Monday, June 30, 2014

Shopping For A Requiem (Blogophilia 18.7)



The clouds seemed to obscure the big orange box on the side of the road.  There isn’t any money, but that doesn't matter.  Hardware and research, it all fits.  Even Odin had to think before making Askr and Embla. The Toyota responds to his thoughts at pulls across the highway into the parking lot. Riding up and down the lane, dodging a display of rhododendrons placed for maximum impulse buying, he wonders where to park. 

Slowing down for an elderly man walking towards his car, he feels the cold fear return. The store looks like a ravenous beast, consuming all that might enter.  Jeremy fights it back and pulls into a space next to a sign truck. Getting out, he impulsively looked up to see cameras mounted on every pole.  Sighing, he shrugged his shoulders. Just can’t have any privacy anymore. He headed past the upturned spa at the entrance and went it in.

There was a desk hawking store credit cards just inside. It brought to Jeremy’s mind the story of Jesus and the Money Changers.  Having the right currency is so important in this temple, isn’t it?

A petite woman sat behind the desk.  Her hair was the same color orange as her apron.  Jeremy wondered it if was part of the dress code.  As he walked by, the troll asked:

"Can I help you find something?”

"Uh… no.  Just looking, thanks."

The urge to flee to the sanctuary of the apartment is strong, but he beats it back. Facing the fear is as much a part of the process as the revenge.  Fear shrinks from confrontation.  It is time to break their silence. Forcefully.

Going by the outdoor and seasonal area makes him faint, the smell of insecticides and fertilizer war with his jumbled thoughts.  Fertilizer...do they sell the right kind? Maybe, but I don't need that now.  Focus. One step at a time, keep walking.

Lighting fixtures and kitchen appliances call his name.  Come look at me!  I can sanitize your unmentionables! No, I don’t have them. You are useless. I have a much higher calling. More trolls walking around, waiting to trap him into giving up his money. 

Plumbing department.  Yes.  That has what he’s looking for.

He spots another orange troll at the head of the aisle talking to a customer, demonstrating a snake looking tool.  Moving on to the next aisle, faucets and fixtures are lined up in neat rows. They are soldiers in the war for public attention.  Showerheads able to run twenty sequential patterns in two minutes next to kitchen kits able to deliver hot tea water on demand.  Every distraction the modern sheep needs.  In the distance he hears the rumble of a thunderstorm outside. 

The next aisle had what he was looking for, pipes of all sizes and types.  He reaches for a 1" plastic piece, pre cut to 24 inches.  It seemed a bit long, but at $1.80 he could get a bunch and experiment.  He rejected the steel pipe as too heavy.   Looking at some of the repair kits, he realized they were going to be too short and too thin.  He scratched a couple of notes on his sheet of paper.  Just as he finished, the troll ask him if he found what he needed.

"Yes, I did. Thanks."  And he headed toward the exit.

Leaving in the store in the pouring rain, a smile came across Jeremy’s face.  Another step accomplished.  

Friday, June 27, 2014

I Used To Be Funny.

Seriously.

I had a quick wit and a snarky comeback for most anything.

Everything was stupid and subject to my ridicule.

The world hasn't changed much.

I have.

I tried working with it.

I tried getting along.

But what I used to find stupid and funny.

Is now funny and sad.

I would get angry

At children dying at the hands of their parents.

Of people crushed in road rage.

Of the rich and powerful floutinng every rule.

And not seeing retribution.

But it is all in vain.

And I know it.

It's not funny anymore.

And nothing I say will make much difference.

I guess I'll shut up.

You're welcome.  

Sunday, June 22, 2014

Alchemy (Blogophilia 18.7)

Gypsies,
Tramps and thieves
Leading Big Brother's parade.
Lullying, confusing all around.
Up is down
Left is right.
Base is gold
Silver is steel.
It is the Alchemist's dream
To posses and control
The stone of life
Ticking down
The bucket list
Of revenge.





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Topic-Michael Todd

Pic-Colleen Breuning.

Pic Guesses:

Danse macabre
Kibouki
Pas de deux
 Skeletons
Old bones






Tuesday, June 17, 2014

Harry Handy on Casey Kasem (Blogophilia 17.7)

Hey, Heidy and Howdy. It is ME! Harry Handy, your handy dandy old time DJ here on WOFT.  Always here for you Geritol Guys and Miralax Gals. 

And being of Geritol age, we ask "What, Nephew, is that wind at the door".  I am, of course, talking about that legend of legends, Mr. Casey Kasem, who found the stars finally this week.  I can hear you ladies say "Please say it isn't so." But like all of us, his contract here on earth was cancelled.

Like most of us vinyl pushers, I looked at Casey as a role model. Someone to structure my schtick by.  Here is a good example of the man in action:



No sloth in that man.

Every week, his pride and lust for popular music shown in his voice and demeanor.  Tightly structured, the show moved from song to song effortlessly.  There were always rumors he was on Capitol or Columbia's payroll. But his audience never paid that any mind.

