dead.

PLAY IT LOUD! THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS/DEAD




I returned a bag of groceries
Accidently taken off the shelf
Before the expiration date
I came back as a bag of groceries
Accidently taken off the shelf
Before the date stamped on myself



Did a large procession wave their
Torches as my head fell in the basket,
And was everybody dancing on the casket?



Now it's over I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want
Or, I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do



I will never say the word
"Procrastinate" again; I'll never
See myself in the mirror with my eyes closed
I didn't apologize for
When I was eight and I made my younger brother
Have to be my personal slave



Did a large procession wave their
Torches as my head fell in the basket,
And was everybody dancing on the casket?



Now it's over I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want
Or, I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do

(So) So I won't
(Sit) sit at home
(And) anymore
(And) and you won't
(And) see my head in
(And) the window
(And) and I won't
(And) be around
(And) ever anymore
(And) and I'll be up there on the wall at the store



I returned a bag of groceries
Accidently taken off the shelf
Before the expiration date
I came back as a bag of groceries
Accidently taken off the shelf
Before the date stamped on myself



Did a large procession wave their
Torches as my head fell in the basket,
And was everybody dancing on the casket?



Now it's over I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want
Or, I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do



Now it's over I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want
Or, I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do

Santa Fangs Is Coming To Town

YOU BETTER NOT SHOUT...

The oily pipe smoke that circled the Jolly Old Elf's hoary head smelled like peppermint and children screaming. It was so thick it burned my eyes as my nephew and I stood in line for the Season's perfunctory snapshot and Xmas wishing. Unfortunately, it wasn't the worst smell that assaulted us. The aromas of dirty diapers, the Mall's food court and the boubon-belches of the red-eyed "elf" at the camera combined into a toxic soup that hung in the still air of the over-heated Mall. I silently prayed that Santa's pipe would not accidentally ignite the air with a spark - sure death for us all. The line shuffled forward. Too many people with too many packages made for slow going in the velvet-roped queue.

...YOU BETTER NOT CRY...

Too many people with too many small children...and far too many of them screaming, I thought. Screaming as they held their parents' hands leaning as hard as they could away from the "snow covered" platform and throne. I felt a small tug at my left hand. My nephew, six years old and sharp as a tack, made eye contact and whispered,

"Do we have to do this today?" He blinked away tears - must be the irritating smoke.

...YOU BETTER NOT POUT...

"Well I told you Momma we'd get your picture taken while we shop for a present for your parents and your little sister." I squeezed his hand reassuringly and winked.

...I'M TELLING YOU WHY?...

He blanched, "Don't do that!"

...SANTA CLAUS IS COMING TO TOWN!

"Don't do what?" I asked.

HE'S MAKIN' A LIST...

I saw him struggle to swallow before he spoke. "When you blink with one eye - don't do that, please Uncle Timothy?!"

...CHECKIN' IT TWICE...

"Why not, Sport?"

...GONNA FIND OUT WHO'S NAUGHTY OR NICE...

He pointed a finger timidly toward the throne,"That's what HE keeps doing. I don't like it!"

...SANTA CLAUS IS COMING TO TOWN!

to be continued

"The battle of the me so wafer thin..."

"...the line between the devil's teeth and that which cannot be repeat..." PETER MURPHY/DEEP

Let us begin from a point of clarity. Never have I imagined that the barrier separating me from my darker self was made of stone. No brick bulwark built between. At best I pictured it as a glass wall on a darkened room. Slick, cold, solid, impenetrable glass - giving only a reflection of my sane self if I chose to stare. Only a reflection - as long as the room it protected remained darkened.

I can't exactly recall when the lighting conditions began to change. I can remember flashes from the other side. Camera bulbs - instant, bright, blinding that seemed to reveal a space larger than the one my sane me occupies. Sometimes the slow, yellow hiss of a match strike glinting off the teeth of a cock-eyed grin. Regardless of when it began, as time passed the flashes increased in frequency, brilliance and duration. Staring became irresistible.

During the next few days, as we fall towards Halloween and the harvest's bounty gives way to the withering chill of frost, I'll try to share a few of the stories I've glimpsed when the light revealed my darkened insanity.

I hope we'll enjoy them.
PLAY IT LOUD! GARY NUMAN/COMPLEX

Wednesday, October 10 - Bilateral Cheilectomy

PLAY IT LOUD! SUNNY by BONEY M



I suffer from a condition known as "hallux rigidus." Literally "stiff toe." I am one of millions worldwide with this condition. It is basically a growth of bone tissue that makes it impossible to bend or pronate my big toes on each foot without pain. Please don't hate us. Aside from our hideous bone growth, we're just like normal people.



Okay, our feet might be a little gross. Next week, I will have both toes opened up so that the additional bone can be ground off in the hopes of making standing and walking less painful and easier. Like any good Healthcare consumer, I immediately Googled my surgeon to verify that he could be trusted to peform the procedure. This picture came up:



Yes. MING THE MERCILESS, CRUEL DESPOT OF THE PLANET MONGO AND FLASH GORDON'S SWORN ENEMY! I hope it was just some sort of "cyber trickery" a search engine "oops!" I must admit, the "official" picture below does bear a bit of a resemblance to Lord Ming. It's the merciless eyebrows I think.

Insomnia

"Oh maybe I would sleep better without this ticking clock on my lap? I'm just too sleepy to tell."

"I should close my eyes, but who would watch the clock for me!"

"Too late for Letterman, too early for Coffee - I AM IN HELL!"

"How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood..."

