Howling In The Night.

I have a vivid memory from my youth that I revisit from time to time, and it never fails to bring a smile to my face. I don’t recall the exact time frame in question, but I think that I was around ten or eleven My step-brother and I were left home alone, (or so we thought) to fend for ourselves for the night. But unknown to us, my mom had left instructions with my older brother that he was supposed to keep an eye on us. Information that he neglected to share with us. (No Doubt on purpose.) seems as though he and one of his friends were outside waiting to hatch a scare plot on my step-brother and I. they waited until dark and slowly moved around the outside of the house making loud thumping noises, no doubt trying to scare us. Unknown to them, we were sitting on the sofa watching an old Frankenstein movie, and we were too involved in the intricate plot works to even notice.

My step-brother didn’t like the dark much, in fact he hated it with a passion, which made us exact opposites, it didn’t bother me in the least to go out with a baseball bat and patrol the area for varmint, but you couldn’t get him past the porch light. Knowing this, I think they were counting on us to be crying little babies at the thought of something being outside the window trying to get in at us. So, it was about an hour or so into the movie when Michael first heard the thumping noises coming from outside. At first, we were a little put off, that is until we caught them in the act. We saw Isley Blackwell, (The accomplice) hiding in the bushes outside the living room window, and it didn’t take a couple of eleven years olds long to figure out what was going on. So we hatched a plan of our own, knowing that my mother was the only one that had a key to any door in the house, we locked down everything including the windows and doors and wouldn’t let them back in.

Living in the country, we had a lot of Coyotes. My older brother hated coyotes. The way they would yelp and howl, in the pitch black it sounded eerie, and when they showed up that night in the backyard it couldn’t have been more perfect. They were howling and moaning and yelping, and my brother and his buddy were banging on the back door to get us to let them in. they threatened… They screamed… They called us dirty names… They were scared shitless. And the two eleven-year-olds that they were trying to pull a school boy prank on were safely tucked away inside a warm house laughing their asses off. Mom came home around ten thirty or eleven, and they were still out there. She let them in, and I think they only thing that saved us from getting our butts kicked by my bro was that we would tell everybody that they knew who the real chicken shits were. I don’t know what made me think about that tonight… Maybe I’m just bored… Maybe I was just missing my bro tonight. (God rest his Soul.) maybe It's just because it's dark outside…

Reaching For The Brass Ring.

 

I don't always explain what I am thinking as clear as I would like, but here I go again, trying is still free. see the thing is, lately I have noticed that some of the most interesting things happen right after I wake up, and they usually happen at Walmart or some other such place where people of all walks of life seem to congregate. I have learned a lot by simply watching people, How they interact with strangers in public. And there are a lot of unhappy people around here. Wait a minute. Back up, let me pour myself a cup of morning brew and chew on this for a minute. Ok, that’s enough chewing. I have reached the conclusion that most people in the population at large wouldn’t know happiness if it walked up and bit them on the butt. Wait, let me tell you how I got there. Strictly for the sake of argument, let's leave the poor people out of this picture, for the moment at least, and concentrate on the other two types of people that I noticed. One Being, the people who seem to have everything and constantly find themselves wanting, craving and or demanding more. The other being, the people who have enough, but can never seem to have enough.

See, before anyone starts to think that I’m just spouting off, let me just say that I know, first hand, people in the very positions of which I speak. Let's take Joe Blow Jones. He has the perfect house, the fancy cars, the high paying job. Etc… Etc… Etc… so what’s his beef? Joe is so caught up in his material possessions that he’s forgotten how to just relax and enjoy life. His greed for more and more material wealth, has become all encompassing, and misery has become his life. He worries about losing what he has, so he is constantly looking for the bigger and better deal. And it doesn’t matter to Joe, who he has to step all over to get the brass ring that he believes so defines his life. Ok Now move down the food chain for a minute and right below Joe is John Blow Smith. Now, John doesn’t have quite as much as Joe does, but he still has much more than the average American who is busting their hump to scrape by every day. He has a nice house, He has a nice car and a beautiful wife but can’t seem to enjoy any of it. More. More. More. The common thread that will tie Joe and John together forever is their misery. They seem to have everything and yet have nothing. Both unknowing victims of the perception that the more you have, the more you need. Greed is good.

