A.G.E's Joint

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

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.  

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. ______________________________________________________________________________________ Topic-Michael Todd Pic-Colleen Breuning. Pic Guesses: Danse macabre Kibouki Pas de deux  Skeletons Old bones

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.

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,   

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.

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. 

“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 something .  The 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