I was stuck in a seat that I didn’t like but I was already being talked to so there was no escape. I actually started out in my favorite seat but then a friend came in so I moved down two seats to sit with him, and then the manager started fussing with the nonworking flat screen and asked if we would move down some more, when my friend left I move to the last seat at the corner.

Partly I was calculating consumption rates and guessing when the last guy remaining talking to me would leave. Every time I was served a beer I would look to the bartender who would just roll her eyes and then shake her head and sometimes say “Can you believe it Timmy?” She would set the full beer in front of the soon to be empty beer. The full beer would leave a ring on the bar which I would wipe up with the cocktail napkin that was partnered with my Budweiser coaster. They know I prefer the coasters so when they see me with the napkins they will usually toss me a coaster which is why I had both. I keep the napkin under the coaster, sometimes I’ll just use the napkin to wipe the bar dry but most of the time I’ll slide the coaster with my beer on top and the napkin underneath and move it clockwise over the wet ring.

I had just vanquished another ring of beer, with my little pint glass dance, when my talking buddy called me back into conversation.

“Hey, is it Tom?” he asked as he offered his hand.
I smiled and said “It’s Tim. You were close”
“Well, you never say too much so “
“That’s why we like Timmy” the barkeep interrupted
“That’s by design” I said with another smile even though on this night, trapped between three other regulars, I was rather talkative, for me anyway.
The conversation had been mostly about how this last regular was going to buy a boat, his friends had a variety of opinions. He’s buying a boat because he heard boats are PM’s which he explained to be pussy magnates. You need all the help you can get is what I thought.

After that last regular left and there was a shift change at the bar I watched the new bartender fold a paper placemat into fourths and start to rewrite the specials list on the white back side. It was the same specials list that I ordered from at lunch. I looked around and I was the only one at the bar. I looked further around and discovered I was the only one in the bar, just me and the help, which I thought was odd at eight in the evening.

“Why are you rewriting the specials list?”

“Because I don’t like the way she does them. I don’t like how she spells chicken C-H-I-X. And I like them in order by price.”

“And what’s up with that extra ‘C’ in front of chix?”

“Yeah, I don’t know.” she said after she looked at it in disgust

“You’re obsessive compulsive” I said and she shot me a glance but she said nothing, I guess she didn’t want such an easy target.

She just left the new specials list sitting on the bar and she went to talk to the wait staff. I took out my camera and took a shot of the new list with the same old specials. She came back and extended her hand. I handed her the camera which is the same make as her own. She viewed the photo and just shook her head. I said “What?! There’s going to be a story with it” as she just walked away.

you get a lot of 'at the bar' stories because

sometimes this site bruises my soul

She wasn't feeling well and it showed. I try to get a feel for things whenever the barkeeps aren't doing so well. I'll try to value the worth of my company with the bother of the same. I decided to stay.

"Timmy, would it bother your lunch if I were to throw up right here?" She asked from her side of the bar.

I gave her my pensive-thinking look, "I think I could still finish lunch but I would rather not see it."

She ended up sitting in a box full of empty beer bottles by the dumbwaiter, she was right in front of me but she couldn't see the rest of the bar, there was just one other person so every once and awhile, during our conversation, she would lean forward and peek around the corner to see if the other patron needed a beer. I thought the scene was funny.

"Timmy don't laugh. I don't feel well."

But I found it just as funny the second time.

...

Whenever I read a book about writing it makes me want to read.

the photo proves otherwise

I'm tired of that photo that is presently leading off my buzznet account.

That's happens a lot. I start to hate that lead off photo.

I was drunk when I took that photo. I had just come from Lady G's house. I was at the bar when I was called and asked to check on Little g. Little g wasn't answering her cell phone so her mom didn't know where she was.

"Are you intoxicated?" I believe is what I heard after I said "Hello." My answer was "Not quite" but I think I was mistaken. From the bar to their house is a fifteen minute trip. The trip is a little longer when you have to take a piss.

As I got to their courtyard, I got another call, and because I wasn't inside the house yet I gave a play by play as to what was happening.

"I don't see any lights on" I walked up to the third floor and went inside. "Hello!...Little g?" I told her mom I got no reply. I walked up the stairs to the second floor of their apartment and called again with no results. I started to worry. I then opened the door to her room, she was sleeping in her bed. It was still kind of early but she told me she had a rough day. Her mom and I where both relieved.

Getting from Lady G's house to my house without a car isn't convenient and the walk to the subway station isn't a pleasant one but I had my camera that night so at least I had something to do along the way.

I passed that make shift memorial. I was surprised to see the glow of a candle. I remember when she was hit by a car. The car was driven by someone with mob connections. The location is one block up and one block over from where Lady G lives, when the news of a young girl being hit and killed made the paper I remember checking to make certain it wasn't anybody I knew, I coldly labeled her unimportant but the photo proves otherwise.

