Only Two

To say our society parallels an Orwell novel is an understatement – obvious or not. If marching jackboots outside my door could be heard daily, and random people popped up on my TV talking specifically to me, telling me to “get back in line” and to exercise my slovenly ass, it may be more tangible. Scary, but at least I’d know who my enemies are.

I read a piece today that confirmed my Orwellian suspicions. You can read that piece here. There’s nothing new under the sun, as they say, so, my attempts at originality are pretty much just that – attempts.

I’m on MMO games a lot on the net, so, I have seen my share of trolls. I can spot ’em from miles. They all carry themselves with similar attitudes. The “we’ll take care of it, despite your input” mentality and attitude that stifles other, less-malignant attitudes. Nice guys finish last, I suppose. And that’s mainly because the careless, the ruthless, the malignant don’t follow the given rules of etiquette. They are not only devoid of a moral compass. They’ve sold that compass for start-up cash for their own abyssal endeavors of killing every other attitude or differing opinion. “Control the past and you control the future. Control the present and you control the past” – Orwell’s prophetic words.

Control. That’s the biggest, most expensive, most sought-after commodity today. And they’ve got it – the malignant trolls. They’ve burnt our brains into submission. We dance on their strings with their words spent on our breath. We march to their war-drum, and buy their war-spoils because we think we have that right, that freedom. “Freedom isn’t free” they say. They say.

I don’t know. I wish I had an answer. All my answers, I realize, have been given to me. Take care, y’all. Until I post again, walk in light.

EDIT: The title, which I forgot to mention anything of, refers to the two days I missed in the 30-day challenge. I only missed two. Not going to sweat those, either!

Not Going to Sweat It

So, apparently, I missed a day. In the race to post daily for 30 days, I missed one – Ooops! But I’m not going to sweat it too much. It wasn’t for lazy reasons . . . well, too much. I got 642x361_Spider_Bites_Jumping_Spiderbusy yesterday, had some running and errands to do, and completely forgot. I had been in the habit of doing one right at midnight or so, for the next day. This time, I had not and completely forgot all together until it was too late.

But as I said, no big deal – I’m not going to beat myself up over one post. I did so good through the month, better than I thought I would.

At any rate, here’s today’s post. This is a poem I’m going to illustrate myself into a children’s book. Let me know what y’all think. Is this children’s material? I think it is, depending on how it’s illustrated. Check it out. The title is A Three-Legged Spider.


A three-legged spider lived under the floor,

A lost five limbs, five less than before.


A three-legged spider whose name was Zeke

A lost five limbs, he still ran like a streak.


Not handicapped at birth, he was born with all eight.

Things just happen in a world of fate.


One morning while searching for a place to spin a home,

He found that a building site was not the place to roam.


A few steel beams held the web just fine.

One fell and squashed his leg. He left it there behind.


He hobbled to a house at the end of Baker Street.

Inside, he lost another to by‑passing human feet.


He lost three more in a variety of ways,

A marble, a dart, a jar of mayonnaise.


“How many more legs?” the spider rarely thought.

“An answer to that question could never be sought.”


“I’ve got three more legs, and that will work for now.

If I lose them, well, I’ll get by somehow.”


“Maybe the cellar is the place I should live.”

And spinning a web took every bit he could give.


Soon, Zeke was finished and a fly had been trapped.

The fly laughed, “If you wanted to be different, just have your fangs capped.”


“Yeah, you’d like that since you’re my next meal.

And having only three legs is no big deal.”


“Sure. When’s the last time you had a woman in this place?”

“Tonight, my friend Sara’s coming by, and she has tripod taste.”


“I don’t believe you. You’re full of hot air.

No one would have you anytime, anywhere.”


He was not lying. He did have a date.

When Sara showed up, they stayed in and ate.


Three-Leg Zeke wouldn’t let himself down,

Always a smile, never a frown.


A lost five limbs, his price to survive,

The three-legged spider, glad to be alive.



The End


That’s the story. We’ll see soon where it goes. Take care, all.







Poetic Olympics

Sometimes, I feel like a poetic olympian. That may be an over-estimation of my skills, or maybe I fall short and cross the finish line last. I do love writing poetry, however. And it’s that love that perpetuates my effort.

Here’s another poem I started years ago, and finished just last night. It may be changed by editing – not sure yet. But, for now, it says what it needs to say. And that is, goodbye to loves lost. Take care, y’all. And until next time, enjoy the poem titled Murder.


That one kiss and I felt the peril

Intertwine our footsteps,

A path that was born before

Our names were ever spoken,

So why do paths

Sometimes wind apart?

From lips’ missteps

Or slaying, jealous tones?

Hearts can die

From a face’s sword,

Murder from spent air,

Crimes on bent breath,

Deaths of that brand

May never be atoned for,

Such convictions are not mine

To lend reprieve or acquittal,

Hearts can only reincarnate so much

Before the parting path

Is out of sight all together,

Was Destiny’s wishes and dreams

Merely sardonic humor,

Or a neglected gateway

To her murdered heart?

Some things that are meant to be

Have their name spoken only once.