See now Let me get away from those guys. It could be contagious, and I don’t want to become infected. See? I never had much. I always worked hard enough to earn enough money to maybe not get Everything that I ever wanted, but I think that I have everything that I really need. Most importantly, a good perspective. Ok Joe. John. Lay off of your obsessions with material wealth for a minute and let me take you on a little trip, if you will. It won’t cost either of you a single penny, and it will only take a moment of your precious time. Close your eyes and listen to my voice. It's in the middle of July, you're baking in the summer heat, and when you open your eyes you're standing on the beach at Lake Tahoe, Nevada. And as you slowly approach the water you can almost taste its cold refreshing waves as they lap at your feet. Slowly now, wade in and let it consume you, until you are totally lost underwater. And when you finally resurface, you can feel the suns' warmth reflecting off of your skin.

Catch your breath… Ready? Close your eyes again. You hear that sound? Do you smell that? Damn. My favorite time of year. Fall. Leaves shedding from the trees. everything is golden brown. There are a bunch of kids piling up leaves on old man Nestor's front lawn, while he sits on the front porch watching them like a proud Grandpa. You can hear them all giggling and laughing, as they line up single file to take the plunge. You ever do that when you were a kid? Have You ever done Anything that didn’t involve money? Roast marshmallows or hotdogs over an open flame? Have you ever told ghost stories around a campfire and end up scaring yourself and everyone else silly? have you ever been camping or fishing in the woods and woke up in the morning in a sleeping bag covered in dew? I could go on with this forever, but I won’t, but see there is an old saying that I recall hearing as a child that stuck with me that says “one man's curse is another man's blessing” the world is full of blessings that don’t involve having that competitive edge that you think you need, it doesn’t involve material wealth or money, see, it isn’t difficult to be truly blessed in this life, all you need to do is to learn to look past what you perceive to be important, and embrace what truly is…

~Scratch~

It Rocked Me Like a Hurricane... Beetlejuice? was that you?

August 3rd, 2015...

The outside lights were all burnt out on the outside of my cozy little tomb like habitat, now under normal circumstances that wouldn’t have bothered me in the slightest, but it was starting to get dark outside then, and before that I had hearing this strange moaning sound that came waffling through my open front window. So I stepped out the front door and looked both ways and-- nothing… Nothing moving and nary a sound but the haunting silence of nighttime. I walked to the edge of the balcony and peered around the corner, and again, nothing but the sounds of sparse evening traffic traveling up and down Fifth street.

Blaming the incident on an over active imagination- I came back inside, and turned on the television and returned my attention to the internet, only to moments later to hear that same haunting moaning come drifting through my window. “what in the hell WAS that?” a sick dog? And a snarling kitty cat that’s been over doing the catnip? Beetlejuice? is that you? Strange indeed, but I do so love a mystery, so once again I went outside to investigate, this time I turned my attention to the right side of the building. Nothing, not a sound, so what in the blue blazes was that? So I slowly, carefully, crept past my then neighbors, an older lady perhaps in her early 70s, kinda grumpy at times but over all not terribly so, so I went the three doors down and glanced through the open window and inside, the lights in her apartment were all on and there she was, lying on the couch, sound asleep, snoring up a hurricane force wind.

Now, I’ve been told on occasion that I snore a bit at times too. Course, I don’t sound like a 747 being cleared for take off at Reno International Airport. No, now I’m not saying that her snoring was loud mind you, and I’m not saying that the noise I heard was nasal in origin. All I’m saying is that when she got up off of her sofa, came out the door and left in her car a couple of minutes later, I didn’t hear the noise anymore. Could it have been a loud wounded animal? Well it sounded like it, could it have been the wind howling through the trees? Could have been. I’m not saying that it was her, but honestly, though, that is probably the first time I’ve ever heard someone make hurricane noises through their nose. Whatever it was, I’m glad it went away. I was getting ready to call in those guys and gals from Ghost Hunters.

Wrath of The Hive Mind.

