Are you the kind of person that accepts the random happiness that falls into your lap, or the kind of person that’s not afraid to seek the true happiness that you wish to achieve?

(thanks, ma).

have you ever seen a movie so downright detestable that it truly made you want to take a shower? a movie so laden with crap that you never wanted to watch another movie again? yeah, Howard the Duck is that movie. one must cleanse the cinematic grime from the pores after viewing such a stinky wad of blue cheese.  watching hot, steaming garbage such as this is more than enough to provide permanent scarring of the ocular tissue.  this little booger was produced by George Lucas in 1986, and i guess it seemed like a good idea back then to stick a little man in a big duck suit and have him save the earth from aliens.   Howard the Duck was not of this world (i will not even attempt to understand an alien planet populated by giant, talking, clothed ducks), and the overall idea of the movie is entirely laughable…in a not very funny at all sort of way. Howard first appeared in a Marvel comic back in 1973, and i think it’s a huge difference reading about a scary looking talking duck than it is watching his soon-to-be-my-dinner ass prancing around on the big screen.  an up and coming Tim Robbins and Lea Thompson, for whatever reason (i don’t know who read the script and thought “man, this is a hell of an idea, let’s green light this shit!”) decided to star in this flick, and i’m surprised that their careers survived.  Old George Lucas needs to wipe his ass with the original film reels, flush this turd back to the center of the earth, and then call it a day.  i think i’ve successfully put the beatdown on this dead horse, so excuse me….i’m off to take a shower.

Khalid, this priceless video is for you.

And he spoke with a smile-

It was his universal greeting-

The picket fence to his suburban

Dwelling-

The fresh layer of paint coating the

Tidy exterior-

A place where the grass looks just

As green as the other side-

And he spoke with that smile-

No words-

And embraced with that wave-

No touch-

All from the front porch-

If you were to visit, you would be

Greeted there-

Right on the stoop-

Rain or shine-

If you were to visit, you may or

May not be invited in-

No offense, of course-

Just a matter of formality-

For as cozy as it looks,

Entry is generally refused-

Few have seen the interior-

Few have caught a glimpse

Beyond the windows-

But most are content with the

Aroma of the grass,

The sight of the trees,

And the warmth of the greeting-

They passed kindly,

And he spoke with a smile-

His usual greeting,

And greeted them at the porch-

A place where the grass looks

Just as green as the other side*

John Lennon – Jealous Guy

Death – Politicians In My Eyes

Jimi Hendrix – Crying Blue Rain

John Rubenstein & Tim McIntire – Green and Muddy/The Way that You Wander (Jeremiah Johnson)

Clint Eastwood – Platoon Swims

Charlie Daniels – The Devil Went Down to Georgia

my garden is walled-
ringed by high ramparts,
and laden with heavy stone-
shrouded by miles of steep
masonry, built carefully and
skillfully by my own hand-
one by one, each mammoth rock
was placed-
it has taken me a lifetime to
construct these works-
those towering marvels-
jagged, yet worn-
cold, yet warmed by an
unrelenting sun-
those walls can be seen from
miles away,
yet no one knows they’re there-
they are an oasis of sorts-
advancing armies have scaled
their heights-
and failed-
one or two brave souls have
reached the summit, but none
have lived long enough to
breach deep enough to experience
the garden-
all have perished or been pushed
back by the rigidity of the stone
walls and by the dogged persistence
of the interior defenses-
such an imposing structure,
built brick by brick-
stone by stone-
one by one-
a lifetime of work-
the castle’s own defenses
never venture beyond the
gates-
they do not feel the need to
trek out and engage the world-
they are fully aware that their
walls are impenetrable,
and no longer desire to quest
outward into the void-
they are content in their roles-
complacent with their
destinies-
within it all stands the fabled
garden-
an ethereal plot of unmatched
beauty distinct to the castle
itself-
carefully tended-
meticulously nurtured-
kept under lock and key,
and guarded around the clock-
most of the troops have never
seen it,
and those that have never
speak of it-
such beauty seen by so few-
a lifetime of work spent
protecting it-
a lifetime spent on guard-
a lifetime behind predictable
surroundings-
a lifetime behind-
what they have protected
has only seen a fraction of the
sun-
it cannot move-
it will not-
yet it will flourish within-
such an imposing structure-
built brick by brick-
stone by stone-
one by one-
by my own hand*

Life at your doorstep-

Delivered to you like the

Daily paper-

A rolled up bundle of brandish

Tales,

Tragic setbacks,

And happy endings-

Much is revealed when it’s

Unfurled-

Questions asked and answered-

Mysteries created and solved-

Love, lost and gained-

Triumphs conceived and attained-

Life at your doorstep-

Delivered by an anonymous

Donor-

Left for you to decipher-

Each meaning tailor made-

Each interpretation as open

As the mind reading it-

Each ending leading to the

Beginning of another-

Lives, ripe with fulfillment,

Or rife with loss-

We, the reader, must decide*

see what you’re not, in order to be who you’re not.

“Heaven and Earth” – Blitzen Trapper.

those wandering times were
a wayward sea-
with us adrift on its swift
currents-
is there an end beyond the
horizon?
we watched it day and night-
a giant sun bursting eagerly
over the starting line-
and falling back wearily beneath
it-
a secretive moon casting its
shadowy glaze before descending
quietly below the surface-
those wandering times were
a wayward sea-
with us adrift on its swift
currents-
drawing nearer and nearer
to that crimson horizon-
we seemed so close-
but it was never a matter of
distance-
a picture perfect afternoon-
spent absorbing sunlight
from within cold walls-
the sounds of life humming
outside those four corners
like an old tune-
a companion in your ear-
i speak to you
through written words-
you see me by what is read-
through alphabetical
expressions-
the contents of a heart
spilled through the tip of a
pen-
and stenciled onto a coarse
page-
always-
until my lips meet the crimson
horizon-
those wandering times
were a wayward sea-
with us adrift on its swift
currents-
there is no end beyond the
horizon-
and yet we will continue to
tread those waters*