A.G.E's Joint

Bright sun shone in his eyes as Jeremy finished his meal.   Caffeine rushing through his veins, Jeremy waited in line to pay for the meal. Various rednecks and farmers joked with Tubby and the Big Man as each completed food order landed on the spike. Murray’s order and life will be on that spike soon enough.   He turned his head away so no one could see his face.   A small woman with blue and orange hair was feeding bills to the jukebox.   She was the illustration of anti “happily ever after”; silver eye shadow and black mascara had melted to clumps on the oval face. Large black dots smudged at the corners of her eyes,she was a broken bedtime story .   The music choices matched her mood.  “How can you mend a broken heart? How can you stop the rain from coming down…” Jeremy's mind drifted a bit. Sarah used to play that song.  Then mother would come in and turn it off, flinging a switch across her legs. Sinful it was, thinking about a boy. Or to think about joy.   J

Atlanta Highway seemed surreal. Asphalt and concrete stretched for miles in all directions and dimensions.   Sensations of elevation and descent alternated as light posts and warehouses floated across his vision.   The Toyota wasn’t a car, but a mutant space plane rapidly traversing this so called reality. The Pigs created this illusion of “Reality”. Jeremy smiled at the thought.   It didn’t matter how many substances the Pigs put into him, he rejected this concept and had since the fire. All he saw was the illusion aw it was projected from the central location. Even this train of thought was a delusion. He knew that. It was never mentioned in polite, or any other, company. The small, white room was too close of a memory for him to relive.  A gnawing sensation began to rise up from his gut. Hunger? Time won’t let me eat. There are things to do and plans to make. When did he eat last? At 3 sheets, whenever that was. He remembered absent mindedly gnawing on some wings the

Classic Music Deters Drug Dealers One of my guilty pleasures is weird news. Using aggregators like FARK , I get my dose of the strange and scary on a daily basis. It allows me to laugh when time won't let me watch television or read.  Anyway, I was looking at the above captioned article, showing the efforts a certain unnamed Monsieur used to chase drug dealers away from his building.  The dealers were so caught up and lost in their vices , they couldn't stand it and they left.  The comments from Farker's gallery had some glorious puns over how after five minuets after the music stopped they would be back and the like. But it got me thinking. What about having this service available for the general public. We'll call it KMZT. All Mozart. All the time.  With a catalog that will only repeat itself once a year. And we'll get Charles Osgood to be the announcer. Or James Earl Jones.  But not Alec Baldwin, he's an ass. And the glorious sounds will e

High school was a strange time.   For the most part, I prefer to leave in the past, but once in a while a name will pop up that still makes me smile.   I was looking through Facebook to see if there was anybody I wanted to add and I came across Maz, a truly unique individual.   His behavior, especially towards girls would be considered harassment these days. Teachers would just sigh and roll their eyes, because his work was always done well. There just weren’t any niches to sink discipline into his thick skull. The attitude had gotten him booted from the debate team and a couple of other activities over the years. He was from a conservative Jewish family, his Grandparents having come to the US in the mid 1930’s from Southeastern Europe. They left when it became apparent that Hitler was on one side and Stalin on the other and they didn’t want to find out who was going to get there first.   The reason this piece of information is important was Maz was fluent in Yiddish, since it

Fading into the gray, the dream of the asshole pigs and mother was replaced with faint images of Sarah and delicate lavender flowers, dimming into the black of death. The blackness stayed for such a long time he thought had death had really come. He wondered if the next sight was going to be Pastor Galloway, that false prophet,   saying “We are gathered here today…” But who would pay for a funeral for him? The thought drifted away almost as fast as it was formed. A slight glow grew in the lower left of his vision. He turned toward it, almost without being aware. Drifting on the tidewaters of never, he could feel something ebbing away, shadows of coral and whistles of the deep calming sore synapses.   Like a cork released, the sensation on rising, lifting enveloped his being. The round sun came through the surface like rippled glass.  Suddenly, there was Pressure. Pressure against his nostrils and chest, pulling him back towards the deep.  He was drowning. T

Letters Like atoms to the mind Symbols communicating meaning Forming words like molecules Chaining together as sentences Fracking Cracking Molded and synthesized In the plastic gel Fashioning anything We regard As truth. 

Images flashed in and out of his vision, Mother and then the policemen.   He wasn’t completely sure if he was awake or in one of his nightmares. Scenes in sepia tones, like an old photograph. Mother in her high collared blouse, dour and lifeless as a dead rose.   Jackson is across the room pounding on the table Murray pulls his hair and they are both laughing. Pigs enjoy humiliation.   The ground began   to rotate like a mechanical stage and a new point of view began.    Murray is approaching an area with crime scene tape around it. Jackson hails him over to a pile sitting on the sidewalk.   There is an old car just before the area. Jeremy waits as he gets closer and closer…. An acute pain broke through the dream, a stray sunbeam reflecting off the table knife and directly in the left eye.   Moaning, he raises his hand to block the intrusion. His head is leaden.   Jacking the chin up with his right hand, he is vaguely aware of the acrid smell.     Crap, peed himself again. Th