"Li-bary"

There's a middle-to-elderly-aged woman here at the library who came to tell stories. The library has a story-time program. No one came.





FleepFlop by the grand markee

Today, I walked to the library. I always get strange looks, but today was special, me singing Man Man choruses out loud, playing the keyboard parts in the air, with the gusto required for Man Man.
But I got strange looks. I wish it was a busier sort of route, because I might get more.
The library, at least the branch I go to, seems to be the hang-out for those who don't have internet or computers of their own. And they have the worst public manners.
I must have browsed the whole biography/autobiography section, because I got a crick in my neck. They also had the smallest Stephen King collection I've ever seen at a library, and it's a pretty fair-sized library. Only about 6 books of his, none of his most famous.
On the way home, there was a tree branch in the road. Drivers actually braved on-coming traffic instead of this branch, that blocked the whole east-bound left-hand lane. I thought about going out there and picking it up, but I didn't. Maybe I cost myself some karma there, or something. It doesn't really matter now. But I kind of wish I'd have done it.

I took this picture of a possum. It's probably been laying there for a couple of weeks.

Ivy, Fly, and The Single Sight

An ivy confused me once, I didn't know how to plant it.Where are the roots? Surely, grown into my house, into the window screen.So I cut off a piece, and threw it on the ground where I wanted it, but it died the next day.

I wonder if flies try to fly up my nose when I sleep. Or if bugs try to crawl in my ear when I dream.And if I never bathed, or moved, or ate for a year, would I have flies and bugs living in my ear?Would I take root and grow into my mattress and blankets, like an ivy on a house, spoiled like a child not spanked yet.Would I thrive and green a new kind of weed, or would my roots have been hidden from myself, planted wrongly, and die?

I wonder if a fly ever drinks from my eye, quenching a thirst for a different kind of sight, kaleidoscopic eyes becoming a headache.If he could be granted a single sight, he might be able to have a monogomous relationship, turn on the right street, add the spices to the right stew, instead of spending all his time making the obviously wrong decisions.

If I could drink from an eye, I'd choose the the eye of insight. What's under that dress? What's behind that thing they said?What could stand against me from becoming the ivy that I wanted to be, growing and thriving where ever I wanted.

But that's not a very comforting thought to my current sight. So I'll try to grow and live in the ears of the world, whispering my song and eating the wax that acknowledges my presence. I'll never cut off my roots again, assuming that my roots are my arms and my lips.

More Truthful Than You Think

The young man raced down the field. His pads were sticky with sweat, but he ran.
He had the ball.
His enemies crashed all around him, like waves to the shore, and he, like the tide, pushed them back away, free to run. He neared his goal, closer and closer by the yard as he sprinted.
Then came a vision; a golden, calm sea of meaning, and there were people all around him on the shore, and no one was running, just smiling.
"What the hell am I doing?" he asked himself. And he stopped in his tracks, his opponents and comrades flying past him, not anticipating his immediate halt.
He lay down on the plastic ground beneath, urging for real grass, and the stadium grew silent, in shock at this horrendous display of apathy.
The crowd starting booing, and chanting obscenities at him, threatening to burst out of their seats and kill him. He stood up, without the ball or helmet, all forgotten. The coach stormed out to him.
"I quit," he simply stated.
Soon, a shot rang out, silencing the crowd once again, then turned them to yells of approval and grunts of satisfaction. He was dead, shot through the skull. His life ran out onto the fake grass, the crowd not letting him completely quit.
"At least SOME part of him is still out there," someone says through the din.
He is mounted on the post, for all to see, with the words "DO NOT QUIT" pinned to his naked chest, the team's colors now disgracefully stripped from him. And there he stays, as a reminder.
"DON'T YOU DARE BE DIFFERENT."

Here & Now (An Imagining)

Well, they finally figured out how to install energy expanders on the Hoover Dam. Now, all the way out in Ohio, we can get our power from that giant concrete machine.
Yep, Colombus, Ohio, powered the Hoover Dam.
Named after J. Edgar Hoover? Well, the Central Intelligence Agency is no more. It's all run by the English. Something about proper diction in court trials or something, we're not sure. But they're gone, zip, zang, boom.

