So, my friend Rachel finally wants to draw a comic script for me. That's the good news...'cus no one wants to read Stick Figures from Hell. The bad news, she wants to know can I write her something along the lines of E.C. Horror. She has an affinity for blood, zombies, and Tales from the Crypt. Though I have to respect her tastes, I don't usually write horror. This is turning out to be quite the challenge. I like horror but most of the plots are so cliche and stale. Rach's artwork is really good. I'll think of something to write. It's just going to take some time. I have a few ideas floating around the old head space. Thinking of something along the lines of "Dawn of the Dead" meets "Meet the Parents"...ha ha what a riot! The Munsters...only much more cruel, and absolutely disgusting.

Watching the clock watching.
Tick-tock.
Tick-tock.
Heart pounding.
There is no alarm to tell me.
But I know, the time is nigh.
The Angel of Death has made herself comfortable.
Sits cross legged on the couch.
And I am about to die.
Tick-tock.
Tick-tock.

Watching the Angel watching.
I forget the clock.
She's really quite beautiful you know.

Kiss Your Muse
That Calliope Passion
Always comes out in Poetry Fashion.
Tonight is the night of nights
To pen a thousand stories.
Plus One.
Plus One.

Another unfinished piece from my poet's mind. It's something comparing writing and lovers. The things we all forget and the creativity we all forsake.

Your Lover's Pen,
Shows the Poet's Face.
With only words and ink--
I can be made beautiful.

My heart is at work, Love.
A deep angelic voice,
English accent echos.
"Passion never dies."

Behind worn veneer
Costume balls without end.
Be what I am not-- to life's dance,
Be all to me.
And to my tears.

We once made love under the hanging tree.
Now we are an all but forgotten
Shard of light crossing the night of the new moon.
A tower of life falling.
A distant quill writing in
The lost writer's grave yard.
Mindscapes flat.

Kiss me.
Last of the true lovers.
Tongues entwined as cobras.
Can we ever truly be as one?
Or will this forever affair be just that:
-A forever affair-

All the want in the world
Cries into the open ocean void of our time.
Life's little troubles made me forget you.
How sad is it
when no one remembers -Us-?
Not even once while poets
Not even -You-.

Creativity died one day.
Nothing marked the passing.
Yet with only words and ink--
I can be made beautiful.
And whole.

Again.

Passion never dies.

Song lyrics:

'Cus I'm broken when I'm hoping.
And crying when I'm missing you.
Let's sing a song for Michael.
Let's sing about the past.
Daddy's never comin' home again
And a man ain't supposed to feel this way.

If only we could say, exactly what is on our mind. Sometimes work is hell, and there's a certain someone there that I'd love to give a piece of my mind. It was so much easier in high school, when our livelihoods weren't on the line. This is what I'd like to say:

When I called you a princess, it wasn't a complement.

It seems that even in the real world, some people never grow up. Some people live the privileged life that Daddy gave them forever. From Daddy's house to Boyfriend's house, I guess some men like that kind of thing. I don't. In fact, I hate it.

You see, her and I, we have nothing in common. And this attitude of I'm better than you makes me sick. If this were high school, she'd be in her clique and I in mine. But it's not high school, and I don't get to choose my team mates or my crowd.

I remember someone just like her when I was in junior high. She walked up to me one day and uttered the words I can never forget. "You're so fat and ugly, no one will ever want you." To this day, I still don't know why she said that to me or why I was the target. I must of been an easy target. Maybe I still am.

Today is the day that I decided, I hate memories and more than that I hate people.

I have one thought, crossing my mind as I have to leave early today for a lunch meeting at work today. Where is the partnership between public officials and the people of this country? Where is it, I'd like to know. More on this later.

This is another piece still in progress, but I had to share with you what I have. I like it so far but something isn't working.

Truth Sayer say.
Say what it is,
Whatever is on your mind.
A confession is good for the soul.
There's no sin in not knowing the truth.

A mirrored heart knows --
No matter what you are,
No matter who,
When you stand before it--
The looking glass
Looks back at you.

To the confessor I go,
To the priest,
Nameless sins,
Feel the need to get off my chest.
I enter the booth
But I don't pray,
Two words: "You first."

Living Colour Guitarist To Release Solo Album.

