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.

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.