Cardomon Pt. II Early Material

Erin Koip Orinitus rose from her camp bed, slipped into a warm robe and fetched her baby out of his crib. Sitting on the edge of the cot, holding Sikar II to her chest, she looked through the open front of her shelter tent down the short graded approach to Lucy’s estate, morning mist smoked the treetops and heavy dew damped the terrain.

A second cot adjoined Erin’s, standing head to head, it was empty, only holding disturbed blankets in a heap. Around the foot of her bed a folding mattress lay on the ground, a sleeping figure stretched across it.

Her empty hand took her pillow and threw it at the man, hitting the back of his shoulders. “Wake up! Your wife is out running already, Grube is with her.”

Chilperic sat up and let the covers fall over his lap. He yawned and scratched a stubbled chin. “Don’t do that! I feel like I just got to bed.”

“Didn’t you? You were still drinking with those guys when Chris, Grube and I turned in. I bet you were up half the night!”

“Sometimes it’s the only way I can sleep.”

“You should relax with your wife, not with alcoholics. I don’t need you two here—go home and fuck, you’ll both feel better.”

Two Miracles

An email to a friend:

Glad to hear from you and Happy Happy Happy, if I may be redundant
I had a big scare with Zora two days ago. The landlord put cows and calves in the pasture. I walk around them, at first they shied away at our approach and I have a leash to keep her controlled. But if they are a ways away I let Zora free. Sunset Monday I thought they were far enough off, but one curious calf ran over before I could restrain Zora. I've had the girl for almost fifteen years now and she hardly ever runs any more, but the sight of moving livestock triggers her instincts to herd. She started chasing the calf and its Momma cow came running at a charge. She clobbered Zora with front and rear hooves, the poor girl lay curled on the ground in tremors. I carried her inside and put her on her pillow, I thought she was a goner for sure but I offered soft food (hot dogs) and she demonstrated spirit.
Yesterday Zora was stiff and slower than usual, but active. This morning she seems hardly worse at all.
A miracle.
And I don't even do Christmas.
Also, just for sheer beauty, let me tell you about my Holiday tree:
Back in September I was going to work at that Orland Farmstead Creamery. There is a stand of Valley Oaks the one-lane road goes through and sometimes I stopped there the take a leak. This Fall was what the ecologists call a 'mast' season, which means that the oaks were putting out tons of acorns--I collected a few. I planted one in a ceramic pot and waited, nothing happened, it seemed. But after a month I scratched a little in the soil and saw a radicle (embryonic root) emerging from the pointy tip so I kept watering it. The first green appeared in early November along a tiny crack in the acorn body. Gradually the crack got bigger, other ones formed that splintered the end and the green mass has crept into the open. It is the slowest process I have ever observed, I wish I had a time-lapse camera setup. All of the growth happens at night, it seems, just a little larger each day and this morning it had tiny leaves on it--welcome to the World!
That makes two miracles
Happy Happy Happy, if I may be even more redundant

Holiday Jear

by Michael Long

How I hate the holidays
let me count the ways:
first, the stupid christmas tunes
in my ears like donkey brays!

Commercialism, traffic jams
dispensing fights galore,
me thinks your Christmas spirit
has gone out the fucking door!

Take pity on the lonely,
the single, and the poor,
and then there are the homeless
who don't even have a floor.

Sleeping in the bushes

and shivering in the night
victims of disasters,
who cares about their plight?

There are good people in the world
they're just too few and far between,
but each year gets progressively worse
and this is the worst I’ve seen!

I too am far from guiltless;
this also is a cinch.
Is it any wonder
why I’m a goddamned grinch?

Kindness

by Michael Dean Long

You've all heard the tale of the eighty-one whacks

Made by Lizzy Borden’s oh so merciful axe.

I can well attest that she was too kind

Or maybe just thankful her parents weren't mine.

In scenes too horrific for Silver Screen or TV

I muse what would transpire if she had been me.