Vernon Reid is at it again. This is a short but interesting article a member of a band that I really enjoy "Living Colour". Incidentally, they are still together. I loved their track "Glamour Boys" and who can forget the "Cult of Personality". Even today, Living Colour still goes against the grain, they are an all black rock band.

I have another thought for you tonight. One I see happening soon. "What if the oil stopped?"

Discuss now.

When we go--
Down to hell,
I can't help but wonder,
Is the soul -fast- burning?

Nothing could be worse than this:
Because you died,
I try to put order to the universe.
Order to chaos.
Everything has it's place.
Measuring sticks and whipping boys.
Feelings felt too.
Everything has it's place.
This compulsion creates chaos again.
My world always burns.
Cut the strings that pull many ways.
Everything has it's place.

Life is predatory my friends.
Yet still I cast aside the misery signals
And the harpy cries,
The voice I follow can only be
The one that gives back my sanity.

Night dreams rain,
A pitter-patter on roof top,
Before this straight jacket,
The city was burning.
I know the lighter was in your hand.
How beautiful to see
-- a reflection of flames --
In my lover's eyes.
The wine of our love,
Was indeed the death at our door.
Skull face burnt.

When we lose ourselves,
We lose our way.
How beautiful to see--
A reflection of flames.

Looks like Haloscan has added Track Back features. Not sure, might install them, however I've never gotten them to work on anyone else's BLOG. Maybe I just don't understand it....

"I ain't dancin' with no skeletons. I ain't dancin' with what might have been." --Metallica

"Wanna get blood on my love." --Seether

It's a three day weekend for me, I'm off Monday working Saturday.

Received and read the current issue of APA Centauri yesterday with my debut Blue rabbit Chronicles 'zine. I finished my mailing comments for it already. Going to start writing the rest of my next 'zine this weekend. Hopefully, I can pretty much have it done this week so I'm ahead of the game.

In another amazing coincidence: Daki also joined up as a member of the APA. His work is so cool, if you haven't read his BLOG, better check it out. He wrote a great piece in the current APA issue about the mysterious man in white, carpenter and assassin.

Going to try to get to the library this weekend to see if they have a copy of HTML for Dummies or something like it. I not only have a few good ideas like possibly creating an on-line Nobius bookstore. I'm thinking it is time to bone up my computer skills, especially in light of the merger at work. Things are rather shaky and if I end up out of a job I don't want to be left holding the bag. Plus, we could really use some extra income things are really tight since they cut back the over time. Oh well, such is life.

One of the best things about my job is they offer a mentoring program and I am heavily involved with it and have two mentors plus a group of co-mentees. I've been learning so much through this process, and it's not easy. It requires a lot straight talk, hard work, and candid feedback and criticism. But, it's making me a better person which is the point. My mentor Dennis wants me to begin writing my ten year plan both personally and professionally. It's a plan of 'where do I want to be' and 'how do I get there'. Dennis told me it took him six months to write his but after he committed it to paper and continually refined it, in 10 years he found he far exceeded his goals and expectations. Dennis also told me that his career really didn't even start to take off until he hit forty so not to worry about my age, etc. Dennis is a great guy and I'm blessed to have him in my life. As for my goals, I want to finish college, keep my writing going, buy a house with a dojo, and get my black belt amongst other things. My plan includes everything from mastering Windows Office to taking a Time Management seminar and continuing to be a top performer at work. More on the mentoring later, including a talk about our text book Primal Leadership .

Speaking of personal changes, as I continue to lose weight (thought I'd never be saying that), think I'm going to go back to my old style of dressing most of the time. Plaids over concert T-shirts are back in for me.

The BLOG is continuing to receive hits and I've even got a few really cool emails, one was even a piece of "fan mail"! It seems people do like what I write. Even Dennis commented that he thought my professional writing was great and I should pursue it in college. I think participating in Yahoo Groups has driven traffic here.

While I'm talking about people named Dennis. I have a good friend who used to be my boss back in my burger-flipping-managing days. A few years ago he started repairing and building comptuers out of his garage. Then he went full time doing it for himself. Now, he owns two computer stores and teaches two classes at the local college. Good for him. What a success, maybe some of that can rub off on me. I'm very proud of him. Don't be fulled the American dream still exists with people like Dennis.