"I used to be more"

I hear that from me all the time.

When I read that on Ray's site, I heard my own words talking to me again only this time, as some sort of consolation, I also heard "and there was a time you used to be less."

But it wasn't very consoling.

It did make me think of when I took the step back, when I stopped ascending my do-good-life ladder and started the descent. The hazy past practices I could recall were like lightning in the clouds, I knew they were there and I knew what they were even if I couldn't see them clearly. I wondered why there was no lightning today. I wondered when did I lose it and how much did I lose.

While I was trying to calculate a date and time and a quantity of the missing I heard "You haven't lost anything. You know more now then you did back then." I took offense and prepared to start a dissenting voice but no words came. The truth is I am smarter now. I know more things. I've seen more of the world.

"So why am I not pleased with this improved me?" was the question next asked as I saw myself standing on a high rung of my do-good-life ladder. I even looked down at the old me, the me that still gets talked about almost in awe. Looking down is when I realized the difference. The old me was climbing. The present me seems to be standing still.

She a showman or show-woman, I guess.

I took yesterday off and while I was finishing "If You Want to Write" by Brenda Ueland, I got a phone call.

"What are you doing taking the day off" Lady G asked, so I told her.

"Did you forget about those things?"

"No, they're sitting on my desk."

"Well, I only have one day I can get into town so that does me no good."

"You can get them up from my desk."

"I can?"

"Sure. You're known."

So, I told her where exactly I had placed them and she picked them up because they were gone today. Today, I'm doing my normal routine and a bubblely Jill calls to me from down the hall.

"I know why you love Lady G as much as you do" she told me all pleased with herself.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Because she's very pretty, that's why."

"That's just one of the reasons"

"She's also dresses very nicely. She's always in fashion." She added this not as another reason for my love but as an observation that she was proud she could share.

"Yeah, she quite aware of those things."

"Anyway, she's very pretty" is what she preached to the choir in closing.

Standing in the kitchen with my sister were two former students of hers, they were going to help with the grunt work of the soup kitchen endeavor. I usually don't help much when my sister volunteers for this sort of thing not because I don't want to help but because she doesn't need my help. I make certain to hang around in the shadows and if I hear a snag being hit, I'll make my more. It's her thing and if I were to get involved then in the eyes of others some of her effort would be contributed to me, so I remove myself. I stay a quiet advisor.

Anyway, my sister was talking to me while I was in the living room, "Oh, yeah. Miss Smith says you're very good looking, so you were right, she was smitten with you."

Miss Smith directed me to the library where my sister works. She greeted me with a larger than normal smile so I had told my sister that Miss Smith was smitten with me.

"Listen, you don't believe me but I live with that all the time."

"And then she adds that 'he's good looking because he looks like you'"

"Yeah, you're a very handsome woman." I laughed.

"Yeah, I know what was that about? It's too late lady"

Her former students enjoyed the show.

retired cop

or cop out of uniform...near retirement

that's the make I made on him

his posture was too correct, like he was trying to look larger than his true average size, or so it seemed

his head was held always upright and he searched to meet the look of others so he could stare them down.

but people couldn't care less about this one added passenger to the last section of subway train, the ones by the door didn't even move when he tried to get on board

he wasn't getting the respect he felt he deserved

he wished he had his uniform

he wished he had his gun

The Wise Guy and Lucky - pat mAcdonald

The Wise Guy and Lucky
On a blind double date
Were set up with two sisters
Named Destiny and Fate

The first to move was Lucky
The Wise Guy was too late
He lusted after Destiny
But he ended up with Fate

He whispered lucky bastard
You live up to your name
Said Lucky "What's the difference?
They're both about the same"

The wise guy said "Who you trying to kid
I knew that's what you'd say
You know as well as I do
Those two are night and day"

But if you like I'll tell you
You lucky so-n-so
Why I would make a different choice
As if you don't well know

Though Fate's the easier, I've heard tell
What good is there to gain
Though Destiny might challenge you
You know she's worth the pain

Though Destiny might lead you on
While Fate throws you a bone
She'll show you her true colors
While Fate's remains unknown

Though Destiny might bend you ear
Fate she seldom talks
Just busts in unexpectantly
While Destiny she knocks

And friend that's why I'd rather try
To weather out a date
In misery with Destiny
Than wistfully with Fate

That's why I say quite plainly
If I had to choose a mate
I'd rather die by Destiny
Than live in the hands of Fate

The Wise Guy and Lucky
On blind double date
Were set up with two sisters
Named Destiny and Fate

The first to move was Lucky
The Wise Guy was too late
He lusted after Destiny
But he ended up with Fate

I would save the world if I could do it at arms length

Do you ever sit in front of your computer and wonder what the crap was you posted the night before?