Fishing Weather?

I am no fisherman. But Russ and his dad take advantage of good fishing weather for quality male bonding time. The tenth installment of Russ happens now, aptly titled “Fishing”.

There you have it – Russ and his dad in the midst of their favored pass time. Leave a comment and let me know what your favorite bonding rituals are. Until next time . . .

Rocking Toward the Last

We’re coming up on the last month of the year, with only seven days of November left including today. With that, I wanted to share a final version of a poem I wrote a few years ago. The poem’s subject is kind of a cycle of life idea. Or maybe lives forming the grand symphony called togetherness. It’s a bit of a take-off on the six degrees of separation idea – one life affecting those around it, on some level. Or past lives affecting the next generation. It’s quite short and maybe I see more there than is written. Here’s the poem titled Musical Grandeur.

Pondering souls’ tune

changes hearts’ octave

from unwritten lyrics

of passed legends

through self-chosen melodies.


Some choruses smiled,

others frowned away,

the players

dancing silhouette roles

on carousel stages.


An act opens on one platform,

as the curtain falls on another,

trading dreams from one player

to the next in an infinite line,

a family of singers.


There it is, in all it’s . . . grandeur! Hope everyone had a great holiday with food, family, and friends. Take care until next time, y’all.

A Few Hundred Years Ago Today

A few hundred years ago today, turkey necks wrang out in the distance as the first hamThanksgiving took place. But that bird was almost a protected species. Ben Franklin wanted to make it – the turkey – the national symbol for the US. Some more intelligent person came along and proposed the bald eagle, thus making turkeys free game, pun intended.

At any rate, I’m keeping it short today so you too can wring turkey necks and celebrate Thanksgiving dinner. Take care, turkeys! And until next time . . .

EDIT: I looked up the story about B. Franklin on the net to see if there was any truth to that myth, I found a few sites. Some say yay, some say nay. Only thing I know for sure – turkey and Miracle Whip makes a mean sandwich!

Nine, But Who’s Counting . . . Besides Me

I’m not sure, really, how many posts I’ve done so far. I know it’s not many having just started this blog a bit over a month ago. But I do know there are nine more days of the Daily Posting Challenge. So, I’m almost there.

keep calm
Google Images

I’ve done a lot of surfing, today. Mostly on Twitter and some sites that feature “the raw story” about certain topics. Let me just tell you that between Donald J. Trump and his Russian friends, Roy Moore and his underage “friends”, and the FCC and their internet-meddling friends, I’ve come to a few conclusions. Apparently, somewhere along the way, this is what happened: I’ve stepped into a time warp that bled into an alternate universe that catapulted itself into a wormhole of backwardness where immoral behavior is praised and rewarded. All the while, my dumb ass has been stuck in Park. This is the only explanation I can muster. Have you ever felt like everything you do is a futile exercise in meaninglessness? This is where I am, now (elle oh elle).

No worries, however. Mama didn’t raise no fool, or quitter, or indecent and immoral quitter-fool! That would be, I suppose, the one greatest immorality and atrocity I could commit in my life – giving up. Just saying “fuck it – I quit” and never doing a damn thing ever again that mattered. I would surely be held accountable for that action. I mean, I’m not even sure how much of what I do now matters to anyone – besides me.

So, despite setbacks, despite ridiculous happenings, despite the guy at the corner store who fails to understand what I mean when I ask for the simplest requests . . . Despite all the superfluous bullshit that pertains to nothing and mostly no one besides the Man, and the Man’s evil counterpart called Advertising, and despite my own exhaustion, I will carry on.

I sincerely hope you all do as well, because, hey, otherwise, who the hell will read my words? We’re all in this together. Until next time, take care, bad guys and gals.

Ten More Days!

Ten more days of the Daily Blog Posting Challenge. Anyway, I don’t and won’t often make this blog my soap box for personal propaganda, but this is pretty important to anyone who has a blog, or YouTube channel, or website, or really anyone who spends time on the internet.

Those rich, degenerate bastards we call Corporate America are at it again using their political leverage to end Internet Neutrality. They want to basically un-level the playing field just like they do with every other cookie jar they have their grubby, rich hands in. No, I’m not talking about sexual harassment and p*ssy-groping. Different cookie jar.

I’m talking about this:

Let’s end this. Help me by signing the petition and sharing it wherever. Or go to or click this link.


Effort, or the Lack Thereof

iI am, I promise, going to put up that poetry tab very soon. Until that time comes, I will just post one of my poems. I wrote this one about ten years ago and edited it about two days ago. It has some nice imagery, I think. I’m not the best poet. But when the poetry bug bites, it rarely lets go until I’m done. Here’s the poem titled Cheating Death.

What a perilous venture,

a grand mountain,

promising a devil’s dance,

a flat face to climb,

or the broadest channel to cross,

to swim the choppy waters,

and present the Fates the finger,

it was to get away with it,

overcome overwhelming odds,

be drunk on adrenaline,

thrive on anthrax,

for a stolen thrill,

with conscious forethought,

they did it that afternoon

there in her married bed.