I've been told by a few people now that my writing sounds like song lyrics. I assure you this is purely coincidental. At this point, there is not a musical bone in my body though I do enjoy belting out bars of Judas Priest or Megadeth in the shower. I have seriously thought about trying to learn guitar or keyboard lately. I always wanted to play an instrument, and I don't know if I can learn but I'd sure like to try. I think I can learn Piano. Perhaps, I'll start looking into what lessons cost.

My oldest's daughter natural father is extremely musical and in a death/thrash metal band called Plastic Army Guys . I'd like to get her into something musical to see if she has the talent to learn. It'd be a shame to never find out and I think it would be good for her self confidence. Kayla is such a good kid, I'm lucky to have her.

Rented Johnny English last night. There is not a word in the English language to describe how stupid and predictable it was. What a shame too, Rowan Atkinson's Mr. Bean is about as hilarious as hilarious can me. Kind of a modern day Three Stooges. From the time I was about eighteen until maybe twenty one, I used to watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show over at the Highland Theatre several times a year. It was a blast. And for some reason, they always showed a Mr. Bean short before it, usually the one where he meets the queen of England and gets his fingers stuck in his fly. Ha ha ha. Now that was a hoot!

I'd better go. I have kids that need fed, a birthday party to get the kids ready for, and a check book to balance. Beside, I'm playing Lights Out by Lisa Marie Presley and the kids want me to dance with them, how could I pass?

In my usual style, I close this long post with a creative piece, something very dark, something forever, something still unfinished:

Picture Four
You are the forever thought
That can't go away.
The memory spot--
Nuclear Last,
Wasteland Me.
After the explosion.
I shatter picture four,
The one of you and me,
Holding each other closely.
The one you signed, "Love you always."
Liar, liar,
The more you dig the deeper it gets.
Queing up the Moodswing Play List,
At Breakneck Speed,
The Album called,
"Music for Jumping Off Bridges".
Now Jump!
I still love you.

When I feel raw, I create raw things;
Sometimes terrible things.
Road rashed and laid out before you.
When I feel good,
I create beautiful things.
The sweet of creation.
All of them alive--
All of them me.
The beauty and
terror of writing.

I wouldn't call this fond memories of you.
I'd call it the aftermath.

To write is to live,
To not means I've perished.

I just heard of the best album title ever from a band I've never heard of. The band is called The Eagles of Death Metal and the album is Peace, Love, Death Metal. Ha ha ha. That's a good one. I assume the band's name is a spoof of the Eagles rock band.

Speaking of rock groups. I still promise to do that post on my imaginary band. Only I've changed the name of the band, I think I want to call the band, "Straight Jacket Sister" and the first album, "Let Sleeping Dogs Die". The idea being if I had a band it would cross over many genres of hard music including punk, heavy metal, grunge, and thrash. Or if we sang a cover (now you know I'm fantasizing) it could be anything from any band. I'd love to do a cover of Metallica's cover of Budgie's classic "Crash Course in Brain Surgery". Amongst many others.

More on this soon.

Out.

Cope
Cope
Cope
I don't think I'm coping very well.
Straight jacket sister.
Cut me deeper next time.
Stick it in and twist.
I need to hemorrhage fire,
And the will to live.
I never thought,
Love would feel this way.

Time is a moving picture,
In a random mind.
It's where I first heard-
The Sound of Flame burning.
The din of charred dreams.
Drink fast your cup of oblivion--
Hemlock for writers--
Titles without stories--
Accomplishment none.
Again and again,
I demand of the Angel--
Save me from Your Grace
and the Sound of Flame Burning.

There is -only- a simple kind of pain
(the dulling effect)
In writing emotions
Of self esteem broken.
Bleeding poetry on paper.
Mine was the past that can not be.
I live with it.
Everyday.
Life's little mistake was my conception;
my connection to you.
Mother's tear soaked letter reads:
"You don't love yourself--
only what you want to be."
And Momma, it's not me.
It's not me.
It's the feeling of not fitting in.
A feeling of me compared to you.

"... WINTER STORM WARNING IN EFFECT FROM 6 AM TO 10 PM EST TUESDAY...

