Where The Monsters Don't Linger

How I yearn for the place where the Monsters don't linger.

A place free of startling, fearful things.

All surprises happy - All the thrills Benign.

Horror sidelined, banned from scaring.

Life and Death - the stakes removed.

Where could it be this Land of Easy?

Peaceful, playful, ever kind.

Make my nest and rear my Lovelies.

Safe from Evil 'neath my wings.

How to find the 'Monster Free-Zone?' 

Piece of Heaven, Peace sublime.

As I Peacefully Slumber...

FREE PHIL SPECTOR'S WIG! GUILTY of 2nd Degree Murder!

DEVO - BEAUTIFUL WORLD

Phil Spector's Wig began life in the jungles of west Africa - a lone surviving pup - after poachers illegally and cruelly killed its mother and litter-mates. Orphaned, cold and desperately thin, Phil Spector's Wig was found by a kindly National Park Ranger and given a home. Hand fed 4 times a day with bottles of goat's milk, Phil Spector's Wig was raised as human hair for three years before it became too large to continue to live in the tiny forest quarters of the Ranger. Trading the caged hair for the equivalent of $40 American, Phil Spector's Wig was seperated from a loving environment for the second time in its short life.



The next five years were a blur of animal traders, zoos and carnival side shows - a parade of cages and handlers that seemed to reawaken the wild yearnings of the seemingly tamed beast . At long last Phil Spector's Wig came to rest in a habitat at the L.A. Zoo, sharing the space with Burt Reynold's 1970s Fill-In-The-Blank, an Eva Gabor Fall and three of Shatner's Early Rugs.

It was at this time that Phil Spector's Wig was seen by the legendary music producer's stylist. Ageing, dry and in need of an all-over blunt trim, Phil Spector's Wig was bought for an undisclosed sum and quietly removed from the Zoo's collection. After six months of aggressive moisturizing and rumored electro-shock treatments, Phil Spector's Wig initially appeared on his head shortly before Mr. Spector was put on trial for the murder of Lana Clarkson replacing the hairpiece that had been a potential witness to her mysterious death.



In early court appearances, Phil Spector's Wig displayed the aggression of a beast long tamed against its will - it threatened to take over the trial and tip the scales of Justice against its Master. For this reason, it had to be beaten mercilessly into an obedient blonde Page-Boy where it sat for the four-plus months of the trial.



On Monday, April 13th, Phil Spector was found Guilty of the Second Degree Murder of Lana Clarkson. Should his Wig have been put on the stand in his defence? Just what did the hair see? We may never know.

Free Phil Spector's Wig! I believe that slow exposure to the wild would make it possible to someday release Phil Spector's Wig to the jungle from which it was taken. Phil Spector's Wig could live the life that Nature intended, wild and free - no longer beaten down by relentless brushing and cruel triple-processing. Phil Spector's Wig could once again take its place among the jungle's apex predators.

Please join me in this moral quest. Make your voice heard with mine! Free Phil Spector's Wig!

*This message brought to you by epistleoftimothy & The Campaign to Free Phil Spector's Wig which are solely resposible for its content. Funding from the World Wildlife Foundation and the United Hairdressers of America Philanthropic Fund.

dust

Push to Play

He noticed the tall, thin Stranger in black jeans as the first of the sparrows hit the ground beside him - startling him to snap his gaze to the tiny bird where it had 'thumped.' It writhed on its back in the dust, clawing at the air with one, two, three grasping kicks before it shuddered still.

'Poor thing" formed in his mind when the second bird bounced off of the hard soil beneath the tree, stiff by the time it had settled. After a pause came the third, fourth, fifth - a hail of small brown bodies crashing into the dirt with a muddy 'thud' the only noise they made.

In fact, the park had gone still, save the whispered sounds of the little, feathered, silent sparrows raining down. More than sparrows now - some larger black birds, a tiny green finch... Then the first of the squirrells crashed through the limbs above him and landed almost at his feet. It bounced knee high and he saw the brown pupil of its eye roll back into its head, the neck bending too far to one side. Others followed. He stopped counting. One of the shapes brushed his hand as gravity drew it to the dirt and he gasped, taking a backwards step.

