fiction writing

This category contains 9 posts

 The ultimate weapon against the undead

I spent the last 48 hours within a state of intoxication, like a tornado swirling around and turning my world upside down, my mind was saturated with a blur. At last when the winds died down, I kept hearing his last words. Words that haunted me…
“A word of caution: Never, ever speak to demons, even if they speak using a language built out of your own weaknesses.”

It wasn’t truth my mind was contemplating, or focused on, it was the man whose words impacted me so deeply, so completely, that I’d remember them all, but not much else.

Within my mind the meal was pleasantly set, and now my thoughts were feasting on meat and drink, but my stomach needed relief from liquid abuse and my natural-born hunger.

If only I could remember where I last placed my clothes?

Finally, after finding my little pile of clothes, I quickly check my pocket for the vial of holy water. Instead I  found another empty vial of scotch, and a few odds and ends that I had picked up along the way, and, aw yes, here it was…The ultimate weapon against the undead. I shook it a bit, just to hear if I could, how much was left in the vile.

Like a pocket of loose coins gangling together, new thoughts commingled, they came out from their hiding places within my mind. New thoughts of different what if’s. Could it be true? Could there be some yet newly undiscovered reality, a new use for this ultimate weapon–could it by chance also solve a nights worth of drinking scotch? I didn’t quite know if it was the head ache or the attempt of thinking so deeply that rushed me to such thoughts. All I knew was I needed relief, and the sooner the better.

I unscrewed the vile top, my hand trembled at the thought, what if it didn’t work? Would I have wasted it so easily, so quickly, when at some point I may need all I have to face an overwhelming force–a mob of blood thirsty undead? Will I be able to survive them should our paths cross? Or will I look with dread and regret, when the last drop of holy water falls short of it intended mark; all the while thinking I shouldn’t have…

I used a moments worth of my remaining life’s time contemplating this vial, with its clear substance and it many potential uses. How many times must I still use it in order to keep my head attached–my thoughts attached and thinking still? Either I must find more of this magical water, or I must muster the courage yet needed in finding more of my kind–other unaffected humans. Together we may yet stand–divided we certainly will surly fall to what seems like will be my present fate, to fight to the last drop….

I was no longer willing to live in hypotheticals driven on the fumes of liquid courage . Opening the door to the hide away I dashed out into the cool damp night, meeting my future on my terms.

I called out indiscriminately to the black of night:

To all who are alive, yet are one dying. Thither I speed to twist and turn the knob of deaths door. I call out to the earth and sea half-held by the night, as my newly minted power that gives me flight. Stare with dread into the craggy sockets of the abyss, and marvel at its resemblance, its shape of your very own prison in another man. This world, a graveyard it will become. Damp, musty soil of its sharp, yet distinct whiff of today, that decays under it own weight of ignorance. It’s been far to long, and greatly limited, where I could not take part….but now, I stand before you, no longer a mythical read from some book–but an invited guest to it end.

I  had plagiarized different writers with this little speech. but I rationalized, who had influenced whom in the first place? A spirit full of life yet to live, or one who had drowned himself in lost hope?

Word of the day.

Word of the Day: Niveous:

Dan pushed the accelerator to full power. His jet responds roaring down the run way until it became lighter than air and lifted off. The ground swoosh by in a blur as the afterburners kicked in. 30,000 pounds of thrust pushed the jet through the cotton-balled sky. Dan’s heart began to relax a bit after breaking through the top layer clouds. Clouds never bothered Dan much, but that was before his jet was struck by lightning during takeoff, causing an engine malfunction, which led to a close call crash. He could never shake the feeling of being covered in cool dampness, a sudden covering of a niveous  blanket after he ejected out of the jet that day. Now, with every takeoff, his heart races a bit more than usual, fueled by nervousness and memories of that day. Memories that cause a kind of blackout as he’s flying on mental autopilot until arriving, until toping the last cloud.


An ever-growing honey-do list was the true source of frustration. But trying not to let my frustrations rule my emotions or life in general, left me hanging on this tight rope dance between childish out bursts and adult responsibility. It would have been nice to have at the least some discussion on the matter first. That way requests being made would have had at the least an appearance of being less demanding by nature. Besides communication is the key or so I was always told? So what happened? Perhaps an inquiry as to what other responsibilities we had or what time commitments had been promise already and now just needing to be fulfilled? Either way it would have at the least given an appearance of working together instead of a king subject kind of relationship.

It isn’t a bad thing to have a priority’s list. In fact to prioritize things in such a way according to approximate length of times needed in doing them, provides the best over views to realistic success towards completion. In this case the presentation was all wrong. It wasn’t the jobs, but the list itself. The list seemed to have an ever-growing nature all by itself. What at first appeared to be just a few things quickly turned into a cockroach orgy of multiplication. The list itself was signal handedly responsible for deforestation. I’m sure the trees were cringing in fear just from the extra paper demands. It grew out of thin air like an alien pregnancy. Much in the same way as in those “Alien’s” horror movies, but this time it was birthing a monster dead set in taking a life of its own by consuming what was left of mine.

It truly is hard to look back once you have been locked in. So the struggle between the list and me seemed to be a matter of survival; or a struggle for survival of leisure time and personal freedom, and the ability to control a sliver of one’s own purpose, destiny, and fate in the most responsible way.

Taking a big red marker to a completed chore seemed only to fertilize it. Two or three more things appeared on the list written by unseen hands. Because of all my minds influences from horror movies they gave me a vivid picture of what was to come. This tumor, this cancer needed radical surgery. But killing the beast isn’t always as easy as a match to gasoline. What this out of control list needed was a surgical scalpel like position to expose the alien. Then a complete thrashing by Tony Soprano’s crew with baseball bats, followed by an acid bath or some such…

The nerves started to show signs of fraying.  An ever-growing annoyance from that “Voice” calling up to me from downstairs placed me on edge; psychologically it was bring me closer to a breaking point during my feeble attempts to express myself in words within my last express memoirs. I’d rather be writing emotions down than taking to violent reactions against the list monster creator. Just another 5 minutes alone in the man cave and I’ll be finished, ready to do battle with bane of my existence.

