Posts Tagged ‘write’

dude-wait-what-stoned-kitty-pedro-8122726Today seems like a good day to write about something positive, to skip over such icky subjects like homeless people, Political crap and other misfits trying to rule the world, natural disasters at a seemingly increasing level but we all know that climate change is a myth, and other crap hitting the media door right now.

So today, my friends, I decided to write about happy butterflies but apparently Google thinks happy butterflies equals stoned kitties and why not.

I wish I was stoned right now.

It would help in my writing, like:


I don’t really feel like writing poetry or a serious posts, though, those do get hits from my general followers and Google searchers alike.

Hi Google searchers, how are you?


Awesome!! Me too!!!


Yes I am!! I overdosed my diet Coke with many shots of energy stuff at the soda fountain and am feeling awesome.


Course, I made the mistake of turning over to the news and well, my buzz is still going, thank you very much!!!

So anyways, glad you’re still breathing and I am too!!!

Good night and have a better tomorrow, your friend,




On the Road to Lake Mahaka – 1986 – A semi true story

1986, June, my friends, John “Hawk” and Francis, decided to take a trip, our first road trip on our own, no fathers, no mothers, just us and the open road, heading to Lake Mahaka out in the wilderness.

17 and full of life, men on a journey to find themselves, the call of the wild.

We howled as we packed our clean underwear and such into the back of the truck.

“Do you have enough sandwiches?” my mom asked, as all moms do.

“We don’t need sandwiches! We are going to live off the land!!” I said, thumping my chest and grunting.

“I’ve put some sandwiches in the truck for you!” she said, sighing and then laughing softly.

I sighed.

We took off towards the horizon, our eyes filled with ideas of mountain men tales; fishing for the big trout in the lake, sweet raspberries for dessert.

“Did anyone bring a tent?”Hawk said as we were passing mile marker 75.

No one had.

“We won’t need a tent! We are rugged men!!” I said, grunting, a manly grunt.

Mile marker 85, the horrid sound of a police siren.

I pulled over.

“Boys, do you realize how fast you were going?” the officer said as he stood by the window.

“Uh, no officer…”

He sighed.

“I’m going to give you a warning, this time, but slow it down! You boys going fishing?” he said, looking in the back of the truck.

“We’re on a trip, rugged mountain men!!” we all said, grunting.

The officer smiled.

“Be careful out there boys, don’t die!!” he laughed and headed back to his police car.

We wouldn’t die!! We were men, manly men, hair on our chests, a few hairs on our chins.

We even had beer in the color; five cans!

Mile marker 95.

“I have to pee!! Pull over!” Francis whined.

“No! Hold out!” I growled.

“I can’t!!”

I sighed and pulled over.

And before I stopped, we heard a psst.

“Flat!” Hawk growled.

No spare.

Our luck was going down hill.

15 miles to nearest gas station and a phone.

We flipped a coin to see who would hike back to the station.

Hawk lost.


A few hours later, a truck drove by and stopped.

“Uh…” Hawk hopped out, “My dad has a tire but it going to take him awhile to get here….”

“How long?”

“Not till tomorrow morning!”

We were still 75 miles from our camp site.

“Are we real men yet?” Francis almost cried.


Two of us hunkered down in the front seat of the truck, the sleeping bags gathered about us as we tried to fall asleep in an awkward position.

Francis won the back of the truck, in the bed.

2 am his won turn into a loss.

Thunder storm, 3 hours, he shivered in the shower, soaked to the bone.

“Next time, I’ll sleep under the truck!” he growled in the morning, trying to shaking himself dry, failing miserably.

A few minutes later, Hawk’s dad showed.

“How are the real men doing?” he almost laughed.

We almost cried.

Tired changed.

“What do you wanna do?” I asked the other two.

“GO HOME!!” they shouted in unison.

We were on our way home without debate!!!

I walk through the darkness, eyes wide open, mouth singing songs never meant to sing.This is life, from the bottom up, down inside, over and out, life is about everything.
I awake, breathing, eyes wide open, once again, singing about life.

There is a road, leading up into the sky, to grasp the sky, to breathe the air free.
We are nothing, we are everything, this is it, eyes seeing, mind knowing.
We are everything, we see it all, ran to the end, walked till our feet bleed, we are we.

Were are you sister? Were are you brother?
Were are you my dear wife, gone to heaven forever and ever?

The body is dying, the soul is fleeing, this is the end, my only friend.
Where are you? Gone to battle, to find your meaning in life, to find that which means the most?

