Poem: Hear Me

Neither here, nor there,
     in the silence I hear,
skipping stones on a lake.

Ripples form, then disappear,
     hazy fog rolls in,
covering the hills.

I am persuaded,
     the echoes far away,
longing to be heard again.

Poem: Eyes Open

From the mouths of despair and the graves of the blind,

the great ones who never were all that good to begin with,

this is where we land when our minds no longer want to operate,

when we feel we don’t exist anymore to anyone, not even ourselves.

From the depths of everyone waiting, comes a loud roar,

passing over cars, around poles, by trains, and countless heads,

it’s what we came to hear from places far, far away,

why we have walked miles and kilometers.

From the toenails that have been torn off,

mixed in some kind of soup or tossed into the waters,

bad luck has not suffered too long in the good,

we wait, patient and nearby, to find meaning not too overwhelming.

From the shallows of our black hearts,

they shall become red and full of pumping energy again,

the thrill of knowing we must learn the unknown,

we must keep our eyes open.

Journal Entry Type #48: Tuesday Busy

Monday is done and over with and luckily I had today off although I’m going to be working on Saturday. Since the Coronavirus kicked into high gear, I’ve had to work at least one Saturday a month. You give and take some and whatever it brings is what is on my plate. I started a new journal #112 and this is a huge accomplishment for me. I haven’t been writing so much in my journals anymore since I have this blog although the nitty gritty stuff I do write in it and some thought/ideas. It’s the nonsense that enters my brain. The things I thought could be great flash fiction or short stories and come to the end to realize maybe, not so much. It’s been hot here in the desert and I’m missing the Pacific Ocean in a big way. Lake Mead is nice but not the same thing. I’m cutting this short as I’ve got to get to a doctor appointment let alone grocery shop after it. I plan on bringing my book to read while I’m sitting with my mask on. Humans touch their faces way too much as an observation including myself. I found my journal #62 so only four more MIA to find now. This might also serve as a notice while I’m going to continue blogging, I’m probably not going to post as much the rest of the year. I need to get out my poetry collection (for free) and finish my rewrite (by the end of this year) so I can start my second novel and then also work on my short story collection (also for free). I’m finding a hard time committing as much time to my writing as I do with my blog and doing things for my blog. I haven’t really been “writing” as of the last few months except dabbling here and there. This Sunday it changes as well as July through December. These are sort of challenging times for me, but something’s got to give. I can’t be in 10 places at once, if you know what I mean. On that note, I’m off like sweaty underwear after exercising. Bad image, I know, but it’s where part of my mind is currently (needing to exercise). Later and don’t forget to breath along the way.

Five Movies I Could Watch Over and Over Again

Here are five movies I could watch over and over again. There are many others such as The Big Lebowski, Independence Day, Bad Boys, The Devil Wears Prada and the list goes on. The five I have no trouble watching when they come on television or I feel the need to watch it again are the following. They are all from the 90s.

One: The Usual Suspects because long before Kevin Spacey was blacklisted from Hollywood and Benicio del Toro became what he was (greatness) in Sicario, they were in this movie portraying great characters. What is wrong with Roger “Verbal” Kint? Who is Keyser Söze? It is written by Christopher McQuarrie and directed by Bryan Singer. It’s a crime, mystery movie from 1995 that is one hour and 46 minutes.

Two: The Fifth Element because you can’t beat Chris Tucker as Ruby Rhod and Gary Oldman as Zork. The futuristic world is worth every second. It is written by Luc Besson and Robert Mark Kamen and directed by Luc Besson. It’s a sci-fi, action movie from 1997 that is two hours and six minutes.

Three: The Birdcage because of two names of Nathan Lane and Robin Williams. From piercing the toast to popping bubblegum, it’s comedic genius. It is written by Elaine May (although originally was a play by Jean Poiret and earlier screenplay by Francis Verber, Édouard Molinaro, Marcello Danon, and Jean Poiret) and directed by Mike Nichols. It’s a comedy movie from 1996 that is one hour and 57 minutes.

Four: Jurassic Park because even though the dinosaurs were on screen, didn’t they look pretty realistic? The kids were more than likeable and Laura Dern and Sam Neill were the voices of reason. It is written by Michael Crichton and David Koepp (although originally was a novel by Michael Crichton) and directed by Steven Spielberg. It’s a sci-fi, action movie from 1993 that is two hours and seven minutes.