I do that all the time mostly because a lot of crap doesn't get posted.

I was in a mood, of the foul kind, yesterday until I finished early at the second job at about 10:30PM. The neighborhood meeting went smashingly, no one yelled and I always had an answer, sometimes the answer was pure fluff but better fluff than a lie, or at least that's what I tell myself.

Today started with the same problems as yesterday but I was in a better mood, the mood was good for reasons unknown and then I got a call which greatly eased one of my troubles so then I had a reason to be in a better mood.

"Get real or get a thesaurus" - I'm going to actually say that to someone and it will piss them off and they will complain to the owner and owner will laugh at them because she will know that I am right. And then she'll ask them "Well, did you get a thesaurus?"



I should be nicer to folks


well some folks, to other folks, I'm plenty nice

I feel like I lose a little bit of soul every time I write "A Must See!" or "Don't Miss Out!" or "See for Yourself!" or "Unbelievable." I usually will omit those phrases because I can't stand them and they are bullshit…I mean Bullshit!

Donkeys

I want to sit those folks down and ask them what they think of those phrases. "Do you really like them? What do you think when you see them in other ads? Do you run out and look?"

Please get real or maybe get a thesaurus.

I survived this far and that sometimes makes me a bit cocky, fortunately it gets mistaken for confidence.

Speaking to the neighborhood groups is a challenge, not unlike talking to a strange drunk.

I don't like the way I wrote this, so beware

I got out of the shower and my phone was beeping, the beeping was telling me I had missed six calls. The calls were from my sister. She was calling because her Jeep stopped running. She told me her location and after getting dressed and my truck clear of snow, I got there as quick as I could.

She was stopped at a traffic light off to the side so any early morning traffic could go around her. I pulled up behind her, put the hazards on and walked to her driver's side, she got out before I got there and handed me her key once I could reach it. I tried the ignition and got a solid click and then asked if that was the only sound it had been making. She said it was, that wasn't good news.

I looked around and across the intersection there was open curb space. She mentioned something about oil, I checked the level, it was lacking. She asked if she seized the engine. I knew she wasn't going to like the answer but I could think of anything else to say I looked up from the ground, met her gaze and told her "Most likely," I just noticed a flash of what her reaction was to be, before I glanced away. I told her that this was beyond my magic and asked her what she wanted to do. She mentioned something about a garage. I mentioned something about getting the Jeep out of traffic and getting her to work.

I was calculating arrive times while I was driving her to the school were she works, it was the same school building where I went to high school only now it's a different school. She asked questions, I told her what I knew. What I knew wasn't good. I said there could be hope that it seized at a stop light because the engine wasn't going at full speed. She started to worry about a commitment she made for feeding the poor three nights hence. As I let her off I asked for her key.

I figured where I could get oil at 7:00AM, guessed at the time for getting the oil in and trying a few tricks. I figured I wasn't going to make my own 8:00 start time. I called my boss to let him know, he told me to take my time.

I got the oil, put it in and cranked the starter or rather tried to crank it, all I got was the same loud click. I was lucky and got the vacant spot behind the Jeep. The starter wasn't strong enough to move the engine so I put the Jeep in gear and pushed it from behind with my truck. The wheels only slid.

I drove back to her school and told the front desk whose brother I was, the front desk lady smiled a very large smile and then showed me to the library. I told my sister what I did and the success I didn't have as I handed her her car key and a piece of paper with the street address of where the Jeep was and her plate number. She asked about two of the letters. I confirmed that it was an 'X' and a 'C' .

I got into work and requested a vacation day for two days hence due to a commitment made. She called me later and told me she got a garage to tow it and check it out. She'll let me know what the deal is, in the mean time I started looking for cheap cars.

I don't know. I don't see it. Maybe I don't want to see it or maybe I can't see it because I'm too close to it. Maybe I don't step back on purpose.


foolhardy

brave

The best gun fighters were those that didn't fear death

maybe they were even seeking it

glorious deeds are motivated by...

to some the ends justify the means

'I'd rather be lucky than good' but what happens when your luck runs out?

I've been lucky

the eyes have it

I had my usual seat and I was determined to have it for awhile, he ended up standing next to me.

"Hey, I remember you." he said.

I turned to look. "You're the school teacher" I wanted to say you're the dope that chews tobacco inside a crowded bar but I went the high road instead.

There was other talk and then a jab at what I usually end up drinking after I stop drinking beer. I tried to buy him a beer but the barkeep wouldn't let me, she just gave me a look as she took the money from the other guy.

I wanted to tell the barkeep that this guy's glory days are behind him, that this guy has no future, that this guy will never be loved until he learns to love, that this guy will die alone, that me buying this guy a beer is pretty much all he has going for him. I wanted to tell her all of this but her look told me she already knew. She wanted to tell me to stop wasting my time and money on this guy, that this guy is not liked and not welcome and shouldn't be humored. She wanted to tell me all that and she did so with her look.

