Death of Blunder.

After several adventures to help ease his mind from the loss of his Lovely, Mr Blunder decided to return to his own home. The cold winds of winter were a reality check for all that was going on in Mr. Blunders life. This was the first time he was to open the door to his own home since he's lovely closed the door on him. Initially his heart sank into his stomach but thanks to the life preserver he swallowed as a child his heart floated back to its normal spot. He thought the preserver was a wintergreen lifesaver. His home was cold. In nature along with the temperature. Every step further in made the sound of a dying heartbeat. Creaking towards the lamp he turned it on so he may see. His home, much like his soul was completely empty. Bare cupboards and wilted flowers. even though he was home there wasn't any evidence of life inside the whole place.
his favorite chair now felt like a slice of stale bread. It was so quiet his thoughts feared materializing for they like all other life around Mr. Blunder might die. Mr. Blunder was beyond lonely. Milly was occupied with helping lost souls so he did not wish to bother her. He knew she had done all she could and there was no breathing life back into his dense spirit. He's run out of lighter fluid for his skillet so he just held it close in his stale bread chair.
Mr Blunder was truly trapped in the corroded physical tomb that was now his body. No one and no where. He was that far off island that the sun never reached in its daily rotation. That last little ember by the abandoned camp sight. Everyone was in his past and there was nothing in his future. All his blunders left a trail of torn lives. Even with the best intentions he destroyed all that was beautiful around him. Even with an earnest heart and selfless actions, he burned more than he built. He drowned rather than shower. He didn't want to cause any more harm. He couldn't stand another loss. He couldn't face himself. He poured out his green tic tacs and ate the whole box. Slowly climbing the stale bread chair and tying his lovely's old cowboy belt around his neck. He felt Milly close by. The first bit of warmth he had felt in ages. He had reached the end of his rope and took that final step....He smiled at Milly and then was gone. As he traveled with the angel he took one last look back. a flower had grown where he last stood. Mr. Blunder had done something right! He was finally at peace.


THE END.

Mr Blunder isn't here. He's otherwise Occupied.

Mr Blunder was in sort of a limbo. He just wandered along happily enjoying his life. He would stop at night and pick peppers in the wild and cook them in his skillet with deer. Now Mr Blunder loved animals and would never intentionally kill one, especially in an unfair fight. How a person can call hunting a sport is a mystery since the odds are against the animal. Mr Blunder HAD to kill the deer. apparently this deer had a major crack problem and had resorted to gang violence and armed robbery to support his habit. Held an AK-47 to Mr. Blunder's head, demanded his skillet, his hot peppers and his wallet. Mr Blunder may have been a tad clumsy and looked foolish with his one lazy eye, but he never backed down. He distracted the deer by sprinkling some crack on a tree stump. when the deer went to consume it Mr. Blunder smashed his brains in with his skillet. And since he didnt believe in wasting he cooked up the deer meat with his hot peppers and had a feast. He used the skin to make a belt, a skillet cover and a cowboy hat to impress potential new lovely's.

He stumbled upon a park where a bunch of people had gathered. They were all singing merrily and holding signs and complaining about something. Mr Blunder noticed a certain group quite upset. They were mad because the people in the giant buildings not knocked over by airplanes were taking all the money and not sharing. One man kept yelling at the men in suits that people were hungry and they had no food. He said that he was the voice for the hungry and was going to let everyone in the world know that people were hungry. Mr Blunder was confused as he saw the man doing all the yelling had some granola bars. dont see why he wouldnt share. Mr Blunder pulled out his trusty skillet and served deer meat to all those hungry. People were shocked that someone DID something instead of just complaining over and over and over and over again. Mr Blunder didnt care either way, he was just happy to help.
Along came the police who must have heard the disturbance. They asked who was cooking and serving food without a permit. and like cowards the protestors pointed out Mr. Blunder. I guess they didnt wanna risk the chance of getting arrested and losing their shiny tablet devices and web cameras. The police upset by Mr Blunder having the nerve to treat people fairly peppered sprayed the shit out of him. Mr Blunder had no idea what the fuck pepper spray was. He thought the police were just being nice and feeding him his favorite vegetable as a sign of gratitude for him feeding the ingrate protestors. Mr. Blunder soaked in every last drop and smiled. He thanked the officers who seemed quite confused. Not too sure what to do next the police left to attend to actual real crimes taking place. i heard they stopped a murder! The protestors cheered Mr Blunder because he had withstood the police assault and ran them off. Mr Blunder didnt see it that way. He saw a bunch of hypocrites who wouldnt help him and made him the patsy because they didnt want the pepper spray to ruin their mp3 players. Mr Blunder was mild mannered but did not like being crossed.....He took out the AK that he grabbed from the deer he killed and shot and killed the entire crowd. Their Ipods were bloody and their ipads had skull fragments and brains all over. Blunder was the last man standing. He didnt like the city anymore. so he set out to leave.
As he was leaving a well dressed man from a giant building came out and thanked him and gave Mr. Blunder $4 Billion dollars. Mr Blunder was shocked but still called the man an asshole for stealing the money. He kept the money and brought it back to Birch City to take care of his friends. He was a true hero for DOING something. Mr Blunder felt alive and in control again :)