Once again the tall, thin Stranger in the black jeans caught his eye. Captured his eyes, more like - his gaze transfixed by the lines on the tall, thin Stranger's hard face. All was silent now. Everything that had been alive in the trees above them now lay motionless on the ground. Squirrells, birds, even insects had fallen into the hard-pan soil of the forest floor.

He needed to speak. Needed to ask the tall, thin Stranger about the deluge of Death they'd witnessed. Needed to break the stare but he was suddenly powerless. Then the Stranger seemed to smile - oh, so slightly - and the space between them grew gray and heavy. His limbs had never felt so heavy. The pull of the ground like hands crawling up his legs walking on unseen fingers, weighing him down.

'Down to rest.' Did the Stranger say the words or had he mumbled aloud to himself. He talked to himself all the time, especially when he was tired. So very tired. Eyes now as heavy as his arms and legs. Again the Stranger smiled. This time broader - showing teeth and wetting his lower lip with his tongue.

'Timothy." He knew the Stranger had spoken it. Spoken his name. But how did the tall, thin Stranger know his name? He hadn't told him. The Stranger must know him. Must have expected him? Must have come for him and caused this deadly rain.

As the thought that would evince his scream took shape in his mind, his head hit the crowded ground below. He tasted dust as his exhale blew the feathers of the first tiny bird that had fallen.

The tall, thin Stranger folded his arms and sighed.

The Curse of Verse (from Bad to Worse?)

and so coughs Monkey, “Deal me out!”

His cards collapse, his hand in doubt.

He leaves the room to smoke and pout.

And absently paces about ‘til toe is stubbed – “Christ God!” – his shout.

Eyes fill in peep holes all about

To witness Monkey’s dancing bout!

His Hostess screams, “Come in you lout!

You’ve blown my cool - I need the clout!

Count neighbors’ eyes – pressed glass to snout!

They breathe sausage and sauerkraut!

Return, sweet Monkey, don’t stay out!

You needn’t storm and stomp and pout.

You’re luck will change. I have no doubt!

I whisper now but soon I’ll shout!

Now stop meandering about!

My nerves are frayed! I’ll have a bout!

Hysteria! You brutish lout!

My standing here destroyed! No clout!”

…and so coughs, Monkey, wipes his snout, and thinks he smells the sauerkraut.

One Man's Stimulus...

Luck, Be A Lady!

Idaho Senator Larry Craig prepares to present the Republican Stimulus Alternative.

Apparently he favors a Three-Pronged, er...uh Legged? Well, maybe he prefers the Three-Fingered approach.

Lest We Forget

On July 5, 1852, Frederick Douglass gave a speech at an event commemorating the signing of the Declaration of Independence, held at Rochester's Corinthian Hall. It was biting oratory, in which the speaker told his audience, "This Fourth of July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn." And he asked them, "Do you mean, citizens, to mock me, by asking me to speak to-day?"

Within the now-famous address is what historian Philip S. Foner has called "probably the most moving passage in all of Douglass' speeches."

What, to the American slave, is your 4th of July? I answer; a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim. To him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; your national greatness, swelling vanity; your sound of rejoicing are empty and heartless; your denunciation of tyrants brass fronted impudence; your shout of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers and hymns, your sermons and thanks-givings, with all your religious parade and solemnity, are to him, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy -- a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages. There is not a nation on the earth guilty of practices more shocking and bloody than are the people of the United States, at this very hour.