Money, sex, drugs, everything, nothing is worth the end of it all.
I shall meet you at the hill, the huge tree snaking its way over us, grasping us, holding us.

Death become us.

Where do we go?




I love you dearest one, till we meet again, I am here, there, everywhere.





I am alive, and well, breathing forever, till the end of time.

We shall become one with the alive.


Walking down the road, eyes to the ground, spirit to the Heavens,I keep moving and the breath still ushers forth, for I am alive,
Alive in this world, alive to see another day, another sunrise, sunset,
Walking forward and onward, feet to the ground, arms in the air,
This is life, perfect, not perfect, a great life in harmony of everything.

Life is moving, kissing, loving, seeing, hearing, back and forth, breath in, out,
Life is here, there, everything, nothing, the gaze of everyone from inside my head,
A kiss, loving in the fields of grass, embrace, night time, day time, every time, against the wind,
Moving forward through space, into blind open sight.

The time is near to contemplate everything, Gods listen as I scream into the dark,
Tears rolling down my eyes,
This is life,
Death and life, embrace into everything.

Everyone dies.
It’s okay…

Mad men dream of electronic sheep, dancers in cold rooms making up medicines for the war raging on inside their minds.

“Take your pills! We are watching you!” they say, smiles, braided hair, crisp white smocks, mocking us who now sit on the edge of our beds and color our legs with the blood of our own demise.

Jesus died for somebody’s sins but not mine, I am living for my sins, trapped in a shell, thrown into a dark corner, giving the daily bread but no wine, no butter, just bread, the water spilled on the floor, drowning the city of the dust, the damned, the world outside.

They try to reach me, understand, but they cannot.  We cannot understand that which we cannot experience first hand, we cannot get inside your mind, even if you want to let us, we stand outside, in the cold, wind blowing, the dreamless sleep taunting us with peeks inside but not revealing.

The medications are just to appease your need to believe we are helping you help yourself.

“Take this! Take this!” the mocking bird mocks and cries out. “If you don’t, there’s always THE TREATMENT!”

Treatments this, treatment that, give up, give in, lose all hope that this is it.

Writing in a little black book; dreams,  poems, thoughts from a mad man, all going down into the journal, to be read at a later day, judgement day?

Madness, madness, boil and toiled, wish wash, leaning over the edge, peering over, to see what the eye can see, and the mind loses grip and falls head over heels to a demise, to a fate worst than death, death being a relief.


The buzzards feed on broken dreams, souls burning bright against a crimson sky.

The nightmares never end, they just go into hiding when the day light breaks, to once again march into sight when the sun sets and the pillow calms.

Medication comes at 8.  And then again at 2.  The nurses smile, hand the cups off, in some religious ceremony, smiles again as the throat moves up and down.


All gone.

Night time, second dose, helps to sleep, to calm the nerves.

Or so they say, they say it so much, they almost believe it, their sale pitch.

9:45.  AM or PM? It does not matter, time stops when you enter that door.   The art time comes, it seems they want us to draw, pretty pictures, of sun rises, sun sets, a dog killing its owner with a baseball bat.

“THAT is not appropiate!” the nurses, the doctors screech.  The family is here. They are shaking their head.

“The sun is not a killing machine!!”  my sister says, we can see the tears in her eyes.

I lower my head.  In worlds now gone, the sun is a killer, blazed in firey heat, millions of worlds, now erased, gone, destroyed by its hands.

Chemical imbalance.  Mindless.  Wandering through broken streets, glass thrown here, there and everywhere, to cut the traveler deep.

“If this does not stop, we will have to go to drastic measures!” the director, eyes deep, suit black like midnight, throws out at me and my family standing there.

Drastic measures, cutting skin, opening the soul, to bleed out the insanity, it would seem, though no one ever came back right from that drastic measure.

“Cold baths! Shock!” old man said from his rocking chair. “They cut your brain out and feed it to the crows!” he laughed.  I smiled.  Years ago, many years, old man was a saint, a college professor some say.

Now, he was just an old coot, rocking in his rocking chair, scar across his face where the doctors gave him the cure.

Laughter, the children laugh, it is a good thing to laugh, but laugh too much, and they call you mad.

Here I sit, looking at all them people out there,
Trying to discover the meaning of life from the bottom of a bottle.


Man alive,
Trying to play the big game,
Who needs peace?

We are all saints,
Martyrs alive,
Or dead demons
In our chairs.

Visually blind
To fiends of grotesque features,
Blind to the world as a whole,
Only seeing that which makes it well.

Breaking down?
This is my normal,
My life,
My way,
Walking down a broken street,
Drinking my wine while the world dies.