Mr Blunder goes to the Afterlife.

It had been weeks since Mr Blunder was left to wander the empty roads by his Lovely. On nothing but a steady diet of mint tic tacs he tried to forge ahead. His heart felt clamped. His soul was stagnant. He was lost. On the streets and in his thoughts. Under a blanket of darkness Mr Blunder felt warm. Vulnerable, he looked to the night and let unholy spirits occupy his vacant eyes. Walking from the light Mr Blunder had no fears. He came to an abandoned gas station. The wind was getting cold. He saw a container labeled "Anti-freeze". Thinking it would prevent hypothermia he consumed the bottle. He marched onward to nowhere. His head got light, his heart murmured. His stomach felt like it was under attack by locusts and magpies. He quickly faded in the woods beyond the Pine Cone Resevoire.
When he finally came to there stood before him some kind of spirit. She called herself Milly. She came from the shadows of the brightest of lights. A summer dress with lilacs and a wonderful clavicle. Her job was to guide lost souls through the fog and haze to the eternal peace. So comforting was her voice and touch. Without question Mr Blunder followed her upward. She told him his pain was gone and he was finally free. She had given him his greatest gift ever. Milly the sweet angel spread her wings and flew back into the heavens. He would not soon forger Milly for saving his soul.
The after life was nice. Mr Blunder saw many birds and giraffes and oak trees. He saw the fox he had saved that eventually met his death at the hands of a racist tornado. ( apparently foxes are the blacks of feral canines.) They shared some saltines and lemonade. The fox seemed so happy and at peace. Mr Blunder really liked this place. They even had self reliant vacuums that came by to clean up the saltine crumbs. Mr Blunder had decided he wanted to stay here. He wasn't going back to that dark place ever again. He wasn't ever going to allow his heart to be tortured again. He also liked that there was no need to urinate in the afterlife. He could drink what he pleased and as much as he'd like without having to pee every 11 seconds. Just as he found a cloud with a good view to reside upon he felt a tap. It was Milly. She came back for him. She needed to bring him back to life. It wasn't his time. She just wanted to give a glimpse into a better world so he would see that things would eventually end up ok. Her eyes were like two pristine lakes and her smile a gateway to utopia. He knew it would be tough but Milly promised she would be there in spirit always. She took him back to his home and birch city and bandaged his heart. She brought along her 3 legged dog because his fleas brought luck. With a renewed faith in humanity Mr. Blunder cooked them a fantastic meal in his skillet. Homemade tacos and beans. Milly had to return to work as an angel. Mr Blunder thanked her and watched in awe as she separated the clouds and ascended back to the afterlife. Mr Blunder had been reborn. And because he was so nice to Milly she made it so he only had to pee 4 times a day. His urine also came out in the colors of a rainbow. Mr Blunder was now ready for his next adventure.

Mr Blunder and his Tic Tacs.