With thousands of pieces strewn on the floor

I'd still have the venom urging me on to do more!

With malevolent laughter they've not heard before

I'd strip myself naked and bathe in their gore

Lucky they are, not to have lifted the lid

Of that Pandorean Box and I left when I did.

Like Shakespearean actors upon life's stage

Their lives would have ended at the turning of the page.

The unfathomable pain, the incalculable rage

Earned these monsters their miserable wage.

All of this and sadistic humor to boot,

For kindness was never my strongest of suits!   

Humptys' Plight

by Michael Dean Long

Humpty Dumpty had a big brother

Two younger sisters and a very wicked mother,

With all their abuse, their hatred and gall

'Twas his family who caused poor Humpty’s great fall.

Long did he fall, for ‘twas deep the Abyss

And no one he knew gave his plummet a piss.

All the world’s shrinks, and all the king’s men

Tossed him between them again and again!!!

PROMPT: You Gave Me Gas And Saved Me From An Embarrassing Situation.

Andy Hanson
He was filling the 300 helium balloons that would take him, he hoped, high enough to photograph the gigantic art circle he had commissioned. His location was a remote farm on the edge of the 5000-acre wheat field that was his canvas.

He had spent his last 20 million on this, his latest art project, and had gone over budget in a big way. In fact his check to the Official Balloon Ascent Team had bounced; hence this do-it-yourself project was his only hope. The flattened week was unbending and rain was in the forecast.

After filling two hundred and twenty balloons, he knew for certain that he would run out of helium. He called his girlfriend and explained the problem. She persuaded her dentist to load her pickup with the five canisters he kept for recreational purposes, and she drove like a maniac to the farm. She was in time!

His last words as he ascended were, “You saved me from an very embarrassing situation!”

Unfortunately, those turned out to be his last words. The storm was the worst in a decade.

The dentist and his girlfriend lived happily ever after.

James (Ben) Mielke
      Out in the desert, under the moon, on the side of the road, a car, alone, the driver stranded on a byway since midday-no traffic.
      An urgent occasion awaits five hundred miles ahead. Many people believed he never intended to show. Only his wedding, after all.
      He had to stay behind and finish a late job. Drove all day, took the infamous shortcut. Now, out of gas.
      Just to keep in the mood he got his tuxedo from the back seat and dressed for the occasion--in style, top hat and cane.
      A battered pickup came over the dawning horizon with one headlight out.
      He stood in the road and tipped his hat at the approach.
      Brakes squealed, tires skidded.
      "What in Holy Moly are you?" came a voice from the dark space inside.
      "I'm late, I need gas."
      "Well shee-it pal. There's a truck stop at the crossroads a mile around the bend. How long you been out here?"
      "Since yesterday."
      "Shee-it. Bet yer hungry. I'll buy breakfast."
      He made it to the Altar on time. His tux was wrinkled and grease stained. He didn't notice that a bit of straw adhered to the seat of his trousers.

Liz Stewart
If you are Passing Gas, you are likely in Kansas, somewhere near the edge of the state. Town fathers, chuckle-headed old farts, felt assured of recognition- perhaps even an award from the state legislature for originality. Their wives, used to all the hot air, needed a post office, so they wrote to the governor, swearing that they loved the name.

Or:  If you are in Kansas, you could be passing Gas! Town fathers, chuckle-headed old farts, were challenged to score a post office. Their wives, used to all the hot air, wrote to the governor assuring him they loved the name. There's even a book with their name on the cover!

Michael Dean Long
ODE TO A BURRITO
You gave me gas
And created an embarrassing situation.
You were nothing more to me
Than a culinary infatuation.
I should have realized
Despite my inebriation
That this would culminate
In an unpleasant confrontation.
Why did I take you in?
Why did I have you for dinner?
Why could I not ascertain
That you would emerge as the Winner?