The roof and I have reached an accord. Part of the agreement is that I will pay more attention to it.

Saturday, while I was making routine repairs to my aging roof, I checked my previous repairs, most were neat and sound. The wind was noticeable so sometimes I would just sit down and let the wind have its way. Fighting vertigo and wind gusts gets a little tricky at times, with wind gusts you want to lean in an opposite direction of which the wind is pushing you, with vertigo you have to tell yourself not to lean at all.

Sitting, almost admiring my past handy work, I wondered how much of my life I have wasted. I could have sold my talents to a number of willing buyers but I chose not to sell. Instead of investing, I've horded and by now some things have lost some value.

I tried to figure when I was at my prime and then I wondered if one can even have a prime if one has never strived. I figured that I could match anything I have done in the past, not due to some lasting high level of ability but due to a lack of a noteworthy past.

I wonder if I've left a dent anywhere in the world I've walked.

I wonder if I ever even tried.

"The prodigal son has returned" was the quote.

"Does he even know what prodigal means?" was the question I asked.

The dude left because he got screwed over.

this was not a fashion statement

I know those of you reading this site have this opinion of me that I'm: close to perfect, incredibly smart, can deftly turn a phrase, frightfully handsome, awesomely exciting and loving beyond measure and mostly I would agree with that opinion but sometimes I worry about me.

After the day job I went home literally kicked off my shoes and hung out a bit before going into the second job.

I drove to the second job parked two blocks away stayed for about three hours and then decided to leave, putting on my black leather jacket, I glanced down and noticed that I had on two different types of footwear on.

(that's roofing tar on the right shoe)

You can run into trouble when your physical heart is not as strong as your spiritual heart. I'm pretty sure that's what killed my father. He cared too much than he was able.

my house blew its top

Yesterday, there was a high wind advisory in my area. High winds always cause me concern because I have a few tree that surround my property. Walking home from the subway station I started to purvey the trees in the front. I didn't noticed any missing or downed limbs which was a good thing. I did notice some rolled roofing sitting in the front lawn.

My house has four different types of roofing, the rolled roofing is one type. I was hoping I was going to be saying to one of my neighbors "Sorry about your roof" but it turned out that I would be on the receiving end of any condolences.

My house has three different roof heights, one for each of the stories, rolled roofing is at the second and third. I checked the second story first, it was okay which only left the third. I'm not a big fan of heights but I'm even less of a fan of water pouring into my house. To get to the highest level, I have to walk up a section of pitched roof, I did so and saw an eight foot long section of roofing missing, I was losing daylight so I didn't have time for self pity, I went to Home Depot bought some stuff and fixed it.

Fixing a wet roof in gale force winds in the dark isn't very enjoyable or at least I don't like it much, which I can now say with experience.

After I washed off the roofing tar from my hands, with the help of some paint thinner, I cooked a beef roast which was my original plan for Wednesday evening. While I was fire roasting some peppers, I heard sleet hitting the kitchen window. I smiled as I thought that things could have been worse.

Dinner was great, the baked potatoes were light and fluffy and the roast was pale pink in the middle.

I'm in love with my new oven.

I'm not really digging the roof though.

from the Draft pile - Listen, it's on the list

People will be all hot and bothered complaining about this and that which may or may not be a result of something that I did or most likely that I didn't do and I'll have an attitude like "Shit happens, dude" or most likely doesn't happen because most of the stuff isn't a big deal because the big deal shit gets done.

If you would like your stuff done then my advice to you is only do the big deal shit

I would also advise you to stop pretending that your non-big deal shit is big deal shit because I know the difference. Here, look at the shit list. See all your stuff is at the bottom, I'm sure you have heard the phrase 'at the bottom of the shit list' well, there you go. That's where all your stuff is, I would love to change it but what am I going to move down the list? All that stuff up there is big deal shit and it all has a deadline and to tell you the truth, revising the shit list is at the very bottom of the shit list. Sorry. You can talk to the owner of the company if you wish. Would you like me to call her? I don't think she's at home but I can call her cell.

This day is moving slower than the u. s. postal service.

No sir, I'm just joking. I love the postal service. I really do. I think they are quite the bargain. For instance I can write a three page letter and have someone take it from my east coast location and bring it to the west coast all for 39 cents. It costs double that to sponsor a child for one day in some undeveloped country.



Anyway, this day is moving slow.

this person seems miffed

I don’t know where the sign is or not but a sign of this nature within four feet of a hydrant is acceptable, RPP signs do not override restrictions for HP ramps, hydrants, driveways, loading docks, crosswalks, within 20’ of the intersection, or any other physical entity that has a general parking prohibition associated with it. If, indeed, there is a sign within 4’ of a hydrant, it was placed on an existing pole and I’m not going to install a new pole 6’ away for no other reason than to placate someone who is obviously grossly ignorant of parking restrictions in the City of Bost*n and is looking to just make trouble.

well, yeah

I only mention it because I find myself ridiculous.