Spring was vastly approaching in beautiful Birch City. Flowers in blossom, leaves on trees, fat girls in tank tops with their stomach fat dripping out of the bottom like a tube of tooth paste with a boulder on the end. Mr Blunder had awoken at his lovely's and put on his oven mitts to make their morning coffee. They were oven mitts with pictures of distorted clocks. Mr Blunder loved clocks! He swore to wear oven mitts when making coffee because he burns so easily. He once got 3rd degree burns after spilling iced coffee in his lap. He safely brewed their morning coffee and they had sat to enjoy it together. His lovely's new home was finally unpacked and furnished. Mr Blunder worked very hard to help her. Despite several visits to the emergency room and a limb reattachment things went really smoothly. Mr Blunder was so happy about spring because they could partake in outdoor adventures again. Cycling, hiking, bird watching and synchronized swimming.
His Lovely seemed rather pensive. Mr Blunder was off to do some chores so he kissed her on the head and wished her well. He was off to Mr. Acorn's market to get some habenero peppers and bacon for his skillet. He had some extra money so he picked up some fresh flowers for his lovely and a bunch boxes of mint green tic tacs. Those were his favorites. As Mr. Blunder arrived home from his chores and his pit stop at the ER where he needed to get his skull stapled when a bear bit his head. It appeared the bear had a toothache and Mr. Blunder just wanted to help. Not only does he carry a skillet with him 24/7 but he also keeps a tarter scraper. The bear was grateful but it was in his nature to try and eat Mr. Blunder and Mr. Blunder was ok with that.
As he arrived at his Lovely's all of his things were stuffed into his red carry-on bag with the wheels. His Lovely said that now that she had her own home she didnt need him around anymore. She wanted to start fresh with a clear head. Mr Blunder was crushed. Heartbroken. His soul was caving in amidst the crumbling walls of his life. Everything seemed so good. They were in-love. They finished each others sentences. Ate each others meals and Mr. Blunder even cleaned the toilet daily. She didn't care to negotiate. She closed the door and Mr. Blunder was left alone with just his red bag and green tic tacs. His eyes burned from his tears so he couldn't drive home. Mr Blunder walked 22 miles alongside Sycamore Mountain to his residence. Broken more than any of his bones after the hundreds of accidents he'd been in. More crushed than his femur after that time he tried to kick a building like a soccer ball. Walking alone and cold, Mr Blunder ate his green tic tacs. No thoughts, no emotions. Just walking and eating his green tic tacs.........

....to be continued

Mr Blunder Saves a Fox.

Today seemed like such a wonderful day for Mr. Blunder. He had planned a picnic atop Sycamore Mountain for he and his Lovely. First off to Mr. Acorns for fresh produce. Some Watermelon, fresh bread, sparklin water and delicious turkey and ham. Oh what a joyous picnic t'would be. He grabbed a few veggies to fry up on his skillet. On his walk back from Mr. Acorn's Grocer Mr. Blunder stumbled upon a poor injured fox. Caught in a bear trap was he. Mr Blunder reached down to loosen his leg. The fox was out but was limping like the town drunk who only months earlier walked fairly normal until he tripped over a rotary phone on his way to the john. Mr Blunder tried to help him too but ended up crushing his leg in a trash compacter as the man's odor led him to believe that the leg was just a soiled old carpet rolled up and ready for garbage. The man was actually grateful as it gave him even more of an excuse to drink. Numb the pain. He thanked Me Blunder by making him a wonderful quilt with pictures of Oxen and Yak playing Violin in Mongolia. Beautiful stitch work. Mr Blunder used it to keep him and his Lovely warm in the cold season.

Now the poor fox could barely walk so Mr. Blunder rushed him home to try and take care of the poor fellow. The fox must have been hungry as Mr Blunder carried him because he reached his head down and ate several babies on the way. No matter to Mr Blunder as the babies were loud criers anyway. Always woke him from terrific dreams of orchid fields and doves. He got the fox home finally where he made a splint out of 2 chair legs and an old wash cloth. He then gave the fox a shot of whiskey. He didnt want to miss his picnic with his Lovely so he set the fox up infront of the television with his bad leg elevated and gave him s'mores and cocoa. His Lovely was very proud of his good deed as she took his arm and walked along to what would be the greatest picnic ever. Mr Blunder had a great life. He was thankful and he made sure to tell that to his Lovely as he accidentally poured pesto sauce on her new blouse. She wasnt upset. That is true love.