The War on Terror is an Error

          If I were a terrorist

                    I wouldn’t fool ‘round

          With improvised bombs

                   Out on the ground

          I’d drop them from planes

                   Just like the pros

          And if there’s a crowd

                   I’d send in the drones

          If I were a terrorist

                   I’d read all the mail

          I’d hear all the phone calls

                   So I won’t fail

          To find all the bad guys

                   And make sure they pay

          For having the nerve

                   To ruin my day

          If I were a terrorist

I’d kill all the Jews

          The Moslems and Christians

                   Maybe the Druze

Pagans and Skeptics

                   Will fall in the dust

          The voice of my God

                   Tells me I must

          If I were a terrorist

                   I’d shoot from the hip

          I’d do it in style

                   Make killing look slick

          I’d ban all the books

                   That say murder is sin

          With teachings like that

                   I’d never fit in

          I am not a terrorist

                   And I hope you agree

          That violence is vicious

                   Not for the Free

          Killing is killing

                   No matter the cause

          It can’t be excused

                   It won’t change the Laws

Dedicated to Lou Reed's Liver Transplant

Them drugs

Them drugs

Them bad drugs

(repeat 3 times)

Now hear the words of the wise

Them drugs

Them drugs

Gonna knock you down

(repeat 3 times)

Now hear the words of the wise

One drug is connected to chronic pain

The next drug is connected to depression

Another drugs is for anxiety

Now hear the words of the wise

There’s a drug over here to get you high

And a drug over there to bring you low

More drugs than we can keep up on

Now hear the words of the wise

Ain’t no drug gonna do you good

Ain’t no drug gonna do you good

Ain’t no drug gonna do you good

Now hear the words of the wise

Them drugs with give you rotten teeth

Them drugs will give you poison blood

Them drugs will eat your liver out

Now hear the words of the wise

Them drugs will make you hurt your friends

Them drugs will make you lie and steal

Them drugs will make you pimp your child

Now hear the words of the wise

(repeat first two verses)

Old Friends (pt. 2)

         They came to the end of the moving strip, just short of a door. The Count led them through and they were on one of the upper tiers of the rotunda of the Grand Hall. In the vast open space their steps and Dracula’s voice echoed. “This palace can house twenty thousand people but I choose to live alone now—I even dismissed my personal servants a few weeks ago. You and I are the only persons on this entire planet.” He lapsed into silence and Van Helsing said nothing. The radius of the rotunda was over two hundred feet and traversing a quarter of the circle took several minutes.

          Finally they came to a radiating hallway—like many they had already passed—and stepped onto another moving strip. As they got under way Dracula asked, “What do you remember last before I captured you?”

          “I had gone to England—London—to meet a literary and theatrical man. I remember leaving his home one night and a cab approached. I hailed it and got in—the next thing I remember is you torturing me.”

          “You do not believe me but I am indeed so sorry for that treatment. I was in that cab—I had mesmerized the driver and was awaiting you. Some time before that I had broken into your lodgings in Vienna while you slept one night and read your memoir and your correspondence with Mr. Stoker. I preceded you to London and was prepared to act upon your arrival. I killed you—made you undead, like myself. I returned to Mr. Stoker’s home sometime after midnight dragging your corpse. It was a most effective demonstration and he chose to cooperate with me at once. You may be pleased to hear that Mr. Stoker published your memoir—as a work of fiction, I’m afraid. There were some significant revisions—I was instrumental in most. It was a tremendous success and I secretly held a portion of the publishing and theatrical rights. I was wealthy before, but that book made me a fortune. That is another debt I owe you. Careful, now. We’re going to step off at that door coming up on the left—it leads to my personal apartment.”

Advice 4 Singers

Always feed grits to your choir

Because there is harmony with hominy

Written with apologies to Robert W. Service

There are strange things done in the capital, son
That would stand your hair on end.
Our Republican reps cash their booster’s checks
Then decide which laws to bend.