 

After looking around at the world, if I may stay on the side of sanity, I see that people are just different, sometimes extremely so, that's cool, you be you, I'll be me, we don't have to agree on anything, as long as we are still allowed to be civil to one another. it's all good, and then there are those, of course, that have to have a cause, They are a hammer and the world is their nail. They wake up in the morning pissed off, they go to bed at night pissed off, and everything in between those times are just varying degrees of outrage. Then there are those fuckers, they try to trick you into saying what THEY want you to say, but they're easy to spot too, aren't they?  they might look like an adult, but the second they don't hear their opinion coming out of your mouth, they become petulant children. waving their little fingers at you. Actually I can live with that, they are kinda funny in a demented, mentally ill sort of way, you don't tell them what they want to hear, their eyes turn red, their little crumpet shaped noses start twitching, their lips wrinkle into a pout, like they're trying to hold in a wet fart. 

You have to laugh. arguing is pointless, you see, I'm not sure how it happened, I suppose it's because I belong to a different generation that was taught to question everything and never to take someone at their word just because they said to. Never follow the flock, think for yourself, be a wolf, not a sheep. You can always tell who the online cowards are, they all have the same play book, accuse everybody who doesn't agree with their fragile opinion of doing the very thing that they themselves are doing, fling shit, retreat back into the shadows to avoid criticism. I've learned not to argue with people about shit that is beyond my reach or control. They don't want to hear anything outside of their own opinion, and I won't deal with the assholes anymore. Life is too short to deal with close-minded people. So in conclusion, I Suppose it would be easier for me to just embrace the insanity, Because I have come to realize, that the whole world is one big raging lunatic, and the rest of us are just here, patiently waiting for that Mount Everest sized meteor to come home to roost, to put this planet out of its fucking misery. I am barely clinging to hope, but the more I witness the blatant disregard for our own sanity, The more I feel it slowly slipping from our grasp.

~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2024~

Freedom Blvd.

 

It’s always been the same here, for what seems like forever, and it's been here that long, too. Freedom Blvd. Freedom my ass, more like a rat trap. All sides surrounded by a slum lord's wet dream, endless buildings stuffed full of hopeless people, living for the fruits of hopeless dreams, with nowhere to turn but in circles. Living out their lives in an endless maze of sun baked asphalt. they told me, "don’t settle here, man, you’ll never get out alive.” I thought they were joking… Turns out the joke was on me. Now I spend my days working down at the docks, breaking my back, toiling for a thankless wage. And I spend my evenings up here on the fire escape slash balcony of the luxurious hotel Belvedere, throwing back cold Corona’s, dinning on Cheetos and stale beer nuts, watching as life unfolds itself, slowly baking in the afternoon sun.

She came out when the clouds rolled in, gliding through the fresh falling raindrops like an African gazelle, gracefully eluding a lumbering lummox of a predator. Arms stretched out, open wide as if, thankfully, she was trying to hug God almighty himself. Her white wet tee shirt clinging to perfect bra-less skin, long jet black hair all wet and shiny, looking like she just stepped off of a movie screen, Planet Hollywood come to life, and it's the jealous boyfriend to the rescue, covering her young perfect wet body with a blanket, just before he slips and falls on his ass in the middle of the rain soaked street. With a whole plethora of neighborhood children all simultaneously laughing their asses off. All in his honor. Maybe he should have just let her dance.

And the rain keeps falling down, small droplets bouncing off the scalding pavement, forming into small puddles and puddles into ponds. As curious, borderline angry, mothers yell from open kitchen windows for Junior to get his ass home to wash up for dinner. And now as the rain slows to a slow drizzle, the sun sets on another day here on Freedom Blvd, neighborhood kids hurry home promising each other, next time, yeah the next time we play cowboys and Indians YOU get to be Col. Custard. And somewhere in the distance a window breaks, an alarm goes off, and sirens echo down an empty street, and you just have to smile to yourself, because you just know that somebody is going to get busted. Because someone always does. And now, the Corona’s are all but gone, the Cheetos bag is empty, and the beer nuts are still stale. And as the curtain slowly drops, the shows over, and it's time for me to call it a night here on Freedom Blvd.

~Scratch A.B.T. copyright © 2008~

Through the Black

 

Although I don’t recall what my exact age was, I was very young when I figured out that I wasn’t afraid of the dark. Coming nose to nose with a prowler probably helped some I suppose, I was alone at night I was 13 I believe, I just pulled back the curtains and there he was, I think I scared him worse than he scared me, he ran without incident. I don’t recall ever being terrified of being alone at night. So what is it about that special time when the sun goes down that make some people get so freaked out? Perhaps it is indeed that same feeling as swimming out in the middle of the ocean and not knowing what big nasty shark might be swimming up behind you to have you for a snack. It makes people uncomfortable, not knowing, not seeing, wandering around in a black hole with no light to illuminate your path. Not knowing what is making that strange noise in the distance that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Is it an animal? Is it human? A man? A woman? Or perhaps it is something that hasn’t been encountered before, and you are about to be the first person ever to see it in all of its true hideous glory.