Mr Blunder helps his Lovely :)

Twas a beautiful morn' in Birch City. Mr Blunder was excited to try on his new velcro sneakers. No more laces for him since he tripped and knocked that poor family off the Sycamore Valley mountains. He was only trying to snap a photo of the ever so allusive Perigrine Falcon but he'd aimed the camera backwards and flashed his eyes, tripped over his Reebok's laces and sent the nice family Willow, weeping over the mountain top.
But alas, a new day was upon him and he velcro'd up and was ready to help his Lovely. Her home was destroyed by a falling Redwood that was struck by lightning and hit by a drunk driver simultaneously. The driver was fine but Mr Blunder didn't know that so he went to help. He insisted upon bandaging the man but had no actual bandage so he wrapped him feverishly with aluminum foil. The man looked like a retarded moth trying to emerge from it's caccoon. Well, lighting loves aluminum and decided to strike this man several hundred times, burning his flesh and killing him. Turns out the drunk driver was wanted for several bank robberies, mattress tag rip-offs and the murder of a zoo monkey who looked too much like his abusive father. Mayor Crabtree was set to award Mr. Blunder with a medal of honor and a bottle of barbeque sauce for his cast iron skillet. The ceremonies were to be held after he helped his Lovely.
Mr Blunder spent hours moving all of his Lovely's belongings to her new home on Palm st. His Lovely was smart and bubble wrapped everything 2 times over. Including her supply of bubblewrap. After several strenuous hours the move was complete. Mr Blunder helped his Lovely set up her furniture and hang her photos. She was very pleased and ready to start her new life in her new home. They both got dressed extra fancy for the Mayor Crabtree's ceremony honoring Mr. Blunder. His Lovely had to button his shirt and tuck in his shirt as he'd hammered 3 of his fingers into the wall trying to hang pictures. He was grateful and gave his Lovely a special golden lady bug pin to wear on her dress. They walked hand in hand to the ceremony where he was honored as a hero. So excited, Mr Blunder pulled out his cast iron skillet and cooked his famous Peanutbutter Omlettes for the whole town. Was a great day indeed. A great day............

Mr Blunder.

Once upon a time there lived a man called Mr. Blunder. Always bumpin into shit, crashin' cars, spillin cran juice all over his good trousers. His heart was there but his equilibrium, not so much. He lived below the Oak Tree on Maple street in Birch City. Little did he know his constant blundering would save the world. It all began at Mr. Acorns Grocers on Pine ave. Mr. Blunder was buying some seedlings for his garden and pickin up some fresh apples to make a pie for his Lovely. He owed her the pie since he accidently ripped the skin off her forehead while trying to help her wax her eyebrows. She was a kind woman. Beautiful clavicle and quick wit like no other. Her eyes could guide even the most lost of souls to shore. Even Mr. Blunder who got lost in his own kitchen was able to find her. And his kitchen was no larger than that of a dollhouse.
Well finishin up his purchase at Mr. Acorns an armed assailent entered the market. Demanding all the fresh vegetables and vegetable oil so he could fuel his eco-friendly nuclear bomb. Mr Acorn had no choice to oblige as he was staring down the barrel of a very large potato gun. Mr Blunder went into a panic. He promised he'd be home to his lovely by the 3rd hour after noon. He went and hid in the canned goods aisle hoping not to be seen so he could escape through the back exit. He fumbled an apple and in trying to catch it he knocked over the Chef Boyardee display. Cans went flying and rolling everywhere. one tripped up the assailent who then fell and bumped his head on Mr Blunders cast iron skillet. He brought it with him everywhere in case he felt the need to cook an egg. The evil man was out cold and was taken to jail by the police. Mr Blunder was a hero. Mr Acorn was so delighted he gave him a fresh baked apple pie to bring home to his lovely. He was also given a police escort to make sure he arrived home safe, unlike the last time when he thought a tree stump was a hidden door to the cookie factory. He went missing 6 weeks.
He finally arrived home with warm pie in hand for his lovely. She had heard of his heroism on the daily news and greeted him with a big hug and kiss. They enjoyed the pie together and watched the sunset in peace. He did however fall in the toilet again after thinking his reflection was a secret KGB agent mocking him. But his every so delightful lovely clean him up and got him to bed. They both fell asleep in contentment while watching Sleepless in Seattle. Mr Blunder had found his meg ryan so he could rest easy.

the end.

i hate michael vick

i wrote this and recorded this as a song a year back. liked the words but not the song. it's from the perspective of the dogs that michael vick killed. the helpless victims.