LOW PRESSURE MOVING UP THE OHIO VALLEY TUESDAY WILL SPREAD HEAVY SNOW ACROSS THE AREA TUESDAY AND TUESDAY EVENING. ALTHOUGH SOME LIGHT SNOW WILL DEVELOP LATE TONIGHT... THE SNOW SHOULD START TO BECOME STEADIER AND HEAVIER AROUND OR SHORTLY AFTER 6 AM TUESDAY. EXPECT SNOW TO BE LOCALLY HEAVY AT TIMES TUESDAY... BEFORE TAPERING TO FLURRIES TUESDAY NIGHT. TOTAL ACCUMULATION FOR THE STORM IS EXPECTED TO RANGE FROM 6 TO 10 INCHES.

WINDS OF 15 TO 25 MPH WITH GUSTS AROUND 35 MPH WILL ALSO PRODUCE WIDESPREAD BLOWING AND DRIFTING OF THE SNOW CAUSING GREATLY REDUCED VISIBILITIES AND HAZARDOUS DRIVING CONDITIONS. THE STRONGEST WINDS WILL BE NEAR THE LAKESHORE." --The Weather Channel

Now, don't you wish you were here. I guess Spring isn't coming to Ohio early after all...lol. Best part is, my car is found. But I can't get it if the weather is bad. It's not drivable, he stole the plates and the ignition. Too bad he wasn't caught. Isn't life grand?

Oh well, it could be worse. At least it's fixable. Unlike our friendship.

More soon, I need to hit the sack. If the weather is bad tomorrow I need to work out, if it's decent then I have plates to get, and a car to retrieve, etc. Have a lot of POST and APA stuff to write. Including the story of my stolen beater car and the reason I put up a donation button on this BLOG. Oh yea, and did I say more poetry? We're all about the poetry here.

Good night, and if you're in the path of the storm...please be careful.

Before I close my eyes,
I feel like there is something more I should be saying.
Something more I should be doing.
Something more I should be writing.
I feel guilty.
I don't know why.
I always feel guilty.
Behind heavy eyelids,
Something more....
Sleep now child, sleep.
Everything's gonna be all right.

My donation button finally works!! And the moral of the story is: Buy HTML for Dummies!

Strike one trying to get the "Donation Button" to work. I hate HTML.

Taking it easy tonight. Two of my kids are sick, one is getting over being sick, and my wife is staying the night at her Mom's. It's actually quiet for once, I like that. Frequently I am writing while trying to manage kids, can't imagine how much I'll be able to write once they are grown...lol.

This evening for the kids I rented "Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas." (To clarify, that's the animated film that came out last year.) I was really shocked at how good it was. My favorite character was Eris, the elegant yet moody Goddess of Discord voiced by Michelle Pfeifer. She had this magic that made her flow and move around the screen, it was very cool. Something to keep in mind for my Angel Cutter story line.

Also rented "American Splendor." I haven't yet read the comic books though I have read Harvey Pekar's website a number of times. What a poignant and beautiful movie, well casted with actors that looked like real people. There is a great scene where Harvey explains the unusual sadness he felt when he heard another Harvey Pekar had died. While explaining it, he's more or less walking in an out of a comic panel. And the way that Pekar scripts comic books with stick figures...well...let's just say why didn't I think of that? Will definitely have to pick up some of the comics now.

Working on the Mailing Comments already for my next Blue Rabbit Chronicles zine. Plan to do comments on both of the sample issues, the newest issue which I should get in a couple of weeks, and the self published comics and plays that Scott Marshall sent me.

If I can fit it in also want to get the "Donation Button" up on this site. Not sure, I'm good enough with HTML etc to do that, but I don't think it will be that hard to do. If I can't do it this weekend, it will be up soon. I want this BLOG to be a full featured site. It might as well be, I spend enough time on it...:)

I've had a couple of more possible ideas to use with my Angel Cutter concept. I'd like to combine aspects of Thurdarr the Barbartian and Kamandi. I loved Thundarr when I was young (even if at 8 years old I could tell how crappy the dialogue was). Gemini--Thundarr's arch-nemesis was a great villain, he had two faces on his head. The head would swivel and a plate would open up revealing each face. One was kind and gentle with a kind an gentle voice, the other had raging red eyes with a voice to match. He would flip between faces depending on his mood. Now to adapt these type of ideas for mature readers.