Whispers gently on the wind,
Escaped from the lips,
From the mind,
Into the ears,
Back into someone else’s brain.

Is this Heaven?
Is reality just a dream
Until we awake from our life
By death?

Angel, angel, burning bright,
Politicians smoking grains from foreign lands.

It’s okay,
It’s alright,
It’s just a dream on a TV show!

Visitors in a world they did not create.
Who are you?
Where are you?
What? When?
Can we not ask without a cause?

Strange thoughts lost in rivers of times,
I would like to write a letter to the world,
And let it fall through space,
Forever down,
Catching freedom,
In its travels.

Let us partake in sweet life’s embrace.
We’ll nap when we are dead, tired then,
Not now,
For now, my friends,
We are alive,
In feeling,
And in breath,

Take it when we can,
Enjoy it as we will and do,
These are the times to run with the pack,
To feel the ground underneath our feet,
The wind at our back, the joy in our heart,
These are the times when we are alive….

Note: Many moons ago, I began writing this series, a book? I don’t know.

I started posting them on Myspace, just to share, and had lost them from my brain, just recently, rediscovering the nine or ten chapters I had written.

The land I built from my mind landed on the paper and I decided, it needed its story told.  Here are some of those stories!





The introductions

I stood in the darkness, near the edge of the moonlight, staring out from the under growth of the forest. A feast walked by, some would call her beautiful. And in my days as a human, I would have too.

Her eyes were green, like that of the far deep emerald oceans of my homelands.  Her blonde hair rolled down the side of her face, touching and glancing off her pale white skin.

Here I was, this hideous beast, ready for my next meal.

Her smell of lilacs drifted on the air, into my nostrils. I felt the saliva beginning to roll down from my mouth.  She stopped, looked around, she probably could sense her own demise, from my fangs, her life blood would be drained.

I stopped, that last second, from jumping from my hiding spot.

I didn’t know why, my body wanted to, wanted to spring upon her, feast on her delicate flesh and drink of her blood like it was the finest wine I had ever had.

But there I was, stopping.

Aye, my dear reader, I was hungry beyond the Gods’ for I hadn’t eaten for past the several weeks, as the king had put to his forest that no man, woman or child shall enter this cursed place due to some demon feasting upon the citizens of the land.

The nerve of this demon, I thought the first time I had read the notice posted on a tree near my lair, encroaching in on my territory.

 And then I was to discover that these men, these mortals, were calling me, Bshala, first of the kingdom of Talance, bearer of the seven seals, a hero of my own land, these peons, these, shall I burn my last unsinful act and call them asses, were calling I, a demon?

Such disrespect for their protector, a protector who had been a faithful guardian for more years than I could remember.

I pulled myself back into the shrubbery and pouted.

I could be eating a fine feast of possible virgin flesh but nay, I was lying on my belly, my head placed on my front legs, and I closed my eyes and slept.

I didn’t dream like most of the wolf lings did, or so I was told.

I dreamt of my previous life, in my homeland.

There was my wife, lovely as always, a blue ribbon tied into her hair, to keep the weave of it tight.

She waved at me, our small child, Aeregan, stood by her side.

He waved as well.

I waved back, smiling, I wanted to run to them, hold them in my arms, aye, my arms, like they were before the transformation.

I couldn’t run, nor even move.

I just stood there, looking at them, waving, smiling.

And then I heard the hoofs of  ten or more horses, moving to the side of me.

Each horse carried its own knight who brandished a weapon of their choice, a sword, a lance, whatever they could carry and kill with.

I watched in horror as one knight, wearing the armor of the Darkness ruler, Lord Haston, shoved his lance cleanly through my wife, her eyes went wide and then closed, one last gasp of air, a death cry, then she was gone, to join Mother Goddess Aeras in the after world.

Another knight, with his sword, severed off my son’s head and held it high, he chuckled, like a small school child would playing with a toy.

I jumped from the images and awoke, my heart was beating fast, hard, almost exploding from my chest. I eyed the darkness, growled a low rumbling growl and pushed my ears down low to my head. I could hear the hoof beats of horses, somewhere, out there, then the loud grunts of lowly humans, possibly searching for the young lady.

“Darlene!” one of the men yelled out, I could see their forms beginning to approach clearly.

I could smell their scents, mostly a mix of bad booze and the hint of rosemary, possibly their attempt at sprucing themselves for this day, searching out the fair maiden.

“Father! I’m here!” the lady shouted in return.