Cant see where I'm going. There's blood, scars are showing. I feel the fire growing, the pace of life is slowing. no one hears the screams, burning flesh and dreams . you killed for your game. battered alone and maimed. my eyes tell of pain,the lightning in my brain. collapsed my lungs with your reign. You hid behind the fame, hung us by our chains...i clawed from the remains, so won't kill again. don't try and walk away, I'm ending you today.
when you look at me, dollar signs what you see. killed for you vanity. ignored my basic needs, left me alone to bleed. worthless commodity, is what you thought of me. i failed, you slaughtered me. hell's where you outta be. The rain cant wash away, the sins the vacant days.Eyes singed with pepper spray born of your ruthless ways. for those you led astray. i rise again, collect. to dissect whats left. im here to snap your neck. ill lay your soul to rest.
I needed you. i depended, jail and "sorry" leave nothing mended. my wounds still gaping as we're left to die. torn skin, bent bones, burnt out eyes. engraved forever, like a head stone. i'll bury you, in the fucking end zone.

angry words caused by a not nice person

You've traveled the world but you haven't crossed my mind. actually, that last line was a lie. My mind is a highway and you're a commuter. back and forth it takes its toll. my heart a pot of old cracked pewter. The sole shooter in the gunfight. I brought a knife but you stole my sight and stuck the blade in the my spine so my organs could see light. an out of work labored breath then you left. i did my job you grabbed the broom and under the carpet i was swept. But that's not the point.

You were the final stick that poked, provoked this half ghost. You may have took my breath away but ive learned to fuckin choke. from the dust, comes the smoke...the fire will rise and put its hands on your throat. My supposed demise has been exaggerated since the first time my heart broke. I keep coming back like a fucking cockroach. but now im gonna fight until i'm dead and i've lost hope.

You are the straw, the rope, the dead end road. get the fuck out of my head and fuck that horse that you rode.

A Million

i wrote this about someone who i secretly love. usually if i write something in regards to love its a generalizing. this is a specific person. i really wish i could tell her. but circumstances far beyond my control prevent that. plus its not practical as she's been with the same person forever and recently been engaged. the first part is my sadness that i cant tell her i love her. then sencond part is me not letting the sadness bother me. she is an incredible human being. one that makes me not hate people. when a long relationship ended for me, she was the only one of my ex's friends to remain by my side. she helped me step by step. she put a feeling, a reassurance in my heart. i know i can never tell her. but ive got to write how i feel. this is the last poem i wrote for my book that will one day come out. the poem is called a Million because "Million" rhymes with her name.





my tank is empty. i am void. creativity's destroyed. i can't sleep, i can't think. burn my eyes so i cant blink. i cant eat, i cant grasp. there's a broken heart dead in my lap. the autumn crashed upon my skin, thoughts stripped bare, a million.
i walk in shadows, i walk through lines. through burning bridges a million times. i cant cope, i can't take, i cant emote or bother to fake. There's a scratch upon my plate. a meal that i never ate. The autumn rained its cold into my conscious and to be completely honest, atop my list of reasons your name is on it. one of a million.

if im empty than im a liar, i cannot hide...for you inspire. you give life to every thought. to every single breath ive got. you give meaning to each word. you are the essence of my nerves. You are my autumn, a microcosm. for all good fortune i have gotten. i wish i were your same. i wish i could put rhyme to your name. but treading water i maintain. with the silence, with the pain. a million knives in a million veins.

self destructive dan :)

self destructive dan.