But everything's way to organized. We've gotta park in these spaces, within millimeters of our neighbor, and then it zooms down into the ground, while we just stay there in that momentary threshold of space, and then the ground closes up beneath us, quicker than you can say Jimminy Christmas, and there you are, falling to the ground on your bottom.
After you do it a few times, you can extend your legs to the standing position while your car is leaving your seat at supersonic speeds. Some say they stand up on the future ground, while they're still in their car, beating the parking system, but that's all mythology and psychedelic drugs. Don't believe it.

But it's all magnets and robotics. And huge underground storage spaces. All those storage space company/dynasties paid off for those guys, they make fortunes in that underground parking. Off course that threw off Ford's solar-powered car campaign, but who drives Fords anymore anyway?

The other big change are the kitchens. Resteraunts rent out small branches into your house, powered by nanobots. But pay close attention to the big "FOOD READY" and "FOOD NOT NOT NOT NOT NOT READY" indicators, they had to enlarge them. One of the first prototypes caused the death of a middle-aged New Yorker. He grabbed is Whopper before the nanobots where done cooking it, and they just followed their programming, and cooked him. Inside out.
The doctors thought he had a fever for the first three hours.


What else? We've got a Chinese colony on Mars. Apparently the population control is not in effect there, so that's where they all go.
Understandably, the did not anywhere New Tiananmen Square.
But NASA is making huge steps. After the administration of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, we poured a bunch of money into the Space Agenda, because some telescope maker in sweden claimed he saw large
elephant-shaped creature on the Moon. It turned out that it was a shadow puppets on the International Space Station.
But we got up there again, and said, "Hey, it's pretty cool up here. Why'd we give it up for so long?" And made the commitment. And for punishment, we stuck that Swede up in a conservatory on Europa.


And finally, the reality TV genre is long extinct, thank God, and we all for watch the news channel if we get tired of fictional shows.

Finally, some one with a lot of money knows what they're doing.

Seriosuly, World. Vampires?

I think it's time to say, what is this obsession with vampires?
I can take a little bit of Bram Stoker, it's a classic, but this is getting a little bit ridiculous.
There's been movies, HBO shows, books galore, and more and more kids wanting to be, of all things, a vampire.

People, this is not healthy. The vampire psyche is all about taking from people, and hurting people, and sometimes turning people into one of them.

To think of it, vampires are reminescent of how a lot of people actually live. Or maybe they live that way from learning from vampires.
I don't know. But something's very wrong about it.

And there's smaller fascinations with other mystical and supernatural beings.
I enjoy a good wizard movie as much as anyone, but why make so much of an obsession?
And werewolves? What is so appealing about a character who has two sides, and can't control when he becomes one or the other?

What is so bad or boring about human?
I was at the movies last night, and I just sat outside with my grande caramel latte for a while, listening to all the high school kids pimp-walking around, and whispering and giggling to each other.
Who started teaching these kids that there was something better then being themselves?
There is no way THAT many natural gangster-wanna-be's walk the streets of our fair world.

Who started dousing the flames of loving life and creativity and beauty, and told them all how to live, and what was important?

Was it my fault, and those my age? Was it the fault of the generation before me?
Somebody must still have the power to change these ways of thinking.
I just have no idea how.

I Heard The Ghosts

I heard the ghosts in my wardrobe.
They came from Narnia.
They were nymph-ghosts.
They were not human ghosts.



I heard the ghosts in my closet.
They came from Monsters INC.
They were monster-ghosts.
They were not human ghosts.




I heard the ghosts in my bathroom.
They came from the sewer.
They were turtle-ghosts.
They were not human ghosts.



I heard the ghosts by my bed.
They came from the dead.
They were human-ghosts.
And they scared me to death.
They flew around my fan.
They stepped on my back.
They chilled my spine.
And I don't sleep very well anymore.