Those folks on the hill with hands in the till
Never want their Fox viewers to see
That their public lives are a pack of lies
As revealed on Maddow TV.

Talk Is Cheap

Our English teacher
drove us back from the debate.
We were in the backseat
nuzzling, kissing.

I caressed skin
between bra and panties.

My car was at the school,
and when I drove her home,
she touched my hand.
“Love me up a little.”

I was 16.
I worked with her mother at the hospital.

I said I’d like to…
but I just couldn’t.

She slid away from me,
opened the door,
repeated something under her breath
as she walked unaccompanied to her door.
I think it was
“Talk is cheap.”

VALLEY FOG

Travelling north
my TR3 talking to me
with its low hypnotic growl
Riding the sound
Rolling into Bakersfield
on 99
Clear cold
January morning
Engine heat
warming my thighs
Claudia on my mind
Humming
Shall We Gather at the River

I was
Already honking
in her driveway
Seeing her framed
in the light of the open door
Holding her
still unbalanced
from extracting myself
Kissing her
Her dog Bruno
patiently eagerly waiting
to carry my trumpet case
carefully in his big jaws
The aroma of
Swedish meatballs

Overpass
The highway dipped
then climbed
into
Blind terror
A white wall
A white shroud
Like unexpected death

Old Friends

An old man, incredibly old and maybe no longer a man, but a vigorous man, if such he were, for all of the centuries. He walked the halls of his grand palace and reveled in melancholy, a growing affliction of his spirit.

Castle Dracula was a huge edifice—the North Wing alone extended three quarters of a mile out from the Grand Hall and stood eight stories high by a hundred yards wide. A maze of ballrooms, terraces, stairways, galleries and alcoves, baroque details, stone carvings and elaborate woodwork created an intricate texture of niches and recesses; vaulted ceilings, archways and colonnades pulled the eyes to long distances and deep dark spaces. Automated lighting accented viewlines and cast dramatic shadows, turning on at his approach and blinking out as soon as he passed. It was a long walk, he could have made the journey much more quickly by riding the sliding floors and elevators in the parallel, efficient network of service corridors. But he wanted to think and he felt like indulging the luxury of newly precious time—with only a few hours left to a thousand years of existence, spending twenty extra minutes traversing the palace felt sweet and decadent. And, if truth were told, he was more than a little apprehensive of his mission.

At last he descended the final narrow stairway—below the wine cellars—and came to the heavy iron doors leading to the dungeons. This had once been an important center of his existence but his days of pleasure in tormenting his enemies were long in the past. He took a large ring of keys from his pocket and began trying the different ones in the lock, finally finding a fit with the seventh key. It took him some minutes to open a doorway that had once stood wide, guarded full-time by twenty heavily armed professional sadists. The lock was sticky and he struggled to turn the key, fearing it would break off. Hinges groaned rustily as he pulled the half-ton valves open. The lights from here on were no longer automated and he had to locate the master panel in the dungeon control room. In fact he needed no lights to find his way but he was accustomed in recent ages to operating under custom spectrum lighting to maintain the tone and texture of his skin, and so, not remembering which circuits would be needed, he switched on the lights all throughout the prison.

Found Letter

Found on the ground of a homeless campsite in Chico California...

I don't deserve what I have
But I'm highly gratified for her
I've done some wrongs to her
And she forgives me
I don't know why
I'm trying to do better
I really am
But it's real hard in my head
I've never had someone to trust, still don't
And I've never loved someone that much again, never will again
I want to show her that
I really can change - I did and got smart
I believe I can
And so does she, if she's still here
Thank you, Kay, for being my beauty
I'm sorry for being the beast
I will always love you

Signed
Love
Grizzly
the one who got smart

Real Crime Drama

True Story:
This morning I go out to spend the last pennies in my account on gas.
About a quarter mile down the road I realize my wallet is not in my pocket.
Back up on the narrow road and go home, look around all the usual places--no wallet.
Not seen since the last time I bought gas--Tuesday
I go to the 7-11 and ask if they found it. She looks all over, no.
Then I call Corning Police and inquire.
Halfway into making my report I see the wallet on the floor of my car (it was under my laptop).
I'd already used up ten minutes of the police person's time and I didn't want to let her feel that it was wasted
Or that I was stupid
So I didn't tell her my discovery.
Am I guilty of filing a false police report?