sometimes i don't understand my inner mechanics. i think i'm wired to set myself to fail. I think it gives me a good excuse to rationalize abusing my meds......which unfortunately i've done again......Oooops! just like Brittany i did it again, and again and again. I don't know if it's because i hate myself or because i enjoy being sad. The hardest thing in the world to accept is that you're just a routine. That there is no end result to your work. Maybe you search in the wrong tunnels but goddamnit those lights you find are so fucking enticing. Too bad they're someone elses lantern and you're left walking in the dark with out a purpose, Beating your head on the cave wall until you are unconscious. Your life is upside down with the bats. You are nothing more than a desensitized robot living out the motions until you expire. Expiration isn't so bad. And i know there is no hell unless hell be the loneliness that lulls you to sleep for eternity. So maybe another pill won't matter. Hold on...............Ok :) This is the mind of a fucking drug addict. even if i only slip once a year, for the rest of my life i am a fucking drug addict and for someone reason i wanna destroy myself. Welcome to my world, my mind........welcome to my tartan heart, stitched up in sartorial splendor for all to see in awe. for all to pull the loose thread until i'm further unraveled. Tonight's poem will not be depressing in its normal sense.....this is a first class trip inside my mind that few have scene....I give to you............." SELF DESTRUCTIVE DAN":



Bottle top off like a hub cap on a 83' pontiac, where's my clonny at? oh! there you are my precious, green freshness, time to get reckless like a blind guy givin his wife a pearl necklace, while she's eatin breakfast. scrambled like eggs, fuckin numb in the leg. can't tell if these are thoughts or fuckin tumors inside my head. If im not legally dead, im half past comatose, vultures play me close like butter on toast ( Biggie!). a pill is a pill until it kills the will, my eyes pushed shut like painted window sills, i love me some poison like i'm Cee Cee deVille and i'll clean your fucking clock to make time stand still. I don't belong, like a platypus, duck billed. I'll gladly let the blood spill like milk i won't cry. Fuck, tears don't fall from lazy eyes, amazes me i....never knew that green meant go until your skin turned blue. Bursting from you're veins until your ghost leaves you. emerging from the flames till the smoke heals you. I'm high as fuck but i can still feel you. driving a semi with no breaks, laughing like a maniac with frosted flakes on my face, flat tires and a full shell case. This isn't the Amazing Race its me dying at a slow pace at the speed of light during a black out in outer space. No moon, no stars, clovers or diamonds, purgatory's where i'm in, alone playing Simon, red-blue-red -red -green -green-green till i can't stand or can't lean, find me in an alley with wrangler jeans and an empty bottle of mr clean. All lined up with the ducks, don't give a fuck, shoot away until the bullet is stuck between my eyes penetrating my tear duct, its fucking clear cut, i am a fucking, here to destruct! self preserve, rip my skin from the nerves, stomp my heart on the curb, this is not an adjective its a lonely verb.......gotta chicken on the grill and it's time to flip the bird.

When We Fall

I've started. I guess it's on now. Large parts to be fleshed out, but here's what I have. Miss Lethal said I should post it here.

When We Fall

Trash was lying by the side of the road. He was dying. I was at work. When the call came in I was alarmed to hear my brother's voice on the line and my heart beat sped up. I knew something was wrong.

The name of the song Rico finished was When We Fall but when I fell into bed later that night it was Tony V who sprang to mind.

When I say fell, I mean fell. Let me go back a bit. My cranky and arthritic hips have made it difficult for me to move around like I used to. Getting into bed is much easier for me if I get a knee up and roll in, kind of like mounting a horse. High ho Silver!

That night I was off my game a little and the mattress had slipped a few inches off the box spring. I got my first knee up okay but with the combination of a slick floor and the off kilter mattress, I started to slide and could not catch myself. I suddenly ended up planked on the bed, unable to get onto my feet because they kept slipping on the floor. I couldn't get a grip anywhere on the bed because I was right in the middle of it, my body forming a right angle to the bed. I was in a pickle, no one had a key to get in and I was not about to ask a friend to break into the house for this. Calling the fire department for help was out of the question. Far too embarrassing. I kept slowly sliding off the bed. There was no alternative. I would have to lower myself onto my knees, think things out and try to find a way to get up. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been on my knees. Not anytime recently.

The lowering process went slowly but well, all the while different scenarios playing themselves out in my mind. Most ended badly but at least, in the event of my demise, the cats would have plenty to eat until someone finally showed up to check on me.

I flashed back to my father kneeling down in this same room every night before getting into bed to say his prayers. He was a small mean man and I always thought it was odd that he prayed every night but acted like a dick for most of his days. Turns out that he had promised his mother on her deathbed that he would say his prayers every night. Oftentimes I'd wished that she had pressed him further to be mindful of his prayers during the day.