Kamandi was a DC comic about the last boy on Earth. I know some of the comics were done by Jack Kirby. I only had two issues when I was a kid. I must of reread them a thousand times. Similarly to Thundarr, Kamandi lived in a post apocalyptic world with mutant animal men and wizards running around like it was going out of style. I'm curious as to why DC has never done a revival (or at least not a revival that I've heard of).

It's that post apocalypse meets King Arthur feeling that I want to bring to my work.

Thinking a lot lately about the coffee shop Kalisa and I used to go to right outside of Kent State. I no longer remember the name, but they had great Cafe Mocha and you could smoke anywhere in the place which she loved. My mind can still smell it. It had all the coffee house essentials including open mic night. One night a girl read a story of how she was going to get even with her exlover, very disturbing. I couldn't quite figure out if the lover was a man or another a woman. Since it was on a college campus the place was filled with all kinds of people: modern day hippies, beat poets, singer/songwriters, intellectuals and us. Kal and I would just sit there for hours and talk. I miss that, I like talking to her without distractions. And I miss the shop which is now a used car lot.

I wonder what it would be like to open my own coffee shop and have indi-comic books and cool graphic novels for sale there. And yes, a smoking section for people like my wife (I don't smoke) since none of the shops here have smoking sections. I did look into opening a shop at one time, but I'm not really keen on the type of hours restaurant type work requires. But you never know...things could change.

We visted a cool coffee shop the other day called the "Riverside Coffee Mill" in Cuyahoga Falls. I was suprised at how many programs they have there at night from open mic night, to speakers, to concerts.

It's gettling late now, I have to go but let me leave you with this thought, the beginning of something:

At the end of heartache,
Whether I loved her or killed her,
We are all born to lie,
In the black of night.
In the midst of silence,
I cry in blood--a vampire's tears.
And why is that TIME matters not to you--
But to me there is never enough.

Goodnight.

I find myself asking, "What happens next?"

Long have I been here,
Waiting by the phone Lord,
For your call.
If You don't have a quarter,
Dial down the center,
It's okay--I'll accept.
Why can't you just speak?
Call me up, like everyone else.
There are conversations waiting
about Your divine eternal plan,
The Mystery of Human Life,
Or Mom's chocolate chip cookie recipe.
It doesn't matter which.
I still love you,
I still want you,
Just don't know you.
Anymore.
Anymore...
Maybe I never did.

Before the wait--
Preacher gave me a Book,
But I'm thinking--what it was You wrote
We lost.
Misinterpreted.
Changed. (Man will do that sort of thing.)

Where have all the burning bushes gone?
Lord, give me a little sign from above.
Or just call me up, all my friends do.
(We are friends, aren't we?)
Long has been the wait,
Don't stand me up.
Or maybe you're not omnipotent....
After all.

Skeletons in the FDA closet.

Just because it's FDA approved, doesn't mean it's safe. My father committed suicide while on Prozak in 1990. I'm not convinced it was just the medicine that killed him but I do believe Prozak contributed to the problem. The sad fact remains that FDA's financial ties to 'Big-Pharma' may have contributed to thousands if not millions of American deaths. Screw big government.

A few minutes ago, I had a thought about George Foreman's emminent return to the boxing ring and the Karma that catches up to us all--in the end. Somewhere was the phrase, "You can not deny what it is you are." I didn't journal the idea, nor did I blog it. Now I've lost yet another prolific thought. I wonder if there's a place where all the lost thoughts go?

Quietly, I listen--
Hoping that the thumping from your chest--
The beating of your heart--
Is the sound of your love for me.

I loved the line from my 'Diary' post "...through the slowly opening doors of our life together" so much I wrote another very different, very angry piece of poetry.

"Be Expecting Me"

Be expecting me...
Somewhere between "It's all in your head" (It is.)
and "I'm sorry your Daddy's dead." (He is.)
That flatline bastard, on mind sits.
Can't shake those thoughts,
(If only I could unsee what it was I saw.)
Can't shake the hate.
We worship Sacred Cows
While starving for attention.
Our religion kills strangers and friends alike.
Potty break expells a bolemic past.
Pain doesn't provide much in the way of nourishment.
In the way of Sacred Cows.
Please exscuse me-
While I hate myself again.
Through the slowly opening doors of our life together--
I was pushed out.
I was thrown out
Into the cold.
Into you.
Snow winter tears freeze to the cheek.
And here, lieing in my bed,
I am already dreaming through open eyes reading a book.
Be expecting me,
The moment will not be lost.
The pen writes best when I am so tired,
An exhausted passion head trip.
Strolling down memory lane hurt me.
The mind pulsates and flows.
My muse she tells me,
What I already know.
"The writing will keep you eternal."
Even after life, I will live.

