A.G.E's Joint

The clock ticked in the silence.   The white face and black numerals in stark contrast against the padded wall. Or were they navy?    It looked like any other wall clock.   But, it wasn’t. It mocked him, laughing at his weakness.   Did it have to be so precise, detailing every second of the fucking day?   Absently, he rubbed the bruise on his head.   Who cares? There is no tolerance of error in today’s world.    He wondered if he looked at it long enough it would melt into something Picasso or Dali would have painted. A laminated table with two chairs sat in the middle of the room.   His ankle is tethered, but his hands are free. A small bottle of water sits untouched on the table.   It could have just as well been a N ippitatum or Maderized wine .   It probably had some sedative to make him talk easier.   All there was to do was waiting.   A darkened window is set in the wall behind the empty chair.   He notices a small shadow moving on the other side of the glass. Whe

Oblivious To the obvious Red elephant In the room Twenty foot tall Ignoring it You just plug in To your world An opportunity missed Because it's strange The Ramones you  Would rather hear This time won't  Come again Learn now To accept it all.

Who moved my cheese? I’ve been running Through the cubicle farm Conquering the Labyrinth Of office politics Trying to find MySpace On the network Only to find it It replaced by The Andromeda Strain. Or was it The Small Magnetic Cloud This is what happens When I don’t eat My Milky Way. 

In the news Are the wuthering lows Of hate Destruction And perdition. Not coming out  Of my shell Once Bitten More than once Has made me shy. The nurse doing intake Asks my name Confirms my birthdate And asks Why I am here. I cracked, you see Lashing out At the hate and anger With what they understand The same.

Troubadour and troublemaker Shillelagh at his side Into town he rode Looking for a guide He from the auld sod Not knowing the space Came right up On the barrel race Spirited contest it was Until a sorrel found A washout Hard against the ground The pony did stumble And threw the Jock With everyone wondering Would he get back to the dock? The stranger dismounted From his steed To address The Jockey’s need In a brogue he asked “Are ye hurt?” The Jockey blinked “Not at all, you Jerk” “Stand a little Out of the sun.  I can’t see The lady’s bun.” So, the Irishman Remounted his steed Knowing again it never pays To do a good deed. 

I was working on a poem for this week's entry and I decided to stop.  I may finish it later and put it up, but it occurred to me that the whole point of the topic is tossing an arrogant insult to someone in power.  The whole quote "Stand a little out of my sun ." is Diogenes adroitly telling Alexander the Great he wasn't so great and that he would bow to him.  How many times have you wanted to say that to your boss?  To your significant other?  That I don't have to be the subservient one? Most jobs are like a Bronc busting event anyway.  The conditions are constantly shifting while you hang on for dear life.  And there is always an audience of screaming baboons there wishing for your fall. The best you can hope for is to be a Troubadour and a Troublemaker.   Part of you hypnotizing the crowd with your voice while the other part throws the obstacles back at the monkeys and politicians in your way.  Off the top of my head, I remain Another Government Emplo

Before I met my wife, I dated a girl named Julia.  Her memory had been triggered in me by the entry in my desk calendar for yesterday, which was her birthday. The calendar is Worse Case Scenarios and How to Prepare for Them. , and the entry was "How to Survive If Your Car Careens Down a Mountainside" . How we met and began dating is one of the greater adventures in my life. The beginning was not unlike running off a cliff blind.   It was in the spring of 1981. I was going to college, acting in Community Theater and working at Home Depot.  It was a crazy schedule, but I was young and thrived on the lack of sleep. One weekend, I was invited by my best friend Karl to a cast party for a players group that had put on a production of Brigadoon at North Georgia College.  \It would be a big event and I would meet some neat people.  He said everything would be happening Saturday and drive on up.   Because of scheduling conflicts at work and some car issues, I wasn't abl