During my early teen years I had joined a church that my closest friend attended. At twelve I was baptized. I thought Jesus was cool and I loved Him. God was a little more inscrutable and off-putting, but I respected Him. The formality of my faith had lapsed, but I still maintained my friendship with Jesus.

As I sank to my knees, God and my father praying on my mind, I sent up a quick hello to God, figuring as long as I was down there anyway…hoping He was not holding a grudge. I thought of Tony V then and the light hearted way we talked about Jesus on line. That and knowing that even if God was pissed about my lack of contact He was contractually obligated to help me made me smile. I got to the work of dragging myself up, twisting and bending a cranky leg to get a foot on the floor, one arthritic knee still down as I bellowed and pulled myself up slowly and deliberately on the rails of my walker. I fell into bed. This time successfully.

The dreams always start with me sleeping. I hear a persistent sound in the background that becomes louder and more focused and eventually wakes me up. In the dream, I get up to go and see what is making the noise. No one ever answers the questions I tentatively shout as I make my way to the source.

My dreams were locked away from my remembering for almost a year after my mother died. Sometimes in that split second between dreaming and waking I would see how much was really going on in my sleep. Layers and layers of dreaming all happening at the same time. Too much for one mind or person to process, but gradually the images began to slow down and I would remember a scene or two.

I dreamt of my grandmothers house. Usually, when this happened someone in the family was about to die. When I dreamt of walking through her house as myself and it was all the way I remembered it from childhood I knew that we were about to lose someone dear. It happened when my grandmother died and it happened the same when her daughter Francesca passed away.

This time was different. My mother was there and she was around my age. Her hair jet black and teased into a flip. She was standing by the stairs that led up to the front door of the house. A large slice of soil had been cut away and it showed layers and layers of different colored dirt with objects that had belonged to people who had lived in the house over the years embedded throughout. It looked like a colorful archeology illustration from an elementary school text book. I approached the steps and my mother, I was a young child and so glad to see her and it all disappeared.

I had seen her the night she died before I went to work. She was agitated and I calmed her and stayed until she fell asleep. I wasn't there when she died in the night and felt like I had let her down. I hated it. It was the one thing about her death I couldn't accept.

There was a knocking that would not stop. It was coming from the kitchen. I followed the noise and saw my mother standing at the sink, but it was the wrong side of the sink. The side that was against the wall. There was no way she could stand there, but she did. She looked ashen and weak, so pale I was alarmed and rushed to her saying calmly 'Mum, what are you doing? You don't need to do the dishes now.'

Just like that day she went into the hospital, I didn't want her to know how concerned I was that she seemed so ill. She said nothing. She was too weak to speak. As I drew near I could see that she was about to faint and I reached out and took her in my arms so she would not fall.

The closer I got the more clear it became that she was not well. Her knees started to buckle.. She swooned into my arms as soon as I reached her, I was shocked. She felt cool and grew even paler. I knew she was dying. Suddenly I saw us both from just outside my body. When I put my arms around her I could feel her spirit push up and start to leave her body and woke with a start just as she finished giving up her ghost. Some part of both of our consciousnesses swirling together and spiraling up and up and into the starry Universe.

I don't know how to thank her for doing that for me.

Bob

I made this site for Bob because he wanted to write.
But he could never figure out how to blog.
Then he committed suicide.
He still "follows" this blog.
Soigne, that's him.
Bob.
Fucker.



More about Bob.

awake on sleeping pills. ( random thoughts.)

i have so much to say. but i cannot. so i will fill this space with randomness.



I manage to put both pant legs on at the same time. easier said than done, but i have perfected it. You gotta do it while lying down. Put your legs straight up and pull the pants onto them. This may be difficult if you are fat. I propose fat people wear moo moo's. even the men. Tie a belt around it and you will look like a fancy hotel curtain. it may lead to a very lucrative career.

Can bed bugs live on chairs?

i'm killing myself with kindess so my suicide note will only say nice things about me. Just a few more self affirmations and maybe i'll hold the car door for myself. That should be enough to do it. If not, i'll save the last slice of pizza for me. That's guarenteed death. I'm kinda lookin for a ghostwriter for my suicide note but haven't found anyone worthy. i guess i'll wait till i'm dead to write it. It will really add authenticity to the whole thing.