…

It's all smoke and mirrors.

and actually I've had my mirrors pre-smoked to save time

Neither of us we're very talkative, she ended up finishing her crossword puzzle while I kept watching a replay of Super Bowl III. She finished her crossword puzzle and then asked me how me weekend was, I told her it was quiet and then for fun I told her that I baked some bread.

She placed another full glass in front of me as she said "Here you go Betty Crocker." I was a little disappointed that that was the best she had but then I had nothing myself.

quite some time ago my aunt was over and somehow it came up that I knew my way around a kitchen.

"I hear you're quite the cook."

I didn't want to take too much misdirected credit so I said "Well, I don't actually cook much, I bake." When some other family members joined the conversation, my aunt quoted me as chastising her by saying "I don't cook! Madam. I bake."

I actually just added the 'madam' now for effect. I guess embellishment runs in the family.

...

I heard you're either a baker or a cook...er, so now I cook as well.

I actually cook because I like to eat, I bake because I like to bake.

"I don't like orange in my orange juice."

She was talking about the pulp.

...

"It speeds me up" is what he said lacking any uncertainty. The talk was of pot.

"It speeds you up? It slows most everyone else down" came from a different friend.

"Yeah, that's because of the hundred things he's usually worrying about, it cuts it down to about two that he can focus on. It just seems he's getting a lot done" is what I said and must have used some hand gestures because as any true friend would do, the second friend pointed out how retarded I got with the hand motions.

"Well, I know my audience and it's more visual than verbal" I offered in my defense. I think only the first friend knew I was knocking them all. He must have had a puff or two.

I live a life of excitement.

Believe it or not this is actually the first loaf of bread, which required a pan, I have ever baked. I've done several types of rolls, pita bread and what-not but I've never used a loaf pan.

I think I'll take it easy for the rest of the week.

so, because the dough is still doing its thing during the first rising, you get a rare Saturday post. One of my things to do today was to drive Little g to get her hair braided on the way an ambulance when whizzing by us with the lights and sirens going.

“They do sometimes just so they can get past the lights. Why do they do that?”

“I guess because they can.”

“But they can’t.”

“But they do”

“But they shouldn’t.”

she had me there.

walking to the store to get some hair for single braids, it was raining with a very mild temperature.

“You’re wearing just that lightest coat and a hat?”

“Yeah, why not? What should I be wearing?¬ I’m not even wearing any socks.” I showed her I wasn’t wearing socks.

“That’s just not right.”

after we bought the hair we went to the home of the lady that was to do the braiding. She wasn’t at home even though we were on time so, I started to drive Little g back home.

“Are you mad?” she asked.

“No”

“You aren’t?”

“Nope. What good would getting mad do?”

“You’re right. I’m not mad.” a few moments later she said “I’m disappointed. Not mad. Aren’t you disappointed?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m disappointed.”

so, i'm in the middle of making these things that i make which other people give as gifts and a boss comes over.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"It's better if you don't ask and it's definately better if I don't answer"

I was getting antsy, January 18th was somebody's birthday I was pretty sure but I couldn't remember whose. I pulled out my PDA and the battery was dead. I really should be using that thing more. So, I charged the battery and there was no birthday note on that date. But still the 18th haunted me.

Yesterday, walking home, I told myself "The 18th is the date you started your stupid blog."

So, then I said "Oh, yeah." and I was pleased as punch that I hadn't forgotten a birthday.

The he and me of it all. He is me too

What are you scared? Post it.

There's really nothing more to post. It would just be the same, only with more words.

So, let's have the more words. What are you scared?

It's not scared. It doesn't frighten me. It's a thing unpleasant. I would rather just leave it alone.

Are you afraid it's stronger than you? Still, even now?

no

Than post.



So, I posted. I entered the scene, the difference now was I was witnessing it instead of living it. The scene would draw me in and I would step back out. "What are you scared?" I was being taunted by a childhood nightmare of a daydream.

I stared straight ahead, obtained the same view, I heard the same hum only now I would describe it as a buzz, the buzz that the streetlights make, the buzzing street lights which can only heard in the dead of quiet. I looked away and asked "Is that it?" The answer came across as an unseen gesture which conveyed the message "It was when you were younger."

Sorry to disappoint you. Your mistake was letting me enter the scene as more than nothing.

the rumor is if it's comes in a shot glass I'll drink it

vapid came to mind on the subway today


I was there for lunch and even though it was a slow day someone was in my favorite seat. I sat by the Jager machine. I usually don't like sitting by the Jager machine but then usually I'm drinking, usually it's at night. After fifteen minutes the place cleared out, it was just the help and me. She came over and sat in front of me on the cooler with the bottled beer, like she was lounging. We were watching the world's strongest man competition. The conversation was casual, lazy and sparse. We were both taking a break from our day.

