A.G.E's Joint

“Hey, Heidy and Howdy! Harry Handy doing a local song for a local request, here on the FART. A little song about a little town you all know… “Doraville…Touch of country in the city…Doraville... It ain’t much, but it’s home…” Easing the Crown Vic off the freeway, his mind turned to mush. No focus. Had it really been 40 years?   Visions of Carol sitting in his lap as they would sing at the top of their voices. It was so cool that someone had actually written a song about their home town. Riding up and down Buford Highway after school, the lights from Kmart and Zayre’s reflecting in their faces, it was their world. Graduation at the drive-in, night naked and  melding together completely for the first time, they gazed into each other’s eyes as the light from the freeway blinked above them.   He knew she was his forever.  “Friends of mine, say I ought to move to New York, Well New York’s fine, but it ain’t Doraville…” How true that line was. There...

May you have the happiest of Holiday Seasons. Too politically correct? O.K. I'll get specific. Merry Christmas. Happy Channukah (a little late) Enjoy Kwanzaa for those who do. And may the coming year bring you more pleasure than pain (and we know they both will come). Christopher H. Mitchell A.K.A. Another Government Employee 6th House on the right, 9-27, PDK Atlanta.

Namaste As Asaalam Alaikum Shalom May the peace of the Lord be with you.   Different ways to say the same thing. So, we humans say these things And act completely the opposite. The Zealots want peace, But only for themselves. And because of this,  War remains evergreen. Patriots want freedom But that is only found  In death.   All those statements Proclaiming peace And those persist In maintaining Hell.   If you are going  Though Hell, Keep going. It will pass. I promise.   ___________________________________________________________________ Topic-Kismet (RIP) Pic-Liam Pic Guesses: Egg and I, Robot nativity, digital manger, Hatching, brooding, tending.  Written in memory of those Innocents who passed this day.

A Writercize challenge. I haven't done one in over a year. And this one is a little out of my comfort zone, since it asks me to write an journalistic opinion column on how I feel about various police actions in the last few months. Michael Brown Eric Garner Tamir Rice And a number of other incidents that should cause great concern. Is a White life greater than a Black one? On the surface, you would think so. In each of these situations, we had White officers causing the deaths of Black men. But, I think that statement is a straw-man argument. One that diverts the attention from a deeper problem. A problem larger than the Police and larger than the people they deal with. It is a problem with power used without respect, which is the definition of tyranny. Disrespect breeds more disrespect. Soon, conflict happens. On the world stage, we have conflict over the world where side A wishes the utter annihilation of side B. And if you aren't 100% for A, then you mu...

“Damn. I need some coffee.” The meeting had left his head spinning. Anal Artie had left no detail unturned; kidnapping, rape, murder, even infanticide if a girl got pregnant. It was a never ending tragedy. A loan shark for La Paloma would front some money to a father, with the collateral being his kids. When the loan got behind, the enforcers would then take the women, killing the fathers and brothers who resisted. Police down there were completely owned by the group, so it did no good to complain. It really was too much information to digest all at once. El Potro and his minions were quite evil.  The half empty pot smiled at him. Black slightly burnt liquid poured into the empty Starbucks cup. The aroma slowly cleared his brain and something very important came to his mind. In all of the slides of desperation and depravity, there was nothing that pointed to why there were four dead bodies. Murray pondered. If it had been a theft, one or more of the victims ...

Them that's got shall have…Them that's not shall lose…So the Bible said and it still is news… Contralto voice drifting from the car speakers, full of pain and suffering, Jeremy’s considered the lyrics.   It wasn’t the version of the song usually heard, but an older version. One he hadn’t heard before. The singer was baring her very soul, one full of pain and suffering. Something he was far too familiar with. Mama may have… And Papa may have… But God bless the child that has its own… He wasn’t planning on going back to the farm house so soon, but the plan had solidified in his head. Seeing piece at the bar made him realize the Pigs would be on high alert for any activity in the area. Why not give them a reason to jump?   A smile came across his face. One bomb was ready, but he wanted to build a couple of more for back up. He had seen an old truck in the barn. He wondered if it would start.   If it does, he’ll need to steal a license plate to ge...

Candles flicker  Clothes piled on the floor Gathering aroma Of life and love Kisses along tummy lines Teasing Rising  Toward the feather touch. Time standing still Love for itself With itself No future No past No agendas Struggling as one Until, exhausted We sleep.