A man told a story once
every day-
with vigor and exuberance-
and it would inevitably end in
laughter, and begin with a
smile-
as stories tend to do,
it altered its shape over time-
normalcy became cliffhangers,
and calm bore nail biters-
endings became beginnings-
until eventually, the tale became
unrecognizable from the original-
an indistinguishable collection
of nouns and verbs
with a guise even the author
wouldn’t notice-
the words made sense-
just conveyed a different message-
the story had taken a different
shape, as all tend to do when
told from a different mind-
there are so many different
incarnations of the same seed-
that it’s up to the reader to pluck
out the meaning-
because something has lost its
shape does not mean that it has
no shape*

Hunger can be the drive that propels, or the force that disintegrates.

Let life take you before you take it.

Shards from the broken bottle don’t only affect the bottle.

24 gone-

Another 7-

Now 30-

Each with a hollow tick-

Possessing those hands that

Traverse the day

Is one pathway to clemency-

There was never another set of

Prints on the road-

Just two-

Planted firmly in the clay

Like earth-

Each detail of every print lingering

Vividly as if it were freshly

Pressed-

Follow-

Amid the warm, swirling wind-

The silt of the day depositing into

The deepest of grooves-

Touch them gently or they’ll

Crumble to dust-

24 gone-

Another 7-

Now 30-

The hollow of the tick, catching

Up to the tock-

Gaining speed-

My lips are parched under the

Leaden weight of the sun-

And the heat fans down over me like

A molten wave-

Several of the prints crack and

Erode from the intensity-

But flourish anew with the random

Drop of sweat-

Hollow hands-

And shallow shifts-

Of the 24 gone-

The other 7-

Up to 30-

And the eventual 12-

Shedding light on those sets of

Prints-

The only 2 on this stretch of

Road*

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*