This "Angel Cutter" idea won't leave my mind. In my dreams, I'm seeing the characters and hearing their voices. Taking these new ideas and combining them with my 'A Sending of Dragons' concepts to create something even better. In "A Sending of Dragons" essentially our hero's search for the Last Dragon, only to find he's a shape shifter amongst them, and that the knowledge they sought was with them all the time. Everyone knows 'the helping hand' is the one on the end of your own arm and it's that thought I was exploiting.

My problem with stories whether shorts, novels, or comics is that I always seem to get a few good chapters done and that's it. The idea dwindles, or I can't seem to keep it feeling fresh enough to make it worth finishing. Sometimes, the idea only has a beginning or an end and nothing else. I have not yet learned how to get over these hurdles. It takes more than writing practice, and I need to find out just what is that will get all these stories out of me in a complete form.

I am swinging the Angel Cutter in my brain. I am slicing down my enemies, one god at a time.

Trying to work off some of this negative energy.

You'll notice on the bottom of my links/credit box I now hold a "Creative Commons License". Essentially, people can read and use my work as much as they like as long as they credit me for it. You can find out more here: Creative Commons. And this link contains a link to other licensed sites: Common Content.

You might enjoy this new Yahoo group that I joined for poets: Cafe Poetry. Enjoyed some good writing there.

Hopefully, all of this can both protect and publicize my work as I plan to really work on the poetry writing. It's not only my forte, poetry writing is a solo activity and I don't need to rely on anyone else to create it.

Holoscan is selling text adds, 10,000 views for a $1.00!! Think that might be a good avenue for promotion, and if not then I'm not out anything.

May also design and create some Cafe Press items: Cafe Press.

Lastly thinking of putting up a donation button with Pay Pal or something of the like. The validation from getting an actual payment for my work would be manna from heaven.

I've not had a lot of luck getting people to link to me, etc. But someday, I promise you, they'll say..."I knew him before he was famous." Okay, a bit of cliche, but it's those dreams of success that keep me going. And, without that, what is there left worth going on for?

The writing here will keep getting better and better. Stay tuned. Fall in. Space out. Just don't be late, the revolution will be homoginzied...:)

Looks like it's gonna be a good news day. If only I could wire the news straight into my head. Here's a few interesting links I read this morning.

Warren Buffet's wit and wisdom.


Gates: Buy stamps to send email.


Got milk? Overweight kids may need it.

In my head this evening, I am imagining a dark hero/sorcerer. Though he doesn't have name yet, the sword he wields does. It is called the "Angel Cutter". I'm not sure where I'm going to go with this idea but I love it. Reminds me of when I was a kid, playing with my Master of the Universe toys. I still love those things.

I'm thinking of playing an RGP again. Perhaps Dungeons and Dragons. But not sure I want to invest all the money required to get into it. Wonder if there is some sort of on-line group I could play with.

Back in the day of dial-up (direct) BBS's, I remember playing DC-Heros by email. It was fun, we were all required to make one move a week. My character was a Batman rippoff called "The Motivator". Stupid name, had a good time until I accidentally blasted myself with my lightning discharge weapon. Or did I set a bomb for the bad guys and it blew me up instead? Doesn't matter, I was dead. Playing an RPG by email could definitely be fun again.

Okay, the car is still missing but I at least got the first issue of my 'zine "Blue Rabbit Chronicles" done for Alpha Centauri. It's my secret origin debut and turned out much better than I thought it would. Even with my canned template, it doesn't look bad either. Will get it mailed out before Aikido practice tomorrow. I carried over the rabbit theme to the 'zine, wonder if there is some subconscious significance?

I also like the name 'Meanwhile, On Planet Earth' for a 'zine. Who knows maybe I can use that someday.