“Are you going to wake-up some time to help?” The voice again called but I didn’t reply hoping to hideout a bit longer. I was starting to realize that women and men were indeed different. That book “men are from mars” and “women are venomous!” was just a historical account of my present life in book form. Just a bit longer please? I told myself as my fingers were typing as fast as I could think. But that constant calling wasn’t helping. With each call it was causing me to jump a bit like a little boy trying to steal cookies from the cookie jar, but pulling back his hand quickly with each little noise heard.

This whole ordeal was just causing me to rethink things about life. I wasn’t even married and this was the road we were going down already?

The door exploded open. My heart stopped momentarily, the walls of the man cave were breached and the creator God of the list monster stood in
the light. I felt small, the fear of doom; I tried to speak to offer some resistance verbally, it was as if the list’s papery fingers were clinching down on my neck ready to squeeze the life out of me. I couldn’t even offer some small response in defense like a whimper; instead I wanted to run, struggle a bit and then run away, just for a good combative showing so not to look like cowered. I couldn’t even fight for my rights, but was petrified frozen in time.

“I want you to clean up this pigsty. Remove those socks from the light and put them in the hamper.”

“No! Not the sock chandelier! It takes skill to toss socks off my feet to have then have them land perfectly, in such a presentation act of art.” I responded still in disbelief to the man cave breached defenses. Are there no more boundaries or heroes left to defend the castle?

“I mean it! Clean this mess up and quickly take out the trash on your way downstairs. We have to leave for practice in 10 minutes. I mean it Mr. 10 minutes!”

Stunned and perplexed, maybe an effect of some alien’s kind of venom or something? I felt powerless to put up any resistance, other than a soft half whispered, “OK Mom.”

The word of the day; “Imprest”

“So do you think this will serve as was expected, with the agency?” Abby inquisitively asked. Not quite sure if her solution was any good. She paused, allowing time for a reaction.

Paul stood silent studying her for a moment. Is this a test of his skill, or just a genuine–I’m not sure of myself kind of question? He didn’t quite know how to break it to her. Tired of dragging her along behind him in his career, he didn’t need her to fray his coat tails. He had seen what happens to fag’s when he was in the navy. Those tattered ends of ropes were cut off and thrown overboard. His career wasn’t going down the tubes for some young good-looking thing, flashing your baby blues and men twice his age jumped quicker than a teenager with a hormone problem. Paul knew that she had gamed an advance out of this special project, so free advice in making her look better than how she physically looked was out of the question. But how to tell her that also didn’t also make him look totally like an ass, he needed some back-handed tact, but what?

“Have some confidence women!” He uses just a bit of forceful tone. “You deliver great work. Stop being so….”  Wanting to use a different word, he paused, for his timing was impeccable with these kind of conversations, and a pause was just a tool for increased intrigue.

“Take what you have. You worked hard on it and your better than you see yourself. So off you go. Take it to the editor and chief, get your much deserved imprest—don’t imagine you can squander money on this trip, though!”

Abby was happy sort-a-kind of, with the response. But how did he know she had taken an advance payment for the job? Did the self-appointed king, the editor and chief, happen to say something—“taking the kings shilling”—so now she had to serve? Before she could muster a response, glancing up, Paul disappeared into the conference room with a client. Leaving her there, pondering it farther, whether her work was up to what was expected, or was this just a way to cut dead wood, average talent?

The word of the day “Imprest” somewhat old but fun indeed, don’t be confused with the term of “fag”, it truly was a term used in the navy to describe the frayed end of rope. Words are indeed fun to learn about and in trying to use them, as a part of woven work is where the talent of the writer comes to play, just for some verbal fun.

All the best.

Future of awesome, mingled with bovine victory!

Stories that are factions, are just a mixture of facts & fiction. Not that there is any intention to distort facts? But more of a blending of two different people’s stories into one. As children grow up, don’t we take on the characteristics of the people around us, or just bits and pieces, sprinkled with fictional fragments of others, of whom we once have rubbed up against in life, as the presentations of what we have become? What we will be? Or what drives us towards our own branded individualism?

In the end, everything that we may discover in life, the most valuable things, those memories and experiences are what makes life worth while.

Long before there were the electronic entertainments of video games, social media, text messaging, or even E-mail; back in the slower time of the past, way back to those semi-dark ages of times, when snail-mail was the fastest thing going—yea decades ago. Kids had to have mental toughness, along with well-developed imaginations. There were no such things as a text-messaging thumb! Whining about a power outages, or how that was so cruel to have to endure. Because computers, TV’s, video games, even cell phones need power. Back in the day, complaining about power outages just wasn’t excepted or allowed. After all it was an adventure, candle light indoor camping, with fire-place rosted marshmallows to boot! It was all good!

In these times, schools were places of higher learning, where bullies got one black-eye, if not two, because good people banded together on the principles, that good always won in the end. Why did those easier times of the past, give way to our litigious, laborious, over caffeinated, high-speed, and run like hell lives where we live in fear of everything, our modern progressive lives of today?

There are two ways in raising your heart rate; one is exercising, the other is getting pissed-off remembering those good times when you were a child, and realizing that your kids are never going to have those same experiences. I always ended up in the same spot that I started out in when I exercise. Within our modern lives it seems like the same thing. Thoughts and memories of the past while exercising made me weary and exhausted. I stop the treadmill and left the fitness center.