She was working a double shift and asked if I would be coming in later. I told her no because I was working the second job but gave her hope for the next day. She'll be there at seven, I'll be there at four.

"I wish I had your job"

Well, at one job, it took me ten years to get here and the other about twenty.

there were times as a child I would get this feeling, usually at night, of vast nothingness that was endless in time and in space and that it was so vacant that there was an audible hum. It kept me up at night.

"fish, you should write more on that, seriously." she said.

"What if it comes back?" I said to myself

What if it comes back? Truth is, it never left. I can still picture it, only now it's a distant scene, only now I can un-picture it. Truth is, it wasn't the nothingness that bothered me, it was the stillness.

The scene would be a straight view which I couldn't change because I was a part of the nothing. In the nothing with me was also an horizon which wasn't discernable but the ground was the darkest gray and the sky the blackest black, it was a demonstration of the endlessness. Directly in front of my view was a piece of string also of the darkest grey that stretched from somewhere above and ended in my field of vision, a little below straight ahead, it was a demonstration of the stillness, the nothingness.

The string was straight and motionless and if you are familiar with string which is hanging with one free end, you know this isn't possible, there is always some kink in the string, it's never perfectly straight and eventually it probably moves a bit, but there in the scene of nothing, there was no movement, there was no sound, there was no me, there was no string, there was no sky, there was no ground, there was just the large hum of never ending emptiness.

When I was young, I couldn't end it. The scene would begin and I would be trapped within, I couldn't scream, I couldn't cry, I couldn't move, I couldn't look away, I couldn't cover my nonexistant ears. I can still picture that string, which is always how the scene would begin, that perfectly straight motionless string, my fixed focus would be on the string about two feet from my view and then the quiet would just get louder and louder, my focus sharper and sharper.

Today when I picture the string, it's more distant, and the longer I look at it the closer it gets, it's as a movie set which I can start to enter, I always look away before the hum of the quiet gets too loud. Today there is something outside the emptiness but the emptiness still has all its power, it can still swallow everything if I'm drawn inside.

I stay outside.

one step back

I don't like it when people force me to be rude. Now if you want to tell me that other people cannot make me be rude and that I chose to be rude than you would force me to be rude by forcing me to tell to you shove it.

Now, technically, I know that it is actually up to me whether or not I chose to be rude but there are just some times when some folks just do stupid things and it's just easier to be slightly rude to help them get the point instead of having a sit down with them where you're spending all of your valuable time explaining to them why their actions are stupid.

Like when you're trying to exit a subway train and some donkey stands right in front of the door so you can't get off the train without bumping into them or when there is only one working soap dispenser in the men's room and some different donkey is done washing his hands, and you know this because he drying them, but is still standing in front of the only working soap dispenser while you obviously need to use it and in order for you to use it you have to violate his personal space.

In both cases one step back is all I expect.

So, I figured 'What the heck, just like a haircut, I'm not the one that has to look at it all day' because despite the recent photos, I don't hang out by mirrors all that much. I took the gold necklace out of its box. I was surprised by its weight. While I figured out the clasped, I still wondered why my mom would buy me a gold necklace.

It was heavy on my neck. I didn't like being chained so I surmised that I would have to rule out all my fantasies that involved dog collars.

I take the train

Peripherally, I noticed her approaching, by her gait I guessed that she her destination was the vacant seat to my right. I looked up from my book and I slide over a bit. Normally, I don't look up, I just slide a bit but of what I could see she had that classic female shape. She met my gaze. I smiled then went back to reading my book wondering if she noticed that I was of the opinion that her face didn't make her curves.
"You have nice eyes" she said
"Thanks. I got them from my mother. She didn't want to give them up but I had youth on my side."
Then there was just the noise of the subway.

is there a sally goat or something?

normally this is the time i shoot off a post.

the time after i have made my rounds

the time after i have exhausted all my energy trying to look like i am busy

the time when i write whatever it is that is rattling around my head at the moment

sometimes. i'll just start typing and hope something comes

you could wash a billy goat in my kitchen sink. it's really that big. (it looks bigger in real life)

so, if you have a dirty billy goat and will be/are in the Boston area come on by

i'm certain that the new insinkerator disposal can make short work of billy goat hair.

another name for billy goat is he-goat.