The truth when you are able to rationalize it, and see it, and clearly think about it is quite simple, actually. When it comes to nightfall, when it comes to the dark, there is actually very little in it that isn’t there during the day. And the biggest fuel source that your own fears of it have, is your own imagination. Some animals are just nocturnal, animals such as say, bats, owls, possums, skunks, badgers, ,raccoon’s and deer, and of course your standards like. vampires, werewolves, zombies, toads, and of course the Frankenstein Monster, and the ghost of Jack The Ripper. Toss in a few ghouls and a couple of axe murderer’s, and you could have quite a night of it. People can learn to rely too much on what they can and can’t see, and the end result of it can cause quite a bit of paranoia. Just in case, do the following if it helps you to sleep better at night. Make sure that you check your outside porch lights regularly, make sure you have several working flashlights and candles handy just in case the power goes out in the middle of that dark and stormy night coming up. And just remember that it is more likely than not, that the most dangerous monster creeping around in your backyard at night is in reality quite human, or no more or less than the product of your own imagination.

Attention:Walmart Shoppers!

I would usually hear the voices whenever I was in the throes of impulse shopping whilst in one of those super Walmart's or in any one of the local grocery stores. Oh sure, I always made a list. But c’mon, nobody ever sticks to those things. I would write shit like, “ok. I need toilet paper, paper towels, shaving cream, uhmmmm. Razors and a rotisserie chicken for dinner. Sure, that’s what was SUPPOSED to happen, but of course it never did. Once inside the door, those damn voice’s would take over. “Ok now. I’m just here to buy a new pair of Jeans and some sweat socks!” yeah, right, sweat socks. Try as I may, I could never truly totally avoid the food aisles. The P.A. speakers would crackle to life with something like. “Attention Walmart Shoppers. Green Beans on sale now in the produce section. 3 lbs for a dollar.”

Of course what they said over the P.A. and what I actually heard were two totally different things, I would hear something totally different like: “Attention Walmart Shoppers! Come to the food section. We have Chocolate. We have Peanut butter covered in Chocolate. We have Peanut butter thingy’s covered in chocolate with coconut sprinkles! We have Dove Ice cream bars! (Also covered in not just chocolate, but Triple thick chocolate.!) Come one! Come all! To the super-duper Walmart mega Chocolate Sale! While supplies last!”

yeah, yeah, yeah. They knew they had me at ‘Attention Walmart shoppers.’ I always tried to fight them, you know?, but the damn voices, they wouldn’t leave me be. “I’m not going over there! Dammit! I’m not gonna do it! Damn you all to hell! .” so I would push my cart (Slowly) in the opposite direction. “Gee. I wonder what new DVDs they have on sale this week?” that was about the time when the voices would take over.

“HEEEEY! Where ya goin dumb ass? The Chocolate is over there! That Way! Yeah, over there!”

I tried desperately to ignore them, but to no avail.

Almost involuntarily, my cart would slowly change directions even as I tried to deny the impulse to go take a look, “Over There.”

“Jeans… Uhh. Shaving cream… Sweat socks uhh. Didn’t they say something about fresh green beans? Oh, I love fresh green beans. Maybe I should just swing by the produce section for a quick peek.”

Oh, sure. I really did want to go check out the green beans, but always seemed to enter the grocery section of the Walmart super center right at the freezers. Right where they kept the triple thick chocolate covered Dove Ice cream bars along with a colorful array of other sugar-coated delights that are intended to make you sit in one place and vibrate for an hour or so, immediately after consumption.

I always made it to the register, but the many detours along the way to what I really came to the store to buy were costly. “Lets see here. I have a pair of blue jeans. (Three boxes of triple thick chocolate covered Dove ice cream bars.) I have four pairs of sweat socks. (Two bags of Reese’s pieces.) and some after shave lotion and shaving cream. (Four bags of bite sized Kit Kat Bars. With a two liter bottle of Hershey’s syrup for dipping.) ok, ok, so I may be slightly exaggerating here, and maybe my sugar addiction wasn’t quite that severe. But at any rate I am slowly showing signs of over all improvement, I don’t sit and vibrate anymore, and when I get up out of my chair I don’t bounce my head off of the ceiling anymore.