Trying to remember all of those summertime’s as a kid, as being the best. Far better than the deadlines, and stresses of our present existences. Not really wanting to except, that our lives have become that what we have built out of them. Where were those summertime’s of the past? Where relatives (for a kid this meant “cousins”) they would always come over to our house, or at time’s we went to theirs. Plenty of good food, caused us to concoct entertainments to burn off all of our energy. These were far better realities, then those lives of hell we find ourselves in today, having to run in place on a treadmill just to keep fit. Not liking any of it, yet complaining about all of it.

Where did our mental toughness go? Did we forget how to entertain ourselves within our own concoctions in order to relieve stress?

As kids we came up with annual family sporting events. We had Ping Pong tournaments if it was raining out. Living in the Northwest where we receive more liquid sunshine then actual sunshine, indoor events were part of it–no TV at all. When and if it was sunny we had football, basketball, tag, and night-time hide-and-go-seek. We would play in and around the trees in the yard, completely shaded during the heat of the day, and play with child-like ferocity the rest of the day into the night, only taking breaks to refuel/eat as fast as we could, and resume play till we collapsed.

Being that we were smaller kids we all played football. Smaller yards seemed so big then. Later on all grown by a few years, we thought of ourselves as giants and so basketball seemed the sport to play. But play we did. As we got older we drove ourselves to playing fields, Because those yards truly were too small to play in. At the park if there were other kids, we invited them to join in. The more the merrier.

If the park was too crowded to play, then at times we played in farm fields, sand dunes, oversized yards fenced off by barbed wire. Making the game of football more interesting, the barbed wire was the unnamed defensive player for both teams, which also played on both ends of the field as the goal. Nothing seems impossible when you’re young and invincible. So barbed wire goal lines and defenders were by nature small things to overcome. I remember only one time out of the many times that we played there, where a player got caught on the fence doing a diving leap for a touchdown pass. It turned out a play that is still talked about at reunions. The catch was made, the player was stuck on the top run of the wire, and needed every player to lift them off the wired fence, and I bare the scar to prove it all to be true.

On another day when energy levels were over the top. I remember one such fun-filled adventure, in between rainy days we found a field to play in, that to us was NFL great. Few rocks, grass everywhere, it looked NFL approved minus 60,000 screaming fans. In the heat of play we completely overlooked the facts that… where there are farms, open fields by water, there were also the remnants of animals.

Someone once said. “If you ever played football in a cow pasture, you know the meaning of “Watch your step.”

When one team started to pull away score wise, the game got more intensely played. Less attention was paid to the facts of what would become a small wrinkle to the game. Sprinkled throughout the field was the tangible evidence of the existence that cows lived here, slipping and falling was more of a tightrope style of play. Tackling the ball carrier that was rushing for a first down, or a goal, made the game of football into a quick step dance of bravado, within a mine-field. It wasn’t long before the question became more of a when, to the where, in how bad you want to win–over the slipping sliding, evidence of tackling, and the odor of sweat mingled with bovine victory.

Long past those distant memories of those games we played, we all seem to hang onto the facts that sports are a preparation for life. But we all seem to want to reduce the risks to a point of stopping play or even the limiting the competition? But then we create society that needs instantaneous success. We seem to forget those frequented environments of our past, the friends we enjoy, books we read, movies we watch, music we listen to, the media we allow ourselves to adsorbed through osmosis, causing those marks if not scars on / in us, all because… our forgotten pasts have led us to see the negatives before the good. Today there seems no good reasons for obstacles, net alone making an effort in overcoming them. We demand something of an unrealistic fantasy of our life, the fulfillment of our dreams to our expectations, and within out timelines. No wonder we live in a world as screwed up this one. We seem to have forgotten to look for the fun and exciting within a child like attitudes of making unequaled efforts in finding it. We therefore have a time in history, now, today, where we live on the fuel of unequaled personal dissatisfaction.

Now as present adults, we see all of the cow dung, and never seem to see the NFL approved green grass, leaving what fun there is behind, our heads hung low.

We shouldn’t forget child-like ability’s to make boring times into adventurous ones; the limitless ability’s to naturally want to promote positive outcomes to what seems impossible. That belief in principles of being noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious— that endless energy in trying to be the best we can be, not the work; the beautiful, not the ugly, promoting things to parse, not things to curse. Seeing everything with childlike-eye-sight through the acquired wisdom of experiencing all that we can while growing up. This alone should inspire to double down in our efforts to winning the game; for  life is a game, at times you may get crap, we may need to get our hands dirty and making the best of it all, with the knowledge that soap restores what once was.

Life is too short to get depressed over the fact we’re suffering a setback. It is a game of sorts after all. It’s okay to hate the game, but never the player! Fun is created when you try, never when it served to you on a plate, because we whined about it!


All the best.

White noise

Starring into the blank-hole of what is my blank computer screen, it seem I have writers block! It was just a moment ago— being under the influences of pain medication seem to make time fly by, what was a long time or so I thought, was only seconds of real-time. The clock on the wall seem to be mocking me. That invention of  ancient time keepers is just ticking away, tick-talk, tick-talk, tick-talk. Enough! I scream out from my desperation, trying to find something to fill the void, to cover the whiteness of the screen, to fill the bottomless pit of this blank-hole.

At times the ideas just flow out of me, the problem then is arranging them onto the page. Still other times the ideas come to a point of taking a rest but my mind is wanting to still go. The result of the driving force of caffeen–yet another drug. I know, mixing and allowing for the amateurish match making of drugs ( such as caffeen and pain-killers) should be left to the professionals of chemical love. But one creates a puddle of melted mush mindlessly bathing in the white light of the blank page. The other revs me up with caffeen over load, allowing ideas to just flow. Just a gentle push or a pull, a seesaw battle between the amateur, and professional.