Five: Fight Club because Tyler Durden and the Narrator work and quarrel with each other in between their jobs and initiating new members. The story is engaging in so many ways. It is written by Jim Uhls (although originally was a novel by Chuck Palahniuk) and directed by David Fincher. It’s a drama movie from 1999 that is two hours and 19 minutes.

Coloring: Planes

Coloring: Small Elements

Flash Fiction: Open the Door Sideways

This too is a random flash fiction story I wrote on the fly. No more and no less and not really thought out. It just came to me. So take it for what it is. Again, no more and no less.

When I opened the door, the smells from inside wafted to me like a fish that was much too close to the worm. The problem for the fish, not knowing there was a hook on the other side of the worm, wasn’t exactly the same surprise I would get. Mine was much bigger and much more worse. I too would soon be victim to the hook like the wiggly worm except it was disguised as a man in a raincoat or trench coat. Let’s say for practical purposes, it was a long coat, black and not cool like the one Keanu Reeves wore in The Matrix. Actually the hook was visible on the front, sides, and end but I was so engrossed into capturing this maniac, I was caught off guard.

He blindsided me in the worst way possible and for being such a seasoned detective, at first, I couldn’t admit to myself I had royally screwed up. I had not only let my Captain down, but I had let my partner for over fifteen years down. I neglected to tell him where I was going or what I was doing. I know that was mistake number one and there would be repercussions if I survived. In fact, if I had told him, he would’ve been right by my side.

Captain Castillo was the reason I first became interested in law enforcement, first as a border patrol agent and then as a beat cop. However, it was Detective Ortega that made me want to become a detective. I remember asking Castillo how he felt about arresting our own kind on the border. He was a no nonsense type and asked me with his gravelly voice, “what do you think?” I never answered him and he followed it up with “why are you asking such a stupid question?” I went on my way because I knew the main reason. You see, Captain Castillo or CC as he liked to be called, was my uncle. He was my dad’s older brother who had little similarities with my dad except with how he looked in the face. His eyebrows were like furry caterpillars and the corners of his mouth were always turned up a little bit. His legs bowed out and sometimes he walked with a limp on his left leg due to a injury that never healed.

Detective Ortega was the reason I stayed on the police force when I thought about quitting. He told me there were so many more crimes to solve and the town was counting on me to solve them. He was counting on me to solve them with him, but at that moment I was shot, I wasn’t capable of doing much of anything. I had been shot twice and unable to move well because my knee had been shattered to bits. When I tried to move quicker, my loud groaning frightened me. I sounded like a bear caught in a trap. I was able to pull myself to my car and radio for back up. Believe it or not, this was the first time it penetrated my skin. Sure, I had been shot before but my vest and partners over the years prevented me from ever feeling the full impact. I wasn’t sure where this maniac was that shot me but soon I relaxed a little when I heard sirens. When I saw the flashing lights of the ambulance, that is when I relaxed even more.

I was willing to take whatever would come my way as punishment. I know I’m not above the law but I’m not below it either. I fully intend to capture this maniac once I’ve recovered and when I do, it will be me who puts handcuffs on him. Like Ortega said to me one time, “if you have the chance to open the door sideways, do it.” I don’t know he meant by that and I still don’t. Ironically, it’s what I thought about as I was loaded into the ambulance and when I went under surgery I told the doctor to make sure my knee moved sideways.

Flash Fiction: The Discarded Notebook

I’ve been wanting to write something but not sure what to write or how to write it. By this I mean carefree without hardly any editing or careful planning with some editing. I chose the prior and fair warning there are swear words and some adult content. If the threat of violence or ghosts is a trigger for you, this is not the flash fiction story for you. I will be sure to write something less dreary in the future.

Pisaries Creator

I came across this notebook filled with pages of written words.  Actually, they weren't so much words, but pieces of jumbled messes from someone absolutely messed up in the head.  When I say messed up, I mean in every sense of the word.  You must take every letter and capitalize each one to get the full effect of this person's demise.  Whoever this person was, I imagine him to belong to one of the top 10% of the fucked up group.  There is not a chance in hell this person was in the top 10% of his class.  Frankly, I'm not even sure if it was a him.  I imagine whomever this person was to be someone halfway between man and an alien. If anything, it was probably some kind of experiment dropped onto Earth that failed miserably.  Neither the alien scientists or whoever adopted what was left of him wanted him anymore and it ended up dead.  Okay, maybe not dead but missing some valuable claim to whatever its name was.  No one would put up with this crap for any length period of time. 

