A.G.E's Joint

I was half asleep watching the weather in my underwear when the phone rang. First day off in two weeks, Folks. Give me a break. Picking up on the third ring, I heard a familiar raspy voice. Micki. Molli was bored, would I like whiskey infusion from two gorgeous women? Sounded good to me. Better than watching a piece of eye candy picked for appearance do a stilted map ballet. She told me to be at Bob’s at 8:30 and don’t be late and hung up. They were coworkers and sometime lovers I’d met breaking up a fight at the bar. Micki was the dominant one, a big girl with a loud voice, straight black hair and a love of outrageous outfits. She was a hairdresser. Molli was a quiet flat apple with amazing curly red hair and worked as a makeup artist. They had a number of video and stage credits to their name, both separately and together. Short version of the fight: Some idiot made a comment about carpet chewing. The ladies didn’t approve. In 30 seconds the drunk was on the floor with heel mark...

It is in all caps Not the first, not the last Not my monkey or hers Knowing our own darkness Faded memories of demons long past, Still haunt Tattooed Alice falling Into a Dali landscape Where up is left And down leads to another dimension. Blood is its avatar, its seal Scarlet stains upon the face A solid mass of contusions Pale, faded roses on the black satin bier Screen shout drawing the usual suspects The “heroes”, The vampires Agendas working against each other Struggling against another iteration Of power and subjugation In a tango where both lead. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Topic- Jessica Brooke Miller Poe paraphrase: Blood was its Avatar and its seal -- the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, -Masque of the Red Death ...

I have a number of characters that I have developed over the years. Kari Summers, Jerry Goldstein, Jeremy Allen: they all represent a piece of my personality. I’m going to pull one out of the vault I haven’t worked with in about 30 years: C. Hartridge Heath IV, Esq., Attorney to the Rich and Useless.   *************************************   “Glad to meet you on this beautiful Atlanta day. But you can’t tell it in this dank drunk tank. The name is Hartridge Heath, most everyone calls me Hart. Glad to meet you. As you can tell by the ‘esq.’ behind my name, I am a bar certified attorney. What kind of law, you ask? Any law that supports the American Pie way of life, Son. And don’t you forget it. Truth, justice and estate loop holes for the right folks, like me. My family tree comes with ties to Nobility! Why I can trace my lineage on my mothers’ side to William the Conqueror when he raped some local lass on his way through. At least that’s what...

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.

The walls are crumbling now,  Remains of the old gin. Built and burned Rebuilt and torn down. The shouts of the workers Echo over the dam. Echoes of rifle shots hang And the blood of soldiers Rest beneath my feet. It has been many years Since time stopped here, While life speeds on Just over the ridge. I sometimes wish to go back. To a slower place and time. Life was simpler And richer And more real Than the artificial world  we have now.