Not working this weekend, so I'm sure I can funnel some of this angst from the car being stolen into writing some poetry...or maybe even punk rock song lyrics! :)

My car was stolen at work tonight most likely by someone I thought was a friend. Someone that my wife and I tried to help. I can't seem to escape the low-lifes and pieces-of-shit on this planet. For God-sakes, he slept here the past two nights. I have worked hard my whole life to keep my head above water. I may not be rich but everything I own is paid for. My things may not be beautiful but my family and I are not drowning in the American sea of debt. Three years ago our other car was stolen, it took four months to get it back. This is bullshit, I'm tired of being the nice guy. Maybe it's time to stop being the gentle soul. If I only knew how...

I was once told by a friend that I fear my spirituality. She's right. I am afraid of God, religion, and the ilk. Religion and spirituality are not the same thing. Knowing about God, and knowing God are not always mutually exclusive. This poem is in a response to that age old feeling of 'Who is God , what does He want, and does He exist?'

Karma Eater

There are Angels in the Garden
Under shade trees;
The tallest of whom
Man may call "Lord of Hosts".
A class is in session.
An instruction given--
Holy trumpet lessons.
Gabriel blow your crazy horn.
Death bellow sound.
Holy, Holy, Holy.

I read the Book.
I know what it said.
Seals and scrolls, floods and plague,
Shake my inner peace.
I can love what I can not see.
Faith be to me.
But-it is clear-
I can not love what I fear.

In Palestine and Israel,
The war still rages,
Neither side can put the guns down,
Because neither side can put the religion down.
Culture and duty are hard to escape,
Fighting over sacred desert,
Hating each other, blowing up, for your Holy Name.

Picture Heaven's dinner plate tonight-
My Karma, My Me in Life Soup.
The truth is in the bowl.
(Angels eat it with a knife and fork.)
Her bread sopped me up with a laying of hands.
Not a faith healing,
A faith stealing.
Forgotten in the eternal plan.

Lord, hear my prayer!
If you are Him--
Show me truth not some book.
Leadeth me to green pastures,
Away from burning dreams.
Or will tomorrow be the day that the world smells my ash incense?
Forever and ever.
Amen.

Almost bed time, but I had a thought I wanted to share as I wrote an email to a new friend: "I love to write, and secretly it loves me too...:)"

Now off to bed. Good night.

I promise more poetry and the like soon. I'm still catching up from being gone (I guess I do do a lot in a week) and I'm working on my first submission to the Alpha Centauri APA. The submission is an introduction which I am finding quite hard to write. It's not easy to say, "Hello" uniquely so perhaps I should just say "hello". I believe my second 'zine will be much easier to write once I've broken the ice. I'm also finding how poorly I spell and punctuate. Need to take a class or something.

I am doing a lot more diary-like entries of late here on the BLOG which is not what I originally intended this site to be. But things change, and I find myself now wanting to put much of my life and thoughts into words. I need to leave something behind especially at this pivotal point in my existence. "White Rabbit-BLACK HOLE" is truly a living document always changing and becoming new things.

Just finished reading the first two issues of Warren Ellis's "Two Step". I really liked them. Most of his 3 issue series have been lame and "Global Frequency" is okay but no "Transmetropolitan".

Reading Stan Rice's "False Prophet"--powerful, very powerful stuff. His poetry is the kind I aspire to write.

While at the comic shop, I purchased 'Teen Titans Go! #3' for Marinda. It's done in the same format/continuity as the television show and has the same high quality. Definitely something else the kids and I can enjoy together. Hopefully the kids will learn to love comics the way Dad does.

Work resumes this afternoon. Where do I get myself an unending vacation? Not sure which I dread more: returning or the hundreds of unopened emails.

There is a song lyric that I love from the most unlikely of artists: Moby. "I'm trying to protect my humanity. That's when I reach for my revolver. That's when it all gets blown away." Wow. Heavy.

Can't shake the words to an almost-poem out of my head. Not quite sure what will become of this piece, but you will see it again:

I Washed Away

I washed away,
From the sand-sin beach
Into an ocean-of-killers.
The time that distracts me.

And through the slowly opening
doors-of-our-life-together.
I call out.
No, I scream,
"Let my angel live!"
Religion doesn't do me.

And this is how it is:
I would love to love the world again;
for the very first time.

Just before bed last night-right before dream-I realized, I was meant to be a poet.