Do you ever look at photos of yourself from days gone by and wonder if you're the same person as you were back then, of course you factor in the regular effects of life, maybe a scar, some wrinkles, hopefully some wisdom. But then you think of that old you, that fresher you, the you whose sell-by date was still a long way away. You think I was more hopeful back then, quicker, more trusting. You wonder what changed you. You think back. You only recall a life lived less grand, no occasions that would alter a life come to mind. You think maybe I was always this way, maybe I wasn't more hopeful, wasn't quicker, wasn't more trusting.

Then you think so what now? You can't change the yesterdays of today but you can change the yesterdays of tomorrow. You just need to find a reason.

Maybe change is reason enough.

look at all the space you can't use

"I demand your pity" that cracks me up because I know folks like that

I think I'm funnier second hand or maybe I just think what I say is funnier when I hear it from someone else.


So, I had this idea flash across my mind. It came about with my argument that a decent message cannot be sent in the allotted space of a postcard (using normal penmanship). The idea was to write flash fiction in the space so, I went to get a link for flash fiction and came across "Flash fiction, also called sudden fiction, micro fiction, postcard fiction…"

and I said "Postcard fiction! Man!"

and then I thought "Come off it pole smokers, stop stealing my ideas"



only with better fiction

trials and trivialities

I can't post or comment or edit my Buzznet account from work anymore, nor can I comment on other's photos.

Doesn't my employer know how important that account is to my day job?

Well, I can post by using email but then it adds the comment "$16.99/mo. or less" and I don't know what is $16.99 per month or even less than that, I don't know if it's a good deal or not.

my life is arduous sometimes and I demand your pity! Damnit.




(I wanted to say tivialations but that ain't a word)

my days are on repeat

as some sort of consolation they tell me "well, tomorrow is another day"

so i say to them "yeah, but will we live it the same"

same, same

"I don't like bees"

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because bees are mean"

"Why are bees mean?"

"Because they are bad"

"Why are bees bad?"

"Because they sting Pooh when he's eating honey"

"But whose honey is it?"

"Pooh's"

"Who makes the honey?"

"The bees"

"So, isn't it the bees' honey?"

"No. It's Pooh's"

not to make folks jelous but…

I mailed Melissa a postcard that had a picture of these famous ducks on it

I've been called worse

I often think doing the right thing is like betting a sucker's bet

It was like it was my goal to prove that cutting down on drinking wasn't on any self made list of resolutions.

At seven o'clock another barkeep came in, she smiled as she told me she had something for me. I watched her go to her bag and continued to watch as she rummaged through her things. I looked away after a moment. I was playing it cool.

"This is what I got you" she said as she handed me a plastic bag.

I thanked her as I pulled out a hardcover book on graphic design.

"This is too much…Thank you. I love books" I felt a little guilty as we entered into an involved conversation. If I see her at all it's only on Friday nights so I don't see her frequently. I felt as if I were cheating on my three regular barkeeps, all of which were present. I couldn't figure a fix to my guilt so I continued as I was. Once our conversation ended, the bartender that had been serving me since late afternoon came over.

"The daytime regulars are suppose to leave by eight thirty"

I glanced at the clock. It was quarter 'til nine. "Give me my bill and I'll go" I said as I shrugged my shoulders. I only half hoped I was calling her bluff.

Instead of a bill she placed a cocktail with what looked like sour mix in it.

"This doesn't look like a Bud Light" I said because except for the Redheaded Slut shot someone bought me, I had been drinking Bud Lights since 4 PM. She offered no reply to my statement. She just walked away.

The non-Bud Light was a Disaronno Sour. It was garnished with two cherries. The extra cherries are some sort of inside joke with the barkeeps, probably having to do with something I said once but have since forgotten. Once they put seven cherries in one of my drinks and I ate them all out of spite mostly.

After a couple more drinks I left. I had a book to read.

shiney shit

I have a misfortune's worth of fool's gold

I hear you say you're just keeping it real yet all I see is a phony you.

love potion number nine

"Hi, Steve"

"Hello number 9...or is it seven?"

"It's nine. Love potion number nine"

his problem is that he thinks it's for real and it's not for real. it's all about perception and perceived accountability.

if you really really care it will eat a hole into your soul. you have to play the game whether you agree with the rules or not.

this job eats the innocent and the noble

do your best when no one is looking because no one cares otherwise

do your best when you can just to make certain there is still a small portion that still isn't corrupted

that there is still a portion that is true

prove your worth to yourself when there is self doubt don't bother trying to prove yourself to others because your only worth your last garnered praise whether it was earned or not. they don't care about facts or figures, they will grab hold of the myths if it's a better fit.

keep your soul locked up, save it for when you need it, don't share it with this lot, they will just feast on it and discard the bones. they devalue the valuable. protect your investment. they are squanderers.

Beware.

Hand writing is normal for me.

This is normally the time in which I would post one of my entertaining little posts because I'm bored out of my mind but today I've got nothing.