He was also a well known voice over artist. Everyone knows his most famous character.


Even as an adult, I would watch the show in various stages of drunkenness. I sit there and would wonder if it was true that underneath the frumpy clothes, Velma was better looking than Daphne. I always guessed she would be more fun, if you know what I mean (and I know you do).

And stoned Shaggy always would be killing the munchies with Pizza and Scooby Snacks, running scared from the fake bogeyman.

Anyway, Kasem is cancelled.

Makes me wonder how my ratings have been. 


_______________________________________________________________________________

Keep forgetting....

Topic- Dave Raider

Pic-Nina Nixon

Pic guesses.

On the road.
Reaching for the stars
On to Broadway.
Windswept
Desert Flower
Leaving
Leaving home

Monday, June 9, 2014

Tumblr Cheerleaders (Blogophilia 16.7)




Flickering across his eyes
Cheerleaders, far from their pyramid days
No skirts
Just themselves
Kodachromed reverse images
Of fans' fantasy.

Quarterback's leather jackets bind them
Disembodied hands stroke satin skin
Squirming, eyes pleading
For escape or release
To regain control.

To survive and return to a duty
Spurned and unanswered
Through coercion or rebellion
Whichever
It doesn't matter.

Just to return
To love.  





::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Oh, yeah...

Topic, Dave Nissmech (Blueman)

Pic: Sandy Glenn

Pic guesses: Kodachrome and Reverse image (in the blog), Twins, Backwards, The Stranger, Odd Masquerade, Rose by any other name, 
 






Thursday, June 5, 2014

Further Down The Road

Traffic went faster as he went under Spaghetti Junction. What an apt name. Concrete noodles splattered all over the ground; maybe someday he would add the tomato sauce. Jeremy chuckled at that thought. 

“What do you think, car?” he said out loud. “Do you think 285 would look better coated in red?”

The car didn’t answer him.

An older song came on the radio. 

“Let the bodies hit da flo’. Let the bodies hit da flo’.”

“I really like this station.” He turned up the volume as his head began to nod. The car picked sped off into the sunset.

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Stats

A numbers freak
I've always been.
What's the trend.
More views?
Less?

Did they like the latest?
What do I do next?

Did I get commented?
Did I get like?
Are the numbers up?
Or down?

The map lays out the audience.
Pings from around the world.
Except one place
One hole
The one that had always been there
Will be there no more.

Being modern,
I pull the obituary.
And like and comment
The last blog. 


Sunday, June 1, 2014

Sunset in Your Eyes (Blogophilia 15.7)



“Some things never change. “  I-85 might as well be a parking lot, the traffic was so heavy.  Filtered brown sunlight wormed through the gap between the visors. Using a gesture than looked liked a condemned man reaching for supplication, he mad a vain attempt to block it out.  The outline of the pickup truck ahead barely registered as it slipped forward. He dutifully followed the herd as the light slipped back behind a warehouse. 

Generic heavy metal music boomed from the radio. Some group he never heard of, Texas Hippie somethingThe lead singer kept screaming for the listener to “turn it up”.  No. he thought. Noise attracts attention, especially when the songs were about preacher girls turning into strippers.  The concept was amusing, though. Evil Galloway’s demon daughter dancing on the pole brought a smile.  He could imagine the look of fire, then ice across his bearded wrinkled countenance. The one set in perpetual rage about everything about the world, while he was doing the exact same thing.   

The traffic started getting faster.  Stone Mountain was a beached whale off to his left.  Mother would never let him go there. Groups of men sacrificed babies there, was what she had said.  Jeremy never believed that. All he knew was there was a sculpture of some dead white people carved on the side. It was good that they were dead; they had always been the evil acquirers and en-slavers of the weak, like him. It didn’t matter whether he was white, either.  

The sky began to tint from pale blue to orange.  Reaching up to adjust the visor, the round snout of the police cruiser caught his eye.  His spine quickly felt like ice. It didn’t matter the cop was several cars back. The equanimity of preacher whores was replaced by Pig anxiety. Making like he was looking straight ahead, he quickly assessed the contents of the car.  There was nothing in particular to set alarms off.  Relaxing his grip on the steering wheel, he very lightly lifted the pressure on the gas pedal.  

“Why am I worried? It isn’t like I have guns or anything like that.  Jeremy said to himself.  But a Pig is a Pig and they can smell fear if they are close enough. He tried to think of strippers and sinning preachers, but it didn’t work. His eyes were  glued to the mirror. Approaching Jimmy Carter Boulevard, a couple of cars passed him on the right and another on the left. He used that as a signal to slowly pick up speed of the Toyota and put some more space between him and the cop.  Finally, the cruiser turned on his signal and began to move towards the exit.  

As the cop reached the point of no return on the ramp, Jeremy began to relax. 



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Topic-Colleen Bruenig
Pic-Stormy Gail Dormire

Pic Guesses-Hot touch, Passion, Playing with fire,