforts go unnoticed
When the music dies away
She fades away into the crowd
And I am left alone

Wednesday, March 07, 2007


I reach for you

Reassuring glow
I reach for you

No escape
I reach for you


Monday, March 05, 2007


A blank canvas rests before me
Icy blue lines gaze out
The piercing cold delves deep
A thin red line banks the side
Aggressions that counter balances the hate
Thoughts and images fly on by
None seem to stick to the fly paper of my mind
The page stays blank
Like a field of wind driven snow
Beautiful in the absence of form or shape
But yet craving, needing, wanting
A disturbance in the white nothingness
A thirst that needs to be quenched
By paragraphs, sentences, phrases
Or even just a title

Friday, March 02, 2007

Meet Vivid Girl

There I was, sitting in a coffee shop in the “arts district.” The wooden chair that I sat upon was growing hard. I shifted how I was sitting so that one ass cheek didn’t fall asleep before the other could.

My third cup of coffee sat before me on the wood table. Steam drifted above the rim before dissipating. Dissipating into nothingness. That’s what’s happening here.

I turned a page in my Scribner Anthology as I waited. Reading and rereading each line of poetry. Ingesting the full meaning of every line, every word.

Holding the book straight up, making sure the cover can be seen, I flip the page again. Where can she be? That girl I was supposed to meet, Vivid_Girl.

This is the last time I’ll agree to meet someone off the internet.