FREE PHIL SPECTOR'S WIG!*

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.



Shockingly yesterday the Jury told the judge in the case that they were hopelessly deadlocked 10-2 and a Mistrial was declared. Now, as both the prosecution and defence teams prepare to mount their cases again, I find it impossible to hold my tongue any longer.

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.

-This is the SINGLE-MOST POPULAR Post of the 3 years of the epistle. Fifty to Seventy-Five hits a week. PLEASE, leave a COMMENT below so I can try to repeat myself - Timothy

*Dear God,

PLAY IT LOUD ENOUGH FOR HEAVEN TO HEAR! XTC/DEAR GOD

Dear god,
Hope you got the letter,
And I pray you can make it better down here.
I dont mean a big reduction in the price of beer,
But all the people that you made in your image,
See them starving on their feet,
cause they dont get enough to eat
From god...


Dear god,
Sorry to disturb you,
But I feel that I should be heard loud and clear.
We all need a big reduction in amount of tears,
And all the people that you made in your image,
See them fighting in the street,
cause they cant make opinions meet,
About god...


Did you make disease...


...and the diamond blue?


Did you make mankind after we made you?
And the devil too!


Dear god,
Dont know if you noticed,
But your name is on a lot of quotes in this book.
Us crazy humans wrote it, you should take a look,
And all the people that you made in your image,
Still believing that junk is true.
Well I know it aint and so do you,
Dear god...


I wont believe in heaven and hell.
No saints, no sinners,
No devil as well.
No pearly gates, no thorny crown.
Youre always letting us humans down.


The wars you bring, the babes you drown.
Those lost at sea and never found,
And its the same the whole world round.
The hurt I see helps to compound,



That the father, son and holy ghost,
Is just somebodys unholy hoax,
And if youre up there youll perceive,
That my hearts here upon my sleeve.
If theres one thing I dont believe in...



Its you,
Dear god.

*This was inspired by a series of books with the same title, which lead singer Andy Partridge saw as an exploitation of children. The song is essentially a letter to God asking about his existence.

Doubt is far more universal than Faith. Christ in Gethsemane shows us that even the Divine cannot completely banish Doubt short of total surrender to a Will we can't understand. Though I believe, I have never feared that my questions could anger a Loving, All-Mighty Creator.

We get to ask "Why?"

The High Price Of Our Complacency

Or, Really...Who WOULD Jesus Bomb?

I was a pre-teen during the waning years of the Vietnam Conflict and as a result I am predisposed to distrust the stated motives of any military action. Particularly challenging is our current war against "implied" aggression, what MIGHT happen. Shoot first, round up the bad guys later.

It was the threat of the dread (and imaginary) WMDs that initially starred in the current administration's four-year runaway hit THE UNITED STATES VS. ANYONE WHO EVEN THINKS ABOUT ATTACKING US AND STUFF:THE MUSICAL. The irony at the core of this show is that even after a four-year run, the seats are mostly empty - tickets sit at "will-call" unclaimed and unwanted. The show is costing our economy $9 BILLION and 90 or so lives a month to stage and yet we can't sell tickets in Europe or to any of our mid-east allies.


Even though we are losing blood and treasure every day, our leaders are contemplating a spin-off of the show - tentatively named WE BETTER START A WAR WITH IRAN BECAUSE THEY MIGHT SOMEDAY BE STRONG ENOUGH TO THREATEN OUR OIL SUPPLY, ER I MEAN UH NATIONAL SECURITY AND STUFF:THE MUSICAL PART II.

Escalations of the Vietnam War to Laos and Cambodia flooded the streets with protesters in the late sixties/early seventies. Potential escalation of our WARS in the mid-east are flooding both houses of Congress with growling, chest thumping diatribes of our willingness to sacrifice additional American young men and women to a threat that MIGHT someday occur.

Should our leaders follow through with a show about military action agaist Iran or Syria or Islam or Druids or Disney or Snake-Handling Chistian Crazies or Your local High School Girls Hockey Team - we will need more actors and stage hands (soldiers) than our Armed Forces can currently supply. Historically our country has turned to Selective Service - the Draft - to cast those that MIGHT die.


I have nephews that range from 6 to 17 and a year old niece. Which of them, any of them, all of them am I willing to sacrifice? Perhaps not a question that I must answer now but have you ever wondered when people say "I just never thought it would happen here/to me/to our family" how they have escaped seeing other people on CNN saying the same thing and yet have never imagined a WHEN those things MIGHT happen?

If we do nothing, if we continue to allow our leaders to take us into war and more war we will all have those things happen here/to me/to our families. Currently we only sacrifice the willing volunteers of our soldier-class (and tens of thousands of Afgan and Iraqi civilians) but someday soon we may be registering thousands of young Americans to fight and die in wars we have been frightened into allowing.

Can any of us really avoid the bad things that MIGHT happen to us in our daily lives? Is there a PRE-EMPTIVE STRIKE TO LIFE that I haven't found? How then do we imagine that our leaders can conduct wars against the bad things that MIGHT happen to our National Security? They aren't any smarter than we are. That is worth repeating. They aren't any smarter than we are. The unknown is just as unknown in Washington DC as it is anywhere else.

I may not have children of my own but I am not willing to sacrifice ANYONE'S child to a WAR against the UNKNOWN.

Once more with feeling - They aren't any smarter than we are.

The U.S. Senate Welcomes Back Idaho Senator Republican Larry Craig

Please rise for a moment of silence, maybe three moments.

It Wanted To Be Re-Published...

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 Homogeneous 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...