When I flipped the first page because it was blank, certain words popped out.  Most of them were swear words.  Let me give your the condensed version.  You'll thank me for it.  For every time I saw the word "fuck" or "shit" or "cunt" or "asshole" or "bitch" or "fag," I'd be rich.  We lived in uncertain times before but if I got a nickel for every swear word and demeaning reference to certain groups, I'd be rich.  It started with the sentence, "Public enemy number one, two, three, all the way to one hundred would be everyone who has ever fucked me over."  Mind you he wrote out every number up to one hundred.  He went on about how his third grade teacher fucked him over by not letting him go to the bathroom.  It resulted in him taking a shit in the classroom and the kids laughing at him.  He never forgave the teacher and got his payback.  She had a daughter and he did bad things to her, at least on paper.  It included raping her over and over until she took her own life.  He went on about how he dreamed about doing this for ten years and didn't care if he got caught.  It was a compulsion that took over his brain.  He phrased it a different way.  His exact words, "When the demon appears, I must obey."

The next few pages went on and on about different people who betrayed him over the years. When I got through this and to a brand new entry, I was on page twenty.  It was here things took a different turn.  It wasn't any better than before but it wasn't worse either.  It was more of the same but something had changed inside him.  The way he wrote his letters were not so harsh. The cheap ink had not poisoned the next page so much.  Something within him had triggered a change and I think it was this: after all the complaining about his life and the people who wronged him, he came to understand that his life was exactly what he wanted it to be.  He wanted it to be miserable, terrible, and dark.  From the moment he was born, the evil he had built around him had not kept him safe but dangerous.  He realized he didn't give any fucks to what people had to offer him.  He didn't want the help.  He didn't want to hear how much he mattered to those around him.  The ones who faked caring about him couldn't have cared less about his future.  He was a throwaway and anyone who read how he felt about society wouldn't give two shits about him.  He was someone you wanted dead because he didn't contribute anything to society.  He was not only a pathetic loser but someone who took up precious space and wasted everyone's time and yet, I kept reading.

Several weeks passed when I was done knowing all I could from the notebook over dates with my coffee at the kitchen table.  When I heard noises while reading the last page, I finally felt a presence near me. This gift was something passed down from my mother.  She had it and so did her mother.  I wanted to live my life in peace, unlike this man, alien, or a combination but it would not let me be.  It hasn't found a way to stay for very long.  It comes and goes.  There must be more between us than this.  I wake up from naps and feel it near my face. When I brew a pot of coffee, I'm certain it whispers to me. It has to be correct and yet, I don't remember ever having a child.

Poem: On the Cuff

Finger to the mouth, 
I touch my soft lips,
Dainty they have been described,
I know they are not.

You have seen me,
A short time passing,
More nights should be like this,
To survive our aging looks.

Hands to my ears,
Turn around the corner,
Comfort ahead of me,
Halfway there.

By the force nearby,
Pushing me closer to you,
I feel the magnetism,
Freedom from the burden.  

More You Know: Know Your Nuts

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For some reason I’m thinking about the holidays. Back in the day when I lived with my parents, they brought out the bowl of nuts in November or December. I would crack them with the metal tool and with the tiny metal picker, scrape out the pieces that stuck to the sides of the shell. The walnut and pecans were easy to get out but damn those Brazil nuts. I’d spend a good two minutes trying to get every last bit of the nut. They were the best ones. A little sweet and a whole lot of nutty. The almonds were always good and the pecans and walnuts too. The walnuts could get a little dry in my mouth but that is the purpose of water. The macadamia I could go without, but the hazelnut was okay. I try not to eat too many nuts due to the state of my teeth although I still sometimes eat almonds, peanuts, and pistachios. If I’m feeling really ambitious, I use a hammer to make them smaller. You’d think I’d just put them in a blender. Are you kidding me? I’d have to get a chair to get that. It’s too time consuming. Why use a hammer and a plastic bag? I mean I save so much time doing it this way (written with sarcasm). Since the U.S. is now a major producer of pistachios, there is no need to buy the dyed red ones. Does anyone miss having dyed red hands? Probably not. This is all I have to say about nuts for now.

Brazil Nut
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