She stood near the bushes of my lair, I still wanted to jump out, and grasp her by the throat, drag her into the underbrush.

The men would be unable to stop me quickly enough and I would have a meal.

I still couldn’t.

I felt my muscle tighten, wanting to spring but I did not. I laid there, almost dozing off into another restless slumber.

“Why, my silly daughter, did you go out here, into forbidden land?” The man in the front said, dismounting his horse and hugging the girl tightly.

I smelled his kind before, noblemen from the king’s court, specifically a sheriff if I wasn’t mistaken.

The others smelled of shoe merchants and possibly a fish monger in the crew.

I slinked back as far as I could into the shrubbery.

I smelled the scent of a wolf killer, a hunter to the human race.

These men of ‘honor’ hunted my kind, in sport.

And here one sat not but a jump spring from me.

I could easily have my feast and this time there was no stopping.

I sprang forward, I heard the lady gasp, her father pushed her back and drew his sword.

I was still in the air, then I felt my teeth grasp the hunter’s throat.

He tried to pull his own sword, but I was too fast, a perfect machine, if I had to say so myself.

I felt his blood burst out from my fangs meeting his skin, I tasted the flow of his life on my tongue. I would feast this night. It would not be of a virgin but the hunter’s flesh was as good or better than some knights I had tasted.

I made it in good time, even with the almost dead hunter’s body dragging underneath me.

He gasped a few times as I jumped over a dead tree blocking the path.

I could hear the others trying to follow me, to free their comrade, but it was too late, I was in my farthest lair and took my bite into the still warm flesh and ripped some off and devoured it.

I could see the forms of the men pushing through the brush, swords drawn.

I smiled a little, some blood rolling from my mouth and falling to the ground.  I ate, till my belly was about to burst, and then I ate some more. And after I was finished, I curled up into a tight ball of fur and drifted off to sleep.

The dreams came, as they always did.

I was in the village of Marlotown, a fair ten day travel  from my original hometown.

A man stood in front of a mirror, trying on hats, tall ones, short ones, variety of hats.

I recognized the face as being me, in my previous life.

Another man approached.

I could see something in his hand, a dagger of some sort. He walked up behind me and pushed the dagger to my back.

“One false step and I shall kill you!” he whispered into my ear.

I awoke before the dream could finish, I heard the sounds of silence, too silent for a night such as tonight.

There were a few manko birds feeding off the tossed bits and pieces of my dinner but there was also a sound, slight, almost not noticeable by regular ears but mine, they were warning me, the knights were moving, for revenge.

I growled slightly and the birds scattered, they knew this wasn’t the place to be but also that soon, there would be more deaths, more food than any of the birds could possibly eat in one lifetime, let alone one day.

I spotted the first knight, to my left.

He was a good tall fellow and by the look of his face, barely old enough to be a scribe, let alone a king’s guard.

He shouted to the rest, “I’ve found its trail!”

My eyes grew to slits, targeting him.

I moved out of my lair and into the night air.

 I sniffed once, for a count, more than the scent. I could smell four of them, possibly five.

I moved quietly through the under brush, and then stopped, listened.

“Watch yourself my friend, ” another knight, older than the rest by my senses, yelled back from farther away and covered from sight with the trees.  “This wolf ling is a fast and deadly killer!”

I smiled, as closely as any wolf ling could actually smile.

The man knew to respect my deadliness.

I stalked closer to the youngest one, his sword swished over my head as he cut the high grass in front of him.

I was close enough to kill him but I didn’t, I move farther to the side of him and watched his movement through the grass.

“Crass! Crass! Watch where you fly that sword! You almost hit me!” one of the other knights yelled at the young man.

  He sighed, deep, sadly.

His name triggered a image to pop into my mind, I as a young soldier in the king’s army, another young man next to me, same garb as mine, only dirtier and more tousled.

“The Order Guardian will surely have your head for the way your shirt looks!”

He sighed, almost cried.

“I know! I know. My mother tried to wash it, which made it worse!” He looked down at the ground, shuffled his feet. I smiled and threw him a shirt, cleaned and pressed and he smiled as well and put it on.

“You know we’re going off to war, with the dogs Ravensquires!” I could hear the young fellow speaking as he put on the shirt. “We shall destroy them!”

I nodded.


Then as if by the commands of the Gods, I was back in the present, watching these men search for me, or at the very least the remains of the killed hunter.

They found neither and I could sense them moving away from me.

The youngest trailed behind and it would have been so easy to remove him from the life pool but I moved in the opposite direction and made it back to my lair, to fall asleep into a dreamless sleep.