Two Stanzas So Far

1

Someone said there's a place in my Head where the Living and the Dead carry on discourse.

I denied that anything inside could be forced to provide any proof of being in there.

Then the giggle of the Chorus who had gone so long before us burbled up through the porous part of Me I call my Mind.

Laughing they said that I'd made my Bed and to argue with the Dead proved me Madder than I'd feared.

I inhaled my Dread realizing I'd fed my Sanity on the Bread that They couldn't really be there.

Once again the Chorus giggled as upon my chair I wiggled and the line I drew grew squiggled between Them and Me.

So misled - so many Years I sought a Thread to follow backwards in my Head to take me to my Source.

2

Then I fled, the Mark of Cain upon my head. Which was oddly God's protection since my Brother now lay Dead.

I denied that I was Filthy Screaming "I cannot be Guilty!" yet the One who knew my Truth had Loved me more than I could fathom.

Then the Sinless Self-Professors told their Lies to their Confessors and as One pointed fingers at my Guilt. Shouting DAMNED!

Laughing they said that I'd left my Brother Dead and for me there was no Heaven. It was Hell that I should Dread.

I cried until I bled. I beat my chest. "My Life Instead!"

Once again the Chorus sounded while my beating fists still pounded but the words they said resounded through the Torment in my Soul.

Peace instead. So many years you have ahead to follow forward as a thread to bring you to My side.

Creepy Little Left-hand Stigmata Wound

Creepy Little Left-hand Stigmata Wound sat slouched in the towel I'd wrapped it in making soft sucking sounds to itself - rhythmic, almost musical. It continued, the only sound in the room, until my curiosity overcame me, "Tell me, " I ventured, "do tell me, Creepy Little Left-hand Stigmata Wound, how I can ring me up some Jesus to rain down on my head? My spark is stuck in the flesh-web in my brain. I need me some Jesus to rain down on my head."

Silence broken by the sucking sound the wound made - rhythmic almost musical. The next voice was not my own.

"You are SO human!" my kitty cat uncurled in the space beneath my chin and giggled, "Oh SO human and SO all alone! Calling out for the one thing that's never left you. Pity Man, so sure of himself and yet suspended over the gulf of Eternity - his Forever teeters first one way then another."

As usual my kitty cat made more sense than a kitty cat should but her wise words were instantly lost on my slippery soul so again I ventured, "Tell me please, Creepy Little Left-hand Stigmata Wound, tell me HOW I can ring me some Jesus to rain down on my poor head?"

It made a smack, its red-ringed mouth slippery as I bled, then silent a second it seemed to think.

"Listen to itself it must!" Its voice a moist, hoarse whisper, "The jug of wine calls out it thirsts! The dinner dies of hunger!"

The "h" in "hunger" bubbled blood, so absently I wiped it clean. My kitten laughed her meowing laugh to fill the awkward moment.

"From Paradise it banished its silly Self! (said banish-shed, Shakespearean)." Smack smack - it giggled? - then it fell mute, its riddle slowly forming like the scab that dried on my forearm. It had drizzled blood since early morning.

For an instant I might have understood, epiphany triumphant. Then Fear, my favorite feeling, Father of all the Others, overcame my clarity. It was too easy, a trick - might I be the source of my own Eternity? In my horror I cried, "Too simple! It must be Complex, a snarl of rules, a list of Steps!" I shook my arm in anger and the Creepy Little Left-hand Stigmata Wound seemed to cough, the blood flow increasing,"I have been taught to believe in a Chosen few, no Infidels allowed! The Diverse made Same Forever and Ever, Amen."

"Man's Rules, not God's!" It raised its voice. I blinked back tears.

"If true," I whispered,"then all I've learned of Grace and God must be replaced. All my Doing wasted. My frantic quest to be redeemed. My spark alone enough for Heaven's gate - not earned but given - a Loving Fate."

"Mm Hm, " it hummed, my Kitten purred. The Universe buzzed around me.

The Fool, in tears I spoke again,"Please tell me, Creepy Little Left-hand Stigmata Wound, tell me HOW I can ring me some Jesus to rain down on my poor head?"

My Lesson lost, I begged a task, assignment, cost, some work to do to earn it. My Kitten ceased her purring, spun a circle curling up with her ass dismissively in my face. Among the three of us I was the least enlightened.

Suck-suck, suck-suck - rhythmic almost musical. Creepy Little Left-hand Stigmata Wound sat slouched in the towel I'd wrapped it in making soft sucking sounds to itself. The only sound in the room...

antarctica smells like feet

If you are currently in Antarctica, or know someone who is, please leave a Comment or direct your Antarctic friend to my blog. In 3 years I've "pinged" on every continent but the one at the bottom of the world.

The Puzzle First Pieces

Darkness grabbed at the hem of His cloak, drawing it close to His lean frame. The cold wind wicked away His dwindling heat. Heat left from the Great Explosion from which all This was spawned.

Darkness grinned long and toothy, His tongue flicked across the smooth line of His teeth stopping when it snagged on His sharpened canines. Taste of iron, fleeting. The tiny stream of Life closed upon itself.

Darkness felt the aching echo of Pleasure in His thighs. Had He held them tensed all this Time? Since He joined with the Light and all This was made? Now He relaxed, the Pleasure seemed to bounce lightly before it faded away.

Darkness touched me at the halfway of my Forever. Stopped my Heart and Breathing as I slept. Dreamless, my Death dangled above me. Thoughtless, I lay as inactive as the Table beneath me. Voiceless, I could have passed without a Sound.

Darkness giggled as He loosed His grip from my Heart - my deepest Insides. Catching my own Breath, I shuddered as He laughed.

Darkness' Eyes met mine - Forever now Half-Over - flashed a Smile all Teeth and Open Mouth. "Double Dare Ya!" Darkness rasped as His Laughter broke to Coughing, He Laughed 'til Snorting, Slapped His Thighs and Spat - now finished.

Darkness left a Shadow on me - blackened Stain of Smoke and Ash. Scar that Split me, slowly Healing - hurts to Laugh now, aches to Breathe.

The Puzzle's Prequel

The story I wish I could tell you would be filled with a bright light that knew my name. 

The story I wish I could tell you would have familiar faces, gone before.

The story I wish I could tell you would be a misty vision of my body below as I floated above.

The story I wish I could tell you would recall my mother's sweet voice reading to me through a fog.

The story I wish I could tell you would be a galaxy of stars where I weightlessly wandered.

The story I wish I could tell you would have Him reaching for me and calling me Beloved.

The story I wish I could tell you might be a frightful place filled with the screams of the Lost. 

The story I wish I could tell you might crackle and spit with unquenchable fire.

The story I wish I could tell you would be a dark room forever alone.

The story I wish I could tell you would be a place, any place at all for me.

The story I wish I could tell you would have me being...

The story I am left with held no dreams, no torment, no fear.

Nothing experienced with no one there.

That's even wrong.

There was no "there" to hold anyone, anything, any feeling, any darkness.

Peace? Perhaps. But who would know?

Gene Pitney was a Genius

the puzzle begins

After starving him for 5 weeks he shuffled to the white-board and wrote in a wiggly version of his scrawl, "hungry?"

Dozens of Philosophers and Theologians argued the meaning of his single word until after 22 more days he pulled himself on his belly to the white-board and changed it to say, "not hungry?"

The Wise Men scowled.

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.