Within this existence, the push and pull of new ideas, just end up as new-born posts unfinished. Then a new page is used for the next. Untill that idea is exhausted and it comes to a rest. After several half hatched ideas end their race car like race, on that oval lap around my mind, one comes to the for front, and crosses the finish line. This compleated post is then placed neatly into storage, untill a clear mind allows for the re-write.

But this time the blank hole of my computer screen, that great port-hole to the unknown, was giving me a type of new feeling, a worry of sorts. No new interpretations of some standard dream. Nothing! Just nothing. Where are those new great half-baked ideas? Where have they gone?

With blank pages of empty silence and white noise, and jumpy fingers with no keys on the key-board to strike. I stare into the white light of the blank-hole. Come on you have ideas? I conjure up courage, and slap myself a few times as if I was sleeping. Yet nothing rattled around my mind, nothing flowed into nerve impulses, activating creativity. Thus no renewed noise of key jumping, keeping time with the writers song and dance. Blocked, I look across the ha-ha towards my next idea, but yet so easily separated, worn down, fatigued and unable to cross over to where they hide.

But all I heard was…. tick-talk, tick-talk…….

Where was my ability’s to fill the empty sounds of this room with typing? Writing? Filling that white screen with new ideas, or some nonsense, a great story, a musing, points of views, expressions of feelings, or capturing the silence of what these tired eyes of mine have seen. Expressing those pictures with a few words…if not a few thousand? But this time…nothing! Drug induced constipation?

But now, before I begin. I lose!

Where have my ideas gone? Where are those great words I would choose?

Ideas consumed with the white-hot fires of the blank hole flame,

despite the smoke, I see nothing but that constant clock ticking, so I chose to blame.

Surly it’s not the caffeen and pain-killers romantic dance,

that glide over my mind, in their romantic drug induced romance.

That flow of the dress in the silent dancers twirl, those intoxicating tingling sensations that tangle those ideas into a strong tight bind.

their influences just mock and imprison my mind.

Tick-talk, tick-talk! Surely it is not love at first sight with these two odd couples of twisted desire, one that’s constant exhilaration, and the other whose a slowing constant brake!

Like two erasers those who chase each other along the pathway, this way, then that way, all across my mind make no mistake,

They erase everything into a chalky blur, into that white noise lake.

Is this what it is like to have writers block, drowned in this white noise lake or the computers blank page at best?

prehaps it is my caffeen zooming, now some 48 hours strong, that’s telling me…you need rest!

Best wishes with your writing. Hope you never have to have experiences like this? Hope when you look into the bright fire of that blank paged or screen, that white lightning port-hole, contrasted with some endless possibilities of dancing words that you all see. That person, that place , or those things of great wonder that you haven’t yet arranged? Despite each of our limitations, that blank page, that white hole can give us all unlimited places to go or to see; things to do, people to meet, even to a point of being totally out of this world? For you sitting there basking and bathing in the white holes glow, sit in your own writers dreams, in the front row.

All the best.

Boiling life down to the nitty-gritty.

When you boil life experiences down to what they truly are. We are usually left with tear tracks running down our faces. Our memories at times are like scattered papers, or at best recollections built like a flip book. Where on each page a picture is placed, while flipping those pages our memories, recalled, move like a real life movies across our minds silver screen. While watching all of those slivers of time, recalling charters we’ve interacted with, times and experiences within our history, that crosses our mind’s eye and slowly flips by. Page after page of past experiences, events, successes, failures, our simple and privet times, all of which have built a sum total our lives lived to date waiting for their review.

Memories often confuse our emotional state. But they are all there, tucked in the nooks and crannies of our mind awaiting their turn, their re-experienced. Jolted from some present experience, our minds take action by some default, conveying experiences of our past, the mind responds instantly in living color. A day-dream bathed with intrigue, realizing something new within these memories, these memories are then slowed down. Transported in time, to a different place, unaware of our surroundings, our emotions then simmer at first along their way to a boil.

At other times sparked into some heightened state of emotional feelings, like anger, fear, or extreme pain, emotions become hard to control, we flip through these experiences faster, and faster, producing a dizzying feeling of personally being out of control. Our minds are working overtime with recollections, while making an attempt in suppressing fresh emotional outbursts from just under the surface, from making an appearing on our facial expressions. These challenging small moments within our lives can become so emotionally over loading, that they become a mixture of feelings, emotions. The true colors of life. Like paintings of unattended water-colors in the rain. Purposefully blurred experiences, memories built out of swirling combinations of faded colors. We find that nitty-gritty, swirling within joy and pain. Those common experiences we share, or hide from everyone else, is concentrated personality within this soup, life’s boiling experiences as we look for individuality.

Our chosen camouflage, our mask which hides all, is firmly placed and in plain sight. Facial expressions seemed to be practiced, rehearse, even to a point of perfection.  Outward appearances are carefully built into impressions, reality’s obscured through individual smoke and mirrors. It is a kind of self-preservation, protecting society from the reality within our cocoon. A carefully woven web of past memories, experiences, and personal deceit, are our building blocks of our choice. We have fashioned what we believe is the perfect human, that human we strive to be.

We rebuild and readjust our camouflage to fit our surroundings, or to fit in with the people we choose to sound ourselves with. Constantly checking and then double checking with our memories, we fashion a perfect fortress, to house our hollow treasures. The more we become safe and secure behind our illusions, the more our homes eco our vast emptiness.

Insecurity causes us to hide more and more behind our negative emotional memories, we are only repeating the same old flip books worth of cheap movies of our recent pasts, Until we reach our breaking points. The metamorphosis of what is our true self’s bursts suddenly through our fortifications, born out of what is now our adult thoughts, we tell ourself’s, “I don’t give a damn!” Escaping our cocoon, bursting into the true world. Venerable, unsteady, unsure of what to expect next, we are finely capable to experience the joy and the pain of living free of our own self-imposed teen-aged prison.