World's Shortest Tongue Twister

Try saying "I hypothesize' three times really fast
Bonus points if you have been drinking

Update to the Devil's Dictionary

Recap: v. To make a second pass in a drive-by shooting.

I'm Dying To Know

Does the Grim Reaper's baby play with a Death rattle?

How Was That Again?

What I want to know is: Where do I find a good pair of incensewood sandals?

Cardomon-The Future

    She was old for her tribe, in her forties at least—she had long since abandoned the egoism of enumerating her years. The trials of mountain life and the rigors of her discipline had been harsh on her body. Her hair was white, her flesh was brown, she was lined with creases and she walked with a distinct limp in her right leg. Nonetheless her pace was strong and steady and her eyes were clear. Certainly she was ready to go to Cardomon but Cardomon, it seemed, was not ready for her yet.
    Not that she wanted to leave the flesh, still, the situation granted her the luxury of a little detachment. It was only her discipline that kept her focussed enough on the here and now to avoid a fatal misstep as she scrambled across the rugged foothill country.    
    It was a poor season to travel this country, hot, dusty and dry. Her path led across the lower courses of numerous small dry creekbeds that dissected a low plateau. Again and again she descended from the thinly wooded heights to the dense riparian forests in the canyon bottoms and then climbed back to the heights. The elevation change averaged about two hundred feet—it was just enough of a climb to make her feel it and topping the interfluves was a delirious rush as her breath caught up with her pace and she would run the downslopes with a great leaping stride until she came skittering to a halt on the gravel bottoms. Every third or fifth canyon still held a sheltered pool of water in its bottom and this would be a cue for an extended break—she was in no hurry. She would throw her pack to the ground, take out a ladle and draw herself a long drink. Then she would set her pack up against a shady bank, sit back against it and kick off her sandals; out would come her pipe and she would quietly smoke and relax. If the mood was right she would play a small wooden flute—she liked to imitate the birds. Sometimes her eyes would close and she would doze for a while.
    Still she kept a good pace; by sunset she had covered fifteen miles and, with three rising moons, she kept on into the early hours of the night—a full twenty miles had passed before she finally stopped. She made no fire but simply unrolled a thin blanket to sleep under the stars. She was not hungry for she had been gathering and eating roots, nuts and fruits for much of the day’s hike. It was still warm in the morning when she rose in the gray before dawn. She continued her trek until she came to another pool. Wading into the knee-deep water she crossed to an overhanging bank. Reaching into the cavity beneath the bank her skilled hands found the fish she knew must shelter there. With a firm grasp she grabbed the fish and pulled it from the water. She slapped its flopping body against the overhanging rock and the fish was still. Within minutes she had a fire going and the fish was cooking on the end of a stick. An hour later she was cleaned up and on the trail again.

One Hundred Ten in the Shade

When it’s a hundred-ten degrees in the shade, hummingbirds perch on the fence in the spray at the edge of the sprinkler, panting.

A fresh picked strawberry does for your mouth what a good orgasm does somewhere else.

Bean vines grow fast enough to make you hear a giant shout “Fe-Fi-Fo-Fum!”

When it’s a hundred-ten degrees in the shade, honeybees swarm around the leaky garden faucet

.

A frozen water bottle thaws before you drink it.

A light breeze feels like a blow dryer.

When it’s a hundred-ten degrees in the shade, you question the sanity of people who don’t believe in global warming.