I've been procrastinating preparing for the worst. I guess that's a good things because im bleeding from my ears as i type and i don't have time to check the batteries in my smoke alarm which fuckin sucks because i'm always falling asleep with lit cigarettes. I really need a better sense of urgency .....and a tampon for my ear. i'll get it later, i've got some unfinished business to attend to.

My mom doesn't like me. She wanted to get an abortion but thought i wasn't worth the money. She says im a major let down and never finish anything. Little does she know i just polished off a bottle of ambien and chased it with bourbon. finally my mom's gonna be proud of me! It's all ive worked for. acceptance. I would try to kill myself once a week to make her happy but i totally screwed up each time. furthering her proof that i was a failure. She wanted to give me to my dad but he was way too sucessful to take care of me. and when i say sucessful i mean he killed him self with booze. Mom never loved me cuz i could never live up to my dad's sucess. She tried to beat me but didn't wanna ruin the cast iron set she bought from Time Life magazine. It came with a free picture of a happy family.....which she smashed over my head. that angered her more as my crying made it so she couldn't hear Paul Harvey on the radio. We didn't have a basement so she locked me in the oven with venomous spiders.

The Moron Brigade.

no melody, just dis chord. fragile as a reminiscence hanging on a thread, falling into amnesia. The cycle repeats because the pain went unnoticed. Into an abyss echoing of centuries of atrocities. This is the world we live in. a record that skips back to when the story was good. The same harmonies play before the crescendo of chaos rumbles upon us as we're left asking why. We stand together until the humanity wears off. Then back to our isolated routines of self destruction and planetary evisceration. Our memories are so tainted with inaccuracies placed by opportunists that we lose ourselves. Our minds swell of sepsis draining us of any compassion we may have left.

Now here we stand, in our own looking glass. We strayed from the rational and got lost in the rantings of a maniac. on a milk crate he stands spewing vitriol. We don't have the self identity to question. We are hypnotized by his voice and the chorus of sheep all praising in unison. We leave the truth behind. Behind with the wreckage on our path to nowhere as we march blindly behind the righteous idea that we are on a mission from god. Inserting the name and speaking on his behalf we claim to sleep good at nite because man told us that the magic spirit in the clouds fancys us most so we are immune to his law as long as we act out murder, hate, exclusion and prejudice in his name.

a young girl died because she dared to believe the human race to be better. She fell victim to the storm pattern creating a deadly swath from sea to shining sea. Hate and intolerance are the greatest plagues our planet have known. And we shed the obligatory tear then head back to our ambivalent existence.

A world where you can be killed over a inconsequential disagreement. A smoke screen to take our minds off the big, simple picture that we are alike in that we share differences. I don't wanna live in that world. A world where we trust the people we elect to protect our rights, respect our differences and act in our best interest. Yet all they do is sell out to the highest bidder, leaving those in need out in the cold. ( literally.) Our votes should be the insurmountable currency that gives us the same rights and privileges as them. People that would destroy their own country rather than compromise. i don't wanna live in that world. I don't wanna live in the world where we select who we help based on what financial gain we can make from their resources. While people suffering the same if not worse injustice are being wiped out by the millions because they don't have anything we want?! These people are hell bent on destroying civilization under the guise of salvation from above. Willing to destroy everything because they refuse to see things through different eyes.

perspective. a child dies of cancer because the companies that fund political campaigns are too busy spending billions of dollars on pills to make your dick hard.

perspective. our own government is scaring its blind citizens that if all people were to receive universal healthcare we would be come a socialist nation and be a tiny band-aid away from losing all our rights.Yet all these politicians who instill this fear of socialism get free health care, paid for by us. I don't wanna live in the world where the state funds clinics to keep drug addicts on drugs while 20,000 children in my own state go to bed homeless. And no one questions this because they're told that god wrote the constitution. They put words into thin air's mouth. And we follow. we kill, we hate, we lie and cheat. we take advantage of the less fortunate to do our bidding so the blood wont be on our hands. i don't wanna live in that world. I don't wanna march with the Moron Brigade.