The nervous twitches have somewhat subsided. So its under control, but I fear however that an entirely new problem may exist, to take my mind off of my sugar problem I have begun eating these strange little cracker things that one of my friend’s gave me, and the other night I was laying on the sofa watching television, and a strange impulse took control over me. I tried to lift my right leg over my head to scratch behind my ears with my toes, and fell off of the couch, dead on my ass. I think the little bastard may have slipped me some dog biscuits. If this keeps up, I may go have to go back to Dove bars.

~Scratch~

Blood, Love And Chocolate. (A Twisted Love story.)

Many times in his still reasonably young life, Henry P Higglebum has tried to embrace the most wretched of holidays on the human calendar, the one day that made womankind glow to the point of erupting into a super nova. V Day for women, D-Day for men, Henry thought. Why couldn’t he get it right? Why didn’t he get it period? His Girlfriend Imogene got it. His mother got it. His sister got it too. Hell, even his cat Freckles seemed to get it. But Henry? Nooo not Henry P Higglebum, see poor Henry was afflicted with the disease that every man who had the unfortunate fate of being just like him suffered from, you see Henry not only had the man disease called Dumbassitis, but in Henry’s case it was terminal. He had it ten years ago when he had first seen his lady love Imogene, and every year since, the disease seemed to intensify. Last year it struck just two hours before Valentine's Day, all of Imogene’s plots to aid in the blessing of receiving the perfect gift from Henry went completely unnoticed, the Dumbassitis had all but taken complete control of poor poor Henry. In fact, he didn’t even realize that the dreaded Valentine's Day was even upon him until it was far too late. Completely oblivious to the dire fate that once again awaited him, Henry wandered aimlessly through the isles of Walmart, his mind drawing a total blank until finally the veil of darkness had lifted, leaving him in a fit of utter panic.

He began to hurry up one aisle and down the next, a cold sweat oozed from his pores, one hour passed, then two, then three. Until he had arrived at the point where he could no longer stand the pressure and decided to buy Imogene, the first thing that he’d thought of. It was not only ‘the perfect Valentine's Day gift’ it HAD to be the perfect gift. Then half dead flowers from the local Quickie Mart, followed closely by a box of semi stale Chocolates. Followed even more closely by a heartfelt “Happy Valentine's Day Honey!!” and the very next day having to face the utter humiliation of having to explain to all of his friend just exactly how he got a powder blue and hot pink weed whacker stuck up his hind parts and why he needed help to pull it out. That however was last year and this was this year. THIS year Henry P Higglebum was a man on a mission, THIS year he had been doing his homework. This year he had made reservations at that swanky new French restaurant Ma Cherie, he had gone shopping and found a perfect pair of diamond earrings, he had even arranged for a bouquet of long stemmed roses wrapped in delicate paper to be delivered to their table during dinner.

The fateful night had arrived and Henry, adorned in a new suit and tie, wearing just the slightest splash of Aqua Velva, showed up at Imogene’s door with a box of Chocolates. Holding out his arm, he led his beloved Imogene to his pickup truck and drove them to the restaurant where they would share a perfect Valentine's Day romantic candlelit dinner. This was however still Henry P Higglebum, and perfect was not yet a word that seemed to fit him in the least. After they had been seated, the kid that was delivering the flowers almost took them to the wrong table, causing an agitated Henry to snatch them from his hand, which he brushed a little too close to one of the lit candles from the candle lit dinner, causing the paper that was wrapped around the bottom of the flowers to ignite into flames, causing Henry to panic and knock over the other candle which ignited the white linen table cloth catching it on fire which immediately caught the attention of not one, but two slightly overzealous waiters who each threw an entire pitcher of water on the flames which completely ruined the dinner, which caused a completely stunned and humiliated and more than slightly pissed off Imogene to storm from the restaurant leaving behind a fumbling Henry P Higglebum who was frantically searching in his pockets for the diamond earrings in hopes of salvaging yet another horrible Valentine's Day only to finally realize that he’d left them in his other coat at home. Causing Henry to go to a bar alone, which caused him to get blind stinking drunk, which caused him to realize that maybe he should have bought her another weed whacker instead, and Maybe, just maybe this time he would have gotten REALLY lucky, and Imogene would have killed him with it.