Click for the entire Douglass Speech

Timothy, On The Sofa To Damascus

Saturday Morning 6:59am

The rustle of feathers,"I am the Lord thy God!." the bearded man sat across from Timothy in the lounge chair in his living room.
"Well you certainly look the part." Timothy replied, "A lot more convincing than the guy yesterday."
"Yesterday?" Christ furrowed his brow.
"Yeah, yesterday a guy in robes and ...hey, don't you know all about my yesterday? You're like God, and all, right?"
"I am the Lord thy God, yep, sure am." Jesus scanned the room,"Sorta dark in here."
"It's barely seven am on a Saturday," Timothy offered,"I usually sleep in. Uh, pardon my asking but you don't seem all that God-like, all-knowing and all..."
"I am the Lord-" He began.
"...yeah , thy God, I got that, "Timothy replied." Maybe you should get that printed on a T-shirt or embroidered on a pillow you could point to, less repetition that way."
Christ gestured and a small card-table appeared between them. "Let's arm wrestle." Jesus began rolling up the sleeve of his robe.
"How could that be fair?" Timothy pressed."Allmighty God, etc., etc..."
"Would you just humor me?"
"Jesus needs humoring? Is this a typical Saturday for you or are you feeling a little off?"
"Just put up or shut up!"Christ planted his right elbow on the table.
"Whatever."Timothy grasped his hand and slammed Jesus' hand on the table.
"Best two outta three?"Jesus asked.
"I need coffee."Timothy went to the kitchen.
"No seriously, I wasn't ready."
Timothy re-entered the room. "I've got to tell you that this isn't how I pictured you, uh...behaving, Lord. I guess I thought, I don't know, more flash and thunder clapping."
"I'm trying a new approach," Christ absently stroked his beard,"More 'down to Earth.' No pun intended."
"You're not doing yourself any favors."Timothy ducked back into the kitchen.
"D'you need any help with the coffee?" Jesus asked.
"No thanks, I've got it."

Part II - Timothy, On The Sofa To Damascus, Again

The sputter of the coffee maker came from the kitchen.
"So how do you take your coffee?" Timothy asked from the kitchen.
"None for me, thanks" Christ replied.
Timothy leaned in from the kitchen, "I have an assortment of teas. Some are de-caf if you're avoiding caffeine?"
"It's not the caffeine. It's just, well I'm not entirely corporeal right now?" Jesus explained.
Timothy frowned, "I don't understand..."
"Corporeal is just another word for Physical, made of flesh -"
Timothy interrupted," I know what the word means. I'm just confused that you're not 'entirely corporeal' - we just arm-wrestled. I felt your hand."
"Why do you think you won so easily?"Jesus asked.
"You don't get to the Gym very often..."
"Very cute. I'll forgive you for that one." Jesus smiled.
"Thanks, I mean sincerely, thanks Lord."
An awkward silence was broken by Jesus," I'm just partly physical right now. I'm not supposed to manifest myself fully until my Second Coming. 'Til then. I can make these semi-corporeal appearances. See, I'm just physical on the outside today...no guts for coffee or musculature for arm-wrestling."
"So why did you challenge me to arm-wrestling? You even wanted to go two out of three?" Timothy pressed.
"I was hoping to psych you out. I'm Jesus, some people are more overwhelmed than you."
Timothy reentered, coffee mug in hand. "I guess I have a high 'awe threshold' or something. Plus there was the guy yesterday, with the same 'I am the Lord thy God' routine. Come to think of it, he had a lightning and thunder show that was pretty impressive."
"What made you think He wasn't Me?" Jesus asked.
"He had curly red hair and he wasn't wearing robes and sandals. He was wearing a black skin-tight body suit, knee-high boots. More MATRIX than First Century Galilee."
"I have a lot of imitators." Christ shook his head.
"I guess I never gave that much thought," Timothy sipped at his still hot coffee.
"So what have you got planned for the day?" Jesus asked.
"Usual Saturday stuff - TV, grocery store, write on my blog...nothing exciting. Why?"
"I just thought I'd hang out with you for the day. Should I change out of these robes?"
Timothy thought," Naw, I buy my groceries at a co-op, very hippie-dippy, earth-shoe, granola crowd. You'll fit right in."

Take A Trip In The Epistle WAY-BACK MACHINE!

It's back in the time stream 2 years. Phil Spector's wig, Kate Bush, Gary Numan, The Curses of Verses Parts I through ? Stigmata, Pathos, Humor, Horror & Homos lots of Homos. 

CLICK TO START THE MACHINE