We are now free to wonder this boiling caldron of life, full of activity’s, experiences and untold memories waiting to be experienced to its fullest or even shared. Free to laugh, or cry, to be filled with joy, or to be savored, being enjoyed. Life is at its best just like that warming sunlight that softly cresses our skin in our mornings greetings, with that same warmth of love, of that special someone who we have come to love. Like kisses so gently, or soft gentil finger tips that slowly wipes those droplets of tears away.

For our tears we cry, maybe that outward expression we all share, and share the same, the very thing that causes life to boil with our simplest of memories as they at first breathe life of their own.  Whether we chose to adventure from the slightly warm side of this caldron, or wonder to that boiling chaotic hot side, whether we are loved, or in love, or individually alone. We are left with the choice of how we will react to someone else’s tears displayed in plain sight, or whether we display our own for all to see. For when life gets boiled down to its simplest of forms, we must choose how we will react, with compassion or contempt, with goodness, or evil in our hearts. Everyone is on this same road, just at a different point on that roadway. Looking forward into that black unknown or reviewing memory all to our own, life boiled down is equally full of joy and pain. The only question we need to answer is….. Where will we place our emphasis?

(Slowly I dropped my pockets worth of coins into that tin cup held by hands wrapped in rags to keep warm. Leaning a bit closer, I whispered.” Don’t forget to help someone else in need, and can I help you get to a shelter?”  The untold reaction within those eyes was priceless. Just where this encounter would lead was that black unknown of each of our futures slowly unfolded with one foot step after the other. The impact of someones kindness is limitless.)

Whether we choose to wipe away those tears of joy or pain in kindness, choosing that gentle soft touch of encouragement, or with that sudden violent strike of hatred. We recreate and change the world beyond ourselves permanently. Our actions and reactions create two sets of memories that stay within us all. That person of actions, or reactions, we are free to choose. While life boils us down to that nitty-gritty, that thing, we have allowed ourselves to become. We should examine it truthfully, if necessary reëxamine it respectfully in becoming that pure concentration of our choosing. For everyone lives in between joy and pain? For it is not up to us to decide in judgment what we have allowed ourselves to become. But are left with the struggle to keep ourself’s from drowning in the tears we cry.

Dear bill collectors.

Dear bill collectors.

It wasn’t my intentions, not to send in a timely fashion your payments this month. But the truth is the check isn’t in the mail. Losing my job, then my wife, kids, dog, and then my truck breaking down. Has left me a little cash strapped these days. Of course my one and only friend told me. ” That if you try to play your country music records backwards, this would alow all of my stuff to be returned in do time, in the order of losing them. “ Because this bad luck started with losing my pay check first of all. ( Well, really second but I will explain later.). My best guess is, that it will return  to me last-of-all. Of course this is providing that playing my country records backwards works? I have faith, because when I play my Zeppelin records backwards. ” I hear that words also have two meanings! ” So then please have a little patience, as this could take some more time.

It wasn’t my intentions to take a few steps backwards, back down the stairway to heaven. But someone took the sign down that said. “ Slippery when wet! ” I didn’t expect getting pissed on, but here we are! No need to complain though. I’m still climbing higher and higher, after I take a financial breather. Governmental slogans of ” Hope and change. ” Gives me a positive out look, as well a renewed effort to keep-on trying. While I count out my last jar of loose change.

My ramblings may be some what annoying to you?  But it is just an attempt at full disclosure. Nothing to hide here. I just wished your collections department would have been more interested in lessening to me though. Seem like they’re the only friends that call me up. But like some friends, they all ways want, or need something from me. This can get old! What happened to talking? Or just checking in and seeing how someone is doing? But what did I expect from someone half ways around the world. Their time is money as well. Just a lot less money, then their American counter parts. Yet! Would it have hurt, to hear some of my historical summary? After all my money has been? Your clams, of just being yours. Taking an interest to what is going on with your money, I mean mine money! Wouldn’t have hurt anyone! Have some interest at least, or act like it interests you please. Seem like that last one is always left out on the collections 101 for foreign exchange students classes you surely do give to your collections department. May want to up date that one!

I may on the other hand, take some of my free government hand outs that I’m receiving these days. To run! Not walk! To the store, getting some color ink for the laser printer. Running should show you all, that I’m serious about getting you, your money as soon as I can. I’m not trying to take the easy way out! But working hard! Nor, do I run just for anyone, and their requests that they are make of me. It is a privilege reserved just for you!

The way I see it. If the government can just print more money. More then we have, or can possibly collect in taxes! Then why not little old me? The money may be funny money? But then look at the value of the American dollar lately! I have been told, ” the market is never wrong. ” So look at how the market values the buck of late, or at least how other country’s view the value of it.

If you-all can find some compaction for my position in life at this time. Please could you also forgive the late charges on my accounts? I’m sure you have gotten more in raising my interest rates to something more in line with a loan shark’s rates. So I have paid my share  of your exorbitant profits, that I’m sure also have been reported to the government, and the  stock market quarterly reports. So your stock price will stay high, so your bonuses will still be paid to you on time. At least you could do is call me, from time to time, giving thank for that.

Please, can you help people out like myself, and the environment, with cutting down on sending threatening letters to me. Threatening letters don’t work. Didn’t your mothers say to you. ” You can catch more fly’s with sugar, then with vinegar? ” I have gotten the message, I’m putting you on the top of the list. This letter in e-mail from, should demonstrate these concerns I have, and I’m commitment to solving them along with your help. I also have one small request. Could we all save some trees by cutting down on these kinds of letters please. Just think of all the trees, you and I will be credited with saving by doing this. Just a small request, but no less important. I may not be able to pay you in full right now. But I sure like to breathe fresh air, from the oxygen all those saved trees  will produce. A kinder gentler world with less threats in it would be better than turning to drugs / alcohol. Don’t you think so?