~Scratch A.B.T Copyright © 2009~

Blogging in The Midnight Hour...

 (A Blast from the past from Blogstream 2007.)

So I’m sitting here in front of this screen again, and it's well past the eleven o’clock hour. The TV is going. I’m listening to tunes bustin down a pot of Starbucks, and I’m bored as hell, wondering who’s sneaking around inside this little gray box of mine. And right when I’m thinking this, some guy comes on TV talkin about internet addiction and its damning effects on the human psyche. He said, as I recall, that forming bonds with people that we don’t actually know via the internet, is a dangerous game, in the sense that we build for ourselves a false sense of security thinking that we can actually trust the other person at the other end of this little rainbow of ours. And that we might actually give out sensitive information about ourselves to people that we don’t really know. and he even threw out the word Blog as I recall. 

Well, some of that may be a genuine concern I suppose, if someone were actually that stupid to give out sensitive information to a complete stranger. Hell I know That I don’t live around any of the people on the Blogstream, and I also know what I can and can’t tell people, but that doesn’t mean that I need to totally abandon all sense of trust that I have developed here in the past two years with certain individuals. This is where I come to let off steam. This is where I come to create. To think. To find other people who are sitting in front of their little gray boxes, wondering if they’ve revealed too much to the person at the other end of the rainbow. Here I know where the line is, I know it top to the bottom, and I don’t cross it. ever. 

So with that little part of me that remains tucked safely away and out of reach, here I come. Spirit flying. Wings spread and eyes wide open… Looking for god only knows what. Love? Life? Laughter? Or perhaps it's the pursuit of some twisted happiness that I can’t quite get my hands around in the physical realm. What’s the rub of this place? Is it magic? Doubtful. Is it metaphysical?  Probably not. So what then? What keeps bringing me and countless others back to this place. Every day or so… Starting all over again at the very top. The very beginning, staring at a blank page waiting for the words to magically present themselves in the form of a post. What is it?

Well, it has occurred to me that it may very well be an addiction, but perhaps not under the definition that some people might become accustomed to. Ok now, speaking from my own observations of other people here on the Stream as well as my own behavior, I think that perhaps the most amazing thing about the internet, As a whole, the Blogstream not withstanding, is that it allows the traveler here, the suspension of disbelief. Here, you can do practically anything that you wish. Here you can express yourself, with all of your anger. With all of your love. With as much passion or lack thereof as your real life may reflect. Here we can be Dragons. Tigers. Cats. Anything your imagination will allow... 

I have known Pranksters here, Icemen, trainmen, sea captains and amazing women that I might never have known otherwise, yes I have experienced magic here, and even shared in some of that suspension of disbelief, if only for a second, and allowed it to carry me away from this physical place. Yes the internet, more importantly the Blogstream, has been a wonderful over all experience for me, and other like-minded individuals. The Internet? Yes, it has its allure… But as with anything else, there are shadows here. Where the monsters of the real world come to hide in. Do not think that bad things cannot happen to you here… Oh, yes anon. there be treachery afoot! The smartest thing, perhaps the most important thing about this place to remember is, regardless of the level of fantasy that you choose to engage in, regardless of how safe that you think you are. The consequences of your actions here, can be, and most often are, very real. 

~Scratch~

We're All Mad Here.

I knew a guy once, well that isn't exactly true, he was an acquaintance of a friend of mine. Everyone, it seemed-knew about him, except me. Dude, whom I'll call Marvin- it seemed, was a tad touched in the head and everyone avoided him like he had cooties because of it. Well-everyone except me, I was always a little curious about his odd behavior and I used to catch myself studying him from a distance. He was constantly talking to himself, about god only knows what, and when he did engage in conversation with other people it quickly escalated into a full-blown argument without provocation of any kind. even in passing, no matter what the subject, Marvin could become combative at the drop of a hat. He disappeared one day, seemingly just dropping off the face of the Earth, I never did find out what happened to him. Marvin was a lunatic, a touch insane, but no matter his mental state, at his core-he could still be considered a decent enough guy. IF HE LIKED YOU.

