A.G.E's Joint

Wish. To end the hate The meaness The greed The brokeness Of humanity Before Humanity sails Over the cliff.

Hey, Heidy and Howdy!  It's your favorite randy dandy old time disc man Harry Handy, here to fill up your time in God's waiting room.  And have I got a story for you.  Ol' Harry here took a road trip out west, to beautiful Santa Fe, New Mexico.  I'd heard it was lovely and a great place to relax after dealing with program managers without a clue.  I mean, I know the music exists to sell advertising, but funeral home ads? I just had to go somewhere far, far away. Getting there was quite the ordeal.  I flew out the nest and up to St. Louis, where I had to do the one thing air travelers dread, changing planes. We were a little late getting off and my layover was short, so I knew it was going to be hustle. I asked the gate agent coming off the plane where my next flight was.  It was all the way at the other end of the airport and I had 20 minutes to get there.  It kind of looked like this. On the way over, I had to visit the facilities. I'm quick in that

Christmas eve and spirits past hang heavy. As Kari looked into her glass, it occurred to her this was not her favorite holiday.   Old clients communing in their own midnight mass above her weathered couch.   But Kari didn’t like to think of herself as a Priestess, powerful and holy.   She wasn’t.   She was a human helping other humans’ transition to the next phase, whatever it might be.   That is all. The images always seemed to mock her loneliness and vulnerability.  And really, why couldn't they do that at All Saints.  It was what the holiday was for she thought, gulping down the ruby dregs.  She was so stoned she couldn’t make sense of the images on the TV.  A mummified skeletor speaking demanded attention.   The audio didn’t match the video exactly, l ike one of those poorly dubbed art movies. The addled brain had some difficulty processing the effect. A disembodied voice stated her weight would disappear if she would just use this product.   Looking down at the soft

In a top floor office in a faceless suburban office park… Rrrrinnggg “It’s a beautiful day here at Angel Protection.   My name is Michael, how may we be of service?   Your husband is doing what?   Looking at another woman?   Let me pull up the records. Yes, I see that.   It appears to be his Assistant.   She is a nice girl, but a little naïve.     Reviewing, it does not appear anything has transpired yet. Yes, we have several services that may work.   What’s that?   Ma’am , I think a lit taper up the butt to be a bit harsh.   Yes, Ma’am, We understand jealousy here, but we always try to provide the best service for all parties involved.   Looking on the map, it appears you are in winter there?   We have our patented “Angel in the Snow” that will strand his car half way to her house.   Well, Ma’am, his confession would be up to him.   Would you like me to order that for you?   Done.   Thank you for your call; it has been our pleasure to serve you.” Rrrrinnggg “It’s

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Today is Monday, December 17, 2012.  We are 72 hours past one of the most horrific events we have witnessed.  And now the Quarterbacks and Coaches are doing the post mortem. The two most common issues, Guns and Mental Health, do play a part in the massacre.  As does parental and teacher confusion on how to react to the shooter. And then you have the people who wish to make their political points, whether it is those blaming Gays, Abortion or general decadence, or maybe others with lack of health care or whatever.  What matters is there are 28 dead, caused by an outpouring of unmitigated rage. Whether you believe in God or not, all of us must face ourselves in the mirror.  Who caused it? It was us.  Selfish and self serving humans trying to accomplish some goal that when all is said and done will be forgotten in the mist.  Ecclesiastes reminds us: There is nothing new and all mankind's efforts are meaningless and vain. Dear Lord, Bless those who have loss and are in pain

As most of you know, I am currently looking for a job.  And at 54, that is not an easy proposition.  One of the tools of that can be used in the modern era is the social network LinkedIn.com.  It operates on the theory of Six Degrees of Separation, where by using six links you can connect to anyone int he world. In LinkedIn's case, they use only three. And by referring and being referred, theoretically employee and employer are matched to their positions more effectively than the older methods of cold calling and newspaper ads.  It can also be used to scare up sales leads and other types of business activities. The first level connections are supposed to be your personal acquaintances and business associates.  People you have directly done business with and have some idea how they work.  Then they have associates, who are second level and then from there it goes to the third level.  To illustrate how strong the separation theory is; I currently have 210 first level connections, w

I'm being lazy this week.  Can't really come up with a coherent story line or poetic epic that fits the prompts this week. And that is strange since a lot of my characters struggle with their thoughts of grandeur .  Take Jeremy from Intake and The Test .  He thinks he can change the world through a violent action.  There are very few situations where that really makes a difference.  There have been many incidents in the last year where disturbed and broken people have blocked the exits to wreak their vengeance against the perceived wrongs they have suffered.  And the only reaction has been a little more wariness amongst the populace.  These people fascinate me.  Having come from a somewhat dysfunctional family, I can somewhat empathize with their plight. I have sometimes daydreamed revenge against those who may have wronged me.  Then I come to my senses and realize if I do that, I would never see the rainbow of hope again.  But these people that don't need to be named,

My steed My boon companion Abused and tortured Until you died.

A long time ago In a place that still exists The Concept of Instant Karma became real A chance encounter? Or  not? On Central Park West David met John Only David walked away From the strawberry stained scene. The press screamed And his widow cried The friends were left to wonder why. David, looking like Elmer Fudd Chatted with the bag lady While he awaited his fate. And the rest of the world, Not by premeditated choice Were left wondering what it meant. Now many years later We still sit here Waiting for our own Instant Karma to come.

Mists rise over the bluff And past the moss Forming tears on the Faded, dark marble. A mute testament, She stands as a reminder Of the transitory nature Of existence. A grim weeper mourning A life cut short, Or lived long And forgotten In hustle of our lives. Photograph (c) 2011, 2012, Bonnie Godbee, Savannah Ga.  Used with permission.             The image Of an ugly child, Negative image of Bella, Looks down upon me.    Her crooked teeth biting Into an apple. The store thinks I would buy This food for me just by the example. I don't think so.