I actually do like the US Postal System. I think regular first class mail is still a bargain and still will be even after the rate increase. I think letter writing is a lost art. I think getting something hand written from someone is something special. It's not so special when it comes from me because I still hand write a lot of stuff.

Hand writing is normal for me.

We were talking about the relationships in the bar both current and past. She was sitting on the waist high refrigerated chest that holds the bottled beer. I was sitting in the barstool that I liked least. I have a habit of leaning on the bar because it straightens my worn out back. It puts me closer to the barkeeps, not by design but by happenstance. I sometimes think the closer proximity causes me to be told things normally I wouldn't hear.

"We're one big happy family"

"A little bit incestuous, though"

She laughed. I smiled. When I first arrived my preferred seat was occupied and she was staying off to the side. I slightly worried that it was me she was avoiding but once a certain customer left she came out of hiding and sat by me.

"He wants to get back together with her but she's with someone new and he'll never stop being unfaithful."

I thought different. I thought he could pull his act together if the love was true but I kept silent.

"He's a mountain of a man but his soul is a mole hill"

When she's dancing with the Devil, she leads.

There was a red envelope left on my chair. I knew that the envelope contained a Christmas gift from her to me. I tossed the envelope onto the desk, along with the 'current' stack of things to do. The gift was ignored until I was about to leave. It contained ten $100 traveler's checks and me, I had no where to go.

shit! I was shooting for research scientist

Congratulations, Timothy!
Your IQ score is 136

This number is based on a scientific formula that compares how many questions you answered correctly on the Classic IQ Test relative to others.

Your Intellectual Type is Facts Curator. This means you are highly intelligent and have picked up an impressive and unique collection of facts and figures over the years. You've got a remarkable vocabulary and exceptional math skills — which puts you in the same class as brainiacs like Bill Gates. And that's just some of what we know about you from your test results.

•140 - Top Civil Servants; Professors and Research Scientists.
•130 - Physicians and Surgeons; Lawyers; Engineers
•120 - School Teachers; Pharmacists; Accountants; Nurses; Stenographers; Managers.
•110 - Foremen; Clerks; Telephone Operators; Salesmen; Policemen; Electricians.
•100-110 - Machine Operators; Shopkeepers; Butchers; Welders; Sheet Metal Workers.
•90-100 - Warehousemen; Carpenters; Cooks and Bakers; Small Farmers; Truck and Van Drivers.
•90 - Labourers; Gardeners; Upholsterers; Farmhands; Miners; Factory Packers and Sorters.


if I buy the 15 page IQ report for $12.95 does that change my current IQ score?

I'm not afraid to skip especially if it will embarrass the person I'm walking with

the after taste of evil doesn't disappear with the use of a wedge of lime

a small good

"You can't have it both ways"

What I usually hear myself say is "You can't be both. Either or" so, then I argue why not get rich selling hard drugs to school kids.

When I argue with myself and with others, I'll usually just jump to an extreme because I rather not waste too much time.

Well, I would rather not sell drugs to kids.

Good people sometimes do bad things is what the counter point that is heard.

When that bad thing happens, what happens next? I'll usually try to make things right or at least try to put an end to it which usually starts another argument on whether or not I'm making things right because it's what I want to do deep down in my soul or just because I think people should be treated fairly which starts another argument on whether it's better to do what's right out of a sense of social obligation or to do what's right because you live rightly.

I usually end the self discussion with the believe that if the end result is towards the up side, if I learned something from the matter - like I don't like the after taste of evil, than that's something good, not a nice pleasing tasty good but a good none the less and if I prefer good over something not good than that makes me good, not a great good maybe even some tiniest amount of good but good none the less

I would ask you for your address so I could mail you a postcard but I think that such a request is too forward, even though I wouldn't think twice about giving out my address to anyone I read.

new postage rates go into effect on Sunday January 8, 2006


I still have a bunch of postage stamps for postcards so I think I'll just mail out postcards to random addresses by Sunday because a postage makeup stamp on a postcard looks lame.

Maybe I'll mail one to Hunhun 'cause I do have her address and I can't tell you why.

dictionary.com is cool

Me in a nutshell?

I do want fries with that.

...

Someone's pre-teen daughter was hanging around the office and ended up in my cube, we got into a discussion about the meaning of a certain word so I did what I do when I want a definition and I'm sitting at a computer with internet access. I went to dictionary.com.


"You use dictionary.com?" I was asked with a high level of disdain.


dictionary.com is cool

move it along, there is nothing to see here

I drop by here and want to write something, anything just to keep the page moving. I write most of my stuff in Microsoft Word and then cut and paste it into Blogger, it cuts down on lost posts. I'll want to write. I'll open Word. I'll start to type. I'll get a sentence or two and then just close the word processor down.

I wonder why I want to keep this page moving.

Standing on the subway platform, looking past the spinning windmill, the birds were flying like kites.