This morning I was bouncing around on another blog site reading a few blogs here and there, some had a familiar feeling to them. I couldn't put my finger on it this morning, but when I came back on last evening, the thought of Marvin just popped in my head. most blog sites-so it would seem, have a few Marvin's here. People that just seem to live to argue with everyone around them, Over politics, over religion, over whatever comes up I suppose. I do it myself from time to time, although to my best recollection I've never had any serious provocation's on TS or the other blog site. I have been in an argument or two here and there, but there are those, it would seem, that could start an argument in an empty elevator. And what I find particularly funny is they argue over the same shit day in day out, over and over again, never reaching any reasonable conclusions. I suppose I'm just as crazy as they are because I have read such blogs- (especially the comment sections) more than once. Albert Einstein once defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results. I suppose, to some degree, we are all mad here.

My hatred for Facepuke is Growing.

Sometimes you just can't help but throw up a rage post, on social media, on a blogging site, sometimes it is something that is way beyond your control. To me, social media sites are the absolute worst ones to post on, sites like Facebook are at the top of the list, there used to be a feature on there called notes, I liked it, it almost made that shitty fucking site tolerable, I used it to post long form writing and those pukes that run that shithole took it away because it was too much like blogging. they promote short videos, short posts, mindless bullshit and half the time you struggle just to post a little bit of text with a photo. I get more meaningful interaction on X or Instagram than I do on Facefuck. I'll never give up blogging, no matter who does or doesn't interact here. I will continue to maintain some of my friendships there, but Facebook for me is on seriously thin ice.

Love Over Gold.

 

Thought… Emotion… Action.

You know sometimes I really wonder about us, Humankind I mean, Not just Americans, when you get right down to it, America is still very young on the world stage. No, I mean human beings in general, no matter the geographical location.  See, we’ve been around for a while now, we didn’t get this life thing in the beginning, and we really still don’t get it now. I mean, here we are, supposedly, maybe even arguably, the most intelligent species to ever roam the face of the Earth, and we Don’t GET life. We bicker, we fight, and we argue, as people, as countries, over shit that is really meaningless in the grand scheme of things. 

Think about it, we fight over ground, we fight over oil, we fight over religion. We bicker, we banter, we hold great disdain over anything or anyone who may hold a different opinion other  than our own. We have voices, but we do not communicate, we yell, we shake our fists angrily at the world, but we do not talk. Our Governments, on the world stage, chose to wage war rather than peace, and at the drop of a hat they will place thousands, perhaps millions, of lives in harms way to obtain or defend a piece of land or oil that was never really theirs to begin with. When are we as human beings going to wake up? We don’t OWN the world, it owns us. We don’t control anything, control is an illusion. We have shown an amazing capacity for love, and yet perhaps for no other reason than spite, and rather many choose hate. 

We allow ourselves to be divided, through color and class, always dwelling on how we are so different rather than drawing focus on how we are the same. We all bleed, we all hurt, we all feel pain, and yet there is still room for love. Mother nature, now SHE can be a ruthless bitch, but at least she gets it. And when she’s ready to evict our asses off of this planet, We’re history, plain and simple. No money, No power, no war will save us from her wrath. So while we’re here, right now, maybe the best thing that we can do, for ourselves, is to stop what we’re doing and just think about it.. Feel some real human Emotion. And maybe then we’ll take the best action of all, by simply choosing Love over Gold and Life over Death.

Make love… Not war… Peace my friends…

Scratch.

CDs Of The Stone Age.

 

October 31st 2010.

I don’t know why it is, but sometimes I’ll go for days without writing a word and then other times something will just click in my head, a word or a phase that someone may have said on X or someplace else that I frequent, and it's as if they turned on a faucet. The ideas just start flowing and won’t stop until I make them. Funny how that works, but it happened recently as I was chatting with a friend on X, she mentioned something about her daughter not knowing what a record/record player was, I got this line in my head, and I couldn’t get it out, I knew I had to do something with it, but it wasn’t coming to me. Records: CD’s of the Stone Age. Damn, that was too good not to use on my blog somehow. I tried to write a post around it- several times in fact, nothing worked with it though. It somehow made me picture this older guy, maybe in his late 50s, completely disconnected from modern technology, still has everything stashed somewhere up in the attic. I figure he has two sons in their mid-teens, and probably a daughter maybe a year or two younger than the boys, or maybe she’s in between them in age. He has a decent paying job, is forced to use a computer at work, but really can’t