If you have any openings for employment, I would like to offer my skills in helping you all out, doing the job of collecting your moneys for you. I truly understand the issues of the day, and do believe, I can collect from others, that also owe you with some compassion. This would also speed up the repayments of my bills to you. Truly a win, win for the both of us!

Because I have just received the notice of power cut-off to my house. This will put more pressure on my endeavors of getting my stuff back as soon as possible. The record-player runs off the power as I’m sure you know? If you feel it in your heart to give me a job, I would hope it will not upset the order of returning my things to me?

This wouldn’t have been a problem if president Obama wouldn’t have wasted all that money on green energy. Solindra went out of business before completing my solar power panels for my house. That’s right they took my money just before I lost my job. So yes that will come back to me right after I get my old job back. After all it should in theory come back in the order of loosing them as I have pointed out earlier. The state wind power plants stopped working. Do to the facts of their too expensive to run, and the hydro power is being sold to other states for higher profits. Leaving coal power plants to produced the power for the rest of us who need it in this state. But then I haven’t been able to pay, and the government doesn’t like the contamination from coal, so that will soon close too. Leaving us all in the dark.

Soon I will have to start burning all of my furnishings in the house. At least the stuff that my ex left me with. No big deal! Just some bad memories. Burning things just for heat isn’t so bad. Cooking, and BBQ’ing the stray cat, or dog over an open flame of fire is kind of like camping. Besides I hear the president said it was delicious, so I thought of giving it a try. Saving some more moneys, for not having to go to the store for food. Giving more income to send to you. When I run out of the wood furnishings to burn, I will start following the government inspired actions. Of what to do in an emergency. Burn through your money! With all of the steady payments from the government I figure I will be able to keep up with buying ink, for the printing of money.  Keeping pace with the governments printings of money. Some bills like yours will then also be again paid for on a regularly bases.

Since the government is the new economy’s inspirations. We all should follow their lead, shouldn’t we? How about raising my credit limits so I can pay some of my smaller bills with the new credits limit you would be providing. Because You have my plan of get out of this mess, and the fact is, it is much clearer then the governments plan. You should then recognize I’m good for it! People really do not like anything, or anyone to get bailed-out. But a credit limit, doesn’t really need to be limiting. ( Please reference the governments outlook on this issues. ) It really is truth, instead of a bunch of BS! Raising my limits will just help someone else out of this mess. Because I would just spend it I’m sure. Think of the limitless possibility’s, by raising my credit limits. Which in turn will provide income to someone else to pay your bills with.

Any who! I hope you now have the fool-proof plan of fools? providing me with that huge credit limit increase. All so that money can once again flow freely. Who knows! If I pay my power bills first, or my green energy orders do get delivered soon? I will be able to live on in to my future receiving your friendly E-mails, requesting my payments, using tree saving earth friendly power. Paying your bills are of the most importance to me. Besides paying my power bills and playing my country music backwards. Filling my heart with renewed hope and change of my future returning to the past. The way things were before. A little dryer. A few runs higher on the stairway to heaven. Will be a brighter future indeed for every one.

Sincerely tequila tears!

Ps.  If you out there are trying the backward music thing along with me, and if I ate your dog? Well He will never come back to you! Sorry! Just thought you should know. I hope that it will never come to that though. Keep the faith, and playing those records backwards. It is the new going forwards! So it seems.

All the best!

Piss. OOps. Just what is plural for  “PS”? This post is not an indorsement, for counterfeiting money. It was just an attempt at humor. Print at your own risk! Thanks.

Writing exercise; Write something you havn’t ever experienced before.

Well I’m looking at a blank screen with that annoying blinking arrow, wondering just what to write about. Writers block of some sorts. But where to start on this subject if you haven’t had the experienced before? Writing is somewhat a mix-up exercise, combined with experience, sprinkled with others writings you have read. With fiction or sci-fi,  there is no way to have experienced it in life, other than bits and pieces. It is a dream like experiences, wrapped with truth, fiction, and colorful commentary’s. All to compleat a picture of words within the reader’s mind. It therefore has within it endless possibility’s, no boundary’s, governed only by the imaginary impulses given to the fingers typing thoughts, out loud.

Dan walked into the bar with long even strides, a man on a mission. The bar offered a semi-dark environment to gather some thoughts. As he approached the long row of bar stools, removing his top coat, placing it on the stool next to the one he sat in. From the counter to ceiling the back wall was mirrored. Shelves running the length of the bar, and up to within sixteen inches of the ceiling or so. The shelving-display. Displayed a wealth of well stocked bottles of spirits. Different bottles of booze was the style of the bar, as well, the only decorations aside from the dark oak woodwork on display. On the right side at the end of the bar was a library type of ladder on a rails. Bar tenders used the ladder by moving it into position in order to retrieve bottles from any of the shelves including the top ones closest to the ceiling. Lighting was dim, made slightly brighter by the reflections, through the bottles of booze and off the mirrored wall.

” What can I get you? Asked the bar tender. Offering her semi seductive smile painted on her face, in order to collect bigger tips. Friendly, and easy to look at she offered the smile towards male patrons in a well rehearse way.

Dan turned to meet the voice, offering his smile in return. ” Sure! I would like to have some dark red wine, not totally dry, but some what sweet. Nothing too special. ” Dan included, with another smile.

” All right. I have just what you may like then.” She said. moving down the bar, retrieving a bottle, and wine glass. Placing a napkin then pouring a small amount into the glass and handing it to Dan, looking for his approval with a small taste to wet the appetite.

Whooshing the wine around the glass, and then breathing in a long smell of its aroma, before tasting it. With a nod of his head, he gave his approval. ” Yes exactly what I was thinking. That’s perfect, thanks.” he said.

She poured the glass of wine, wiped the neck of the bottle and replaced a topper cork into the bottle. ” That’s $ 7.00 please of course, I could run a tab if you like?” She flashed the money-maker smile, along with a good amount of eye contact. Craft of the trade, for bigger tips to be made. Was the bar owners motto, of which she followed to a tee.

“Ah. A tab would be fine, all though this will probably be the drink for the night.” Dan took a sip of the wine, while also drinking in the bar tenders equally intoxicating look.

She smiled and said. ” Well I’ll check back with you in a bit then. Enjoy! ” Moving down the bar to the next patron. Like a worker bee. She moved from client to client offering the mood altering spirit, while collecting the economic nectar to take home back to the hive.

Playing with the alexandrite that raped his ring finger was a nervous habit. The ring that appears to be dark green in day light and deep red under artificial lighting. A unique gift given to Dan by his ex, when he re-entered the civilian world after a stay in the military. He was often mesmerized with the changing colors of the ring as it caught the lighting of his environment. Stirring thoughts and memory’s deep within his mind of lost time, and lost opportunity’s of her again. Like the changing colors of the ring, he remembered the relationship as the on and off again red-hot type. But after the accident all he had was the ring of memories.

The room seemingly fills up with a louder tone as more people come in for the end of the day drink. Aside from the larger crowd of an office worker party. This place was hopping. Above the normal clinking of glasses and bottles of spirits, people in gauged in small talk and laughter. Along with the waiters and waitresses, taking orders, or presenting them. The room had a low tone roar of a popular place getting busier.

Dan took a nonchalant glance around the bar, taking in the sights and sounds, as well observing people’s faces. It was as if he was looking for someone, in a way so he wouldn’t be the one to be notice first. satisfied, he turned back to his glass of wine. Taking a sip, re-swirling the wine in the glass his thoughts slowly disappeared from reality’s as he watched the ripples of wine slowly dissipate to a smooth calm pool of dark smokey cherry red.

Why did he take the job? Its only appearance was one of a one way mission. Dan pressed the number fifteen button, as the elevator doors swished closed. readjusting the shoulder holster holding the nine millimeter, and re checking for the silencer in the right pocket. He mentally was prepared to attach the silencer as practiced many times before, in record time. adrenalin was pouring into his system, yet he remained cool calm and collected.

Mr. Smith was the target, with his offices on the fifteenth floor. The firm on its outward appearance just a financial law firm. But deep in the cannons of the secret inner workings a nest of competing operatives. Mr Smith was the man in the know, just the head of the snake. Nothing special! But the brown file was the icing on the cake. Taking someone out wasn’t new of sorts to Dan. But the first while being a civilian so to speak. It wasn’t so important to kill the man unless, and more than likely he will get in the way of the obtaining the file, kill was then the mode of operations. By any means necessary was the order.

Dan gave a last minuet quick brush of his hair, by running his fingers through it. Reddy to go as planed. Looking good and playing for keeps. On this stage of life, looking the part was the cover to being unnoticed. Like the apple and the worm. Dan didn’t wished to be noticed untill someone would cut into the apple, or untill the plan was tripped by the worm re-emerging out of his worm hole. In either case it would then be too late, he would have worked passed the outer defences if any.

The door opened and Dan using his longer stride, was off, turning to the right, down the hallway. For weeks Dan had practiced this, and had read the floor plans many times untill he could remember them like the back of his hand. The fourth door to the left was security for Mr. smith. Dan stopped suddenly looking around the corner of the door jamb. No one in side. Reaching into his holster and pocket at the same time. He attached the silencer to the gun. The door at the end of the hall, just a Meir 3 doors away was the prize. Anyone could come out of anyone of those doors. Friend or foe, it was the worm jumping out of the apple.

Dan moved towards the end door. The last door opened and one of the security guard walked out into the hall. Dan fired two rounds. One into the chest and one into the head between the eyes. Dropping the man in a heap. Leaping over the body he reached out for the door handle. When the door suddenly opened.

” Mr. Smith! So nice to see you! ” Dan shoved the gun into his stomach and moved into the office, then closing the door. ” Sit! Make yourself comfortable. This will only take a bit of your life anyway.” Dan flashed the patented smile. Mr. Smith wasn’t so inclined to return the smiley attitude.

Dan wedged a chair under the door handle so the door couldn’t be opened. Then he moved towards the desk, and the prize.

“Now where did you put the brown file?”

” Go to hell!” Barked Mr. Smith.

” Now not so fast. That’s no way to treat a guest.” Dan rounded the desk and approached his victim like a spider about to pounce on a fly trapped in its web.

I was told. No! Back up a bit… I was given some great intelligence that you have it in this office right now. So just give it to me and I will be on my way.” Dan said. While pointing the gun at Mr.Smith at point-blank range. ” I’m not going to miss from here.”

” You will never get out of here with it. If I had it! ” Mr. Smith replayed nervously. Glancing to his left at a stack of papers and a slightly open drawer.

Dan was cold and calculating, also noticed the slight glance off to the side. Dan wasn’t going to tip his hand just yet, and so turned around looking at the walls of the office. ” So Behind the art in a wall vault. Eh? ” Dan asked. He heard the desk drawer slowly opening behind him. Spinning around firing one round into Mr. Smith shoulder, the bullet impact knocked him backward out of his desk chair and onto the floor.

” You have to be an early bird to get the worm Mr. Smith!” Dan moved over to the drawer and finished opening it to have a look inside. At the bottom of the drawer was a small 22 caliber. ” A Gun! You made a move for a toy gun? You are really not thinking streight are you?”

Mr. Smith slid himself towards the window wall behind the desk, and propped him self up holding his shoulder with his good hand. Blood was seeping through the suit jacket between his fingers. ” I’m not going to tell you any thing! Go to hell!”

Dan rummaging through the drawer and the papers on the desk. When he noticed a paper with a line on it that just drained the color out of his face. He snatched the paper up and shoved it into his pocket, as he moved towards the front door. A small side window running the along the side of the door was the only view out of the office back down the hall. The same path way Dan had gained entry to the snakes lair.

Looking down the hall, Dan no longer saw the body of the guard, and there was no movement, or sounds of anyone living in it. Dan whispered. ” Set-up! ” As he moved with more caution back towards the desk.

Mr. Smith was just sitting there with a scowl, propped up still holding his hand to the bullet wound. ” You really didn’t see it coming did you? Who is the early bird now kid? ”

Dan was just gathering his thoughts and assessing his next move. Thinking there was some other point to the paper he had in his pocket he removed it and unfolded it to have a nother look.

Top secret; The brown file was forwarded on Wednesday by secure fax. The powers that be will be looking for the file and so raise the security level on all facility’s untill further notice. Destroy the files orignal. End. The time stamp of the return fax was 2 hours ago.

Dan crawled over to the shredder at the printer table off to the side of the desk. Throwing the top off the basket He saw the brownish confetti like paper. Confirming the fear. It was destroyed after it was faxed.

The wind was let out of his sails, the adrenalin had run its course, Dan was physically drained. Any minuet the door will surly burst down and a hail of bullets will be launched his way. The will to live was the animal instinct that drives us all under stresses to move when our body is screaming stop!

Dan got up and quickly stepped back away from the desk, pointing the gun in the direction of the window fired a round at the glass. The window shattered blowing out into the city’s skyline. Dan removed the over coat, then his suit jacket. Reveling a slim base jumpers shoot. Dan’s secret weapon for escaping. Good thing the office recommended it as his survival life line.

Mr. Smith started to laugh. ” Your kidding? Your jumping.. base jumping out of here?” He started to laugh again.

” I’m not getting shot to ribbons here for something that is out in the world of internet traveling electronically to who knows where. Traveling towards who knows who. Maybe even my office has intercepted it already?”

“Ya! Just keep up the faith man. But did you ever wonder who packed the shoot?” Mr. Smith re-adjusted himself and giggled with delight. ” You have been set up! The plan was, send you just for insurance. Just incase we were slow with communications or actions with instructions.”

“I don’t need your sinister views right now. I’m just going to get out while the getting is better in my favor.”

” If you packed the shoot then that kind of thinking would be great. But your handlers could also be waiting for there guy to fall from the sky and scrape the file off the pavement leaving you behind as calculated road kill.” He laughed again untill the pain stopped him. ” You know, believe what you want. That would have been my plan for someone expandable.”

Dan hesitated for just a moment. Thinking through his plan one more time. He hadn’t packed the shoot, but if death was inmate then freedom of flight wood be preferable then shredded like confetti. Dan offered his big smile. Saying. ” It must be your birthday. Happy birthday! ” Leaping out into the city’s windy skyline as if he was jumping across to the other building.

“Sir are you okay?” The bartender was shaking Dans arm trying to get his attention. ” Do you need some help? ”

Dan snapped out of his day-dream, surprised . He went to wipe his face with his hands and spilled his wine. Jumping off the bar stool trying to avoid the spilling wine, running over the edge of the bar.

” Are you okay? I can call someone if you like?” The attractive bartender wasn’t marketing her self with a seductive smile. But more stern looking like a mother scolding a child.

” No! I’m fine. Just trying to enjoy some wine.”

” Have you been drinking somewhere else before coming here? ”

” Look I’m fine. I was just relaxing and doing some visualization technique. Have a big day tomorrow.” Dan was trying to grab some napkins and wiping the wine where he could. Glancing up to the bartender making eye contact again he said. ” Sorry for the wine abuse. But really I’m good. Thanks for your concern.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out some cash placed two twenty’s on the bar. Jabbing his index finger twice on the bills he said. ” Thanks again, that should cover my clumsiness. Sorry. Have a safe night” He grabbed his over coat, turned and started his way towards the double entry doors.

As he passed out of the bar doors he regained his confidence. It was true he hadn’t packed the base jumpers shoot. Could he … have been?He rounded the west corner of the main lobby in time to see Mr. Smith walking towards the bar. Dan just kept walking out of the building not even taking much notice. So as to keep from being made or drawing attention. Once outside he glanced back, the lobby was empty. No one was coming after him or following.

Crossing the street he paused for a moment to look through the bar windows, a street view for the patrons, a great looked in side for Dan, who was stocking his pray. With no trouble he recognized Mr. Smith. He was being worked with the bar tenders tip subduction smile. Standing there he thought he could take aim and shoot him right here unnoticed, no base jumping required. Dan looked up and down the street thinking should he?

Glancing back to the bar he saw Mr. Smith grabbing his neck as if something was wrong. Choking on something? Dan ran across the street and peered into the window for a closer look. A white foam was pouring out of Mr. Smith’s mouth. Dan knew right off. Poisson! Its true! Dan thought. The office did set him up at all cost. Multiple assassins for this guy, or…. Looking towards the bar he saw the attractive bar tender, looking his way with a slowly disappearing seductive smile.

Well I haven’t tried to kill anyone, nor do I ever wish to! I’m not a spy in real life, nor an assassin either. So I think this passes for a compleated assignment of ” Writing about something you haven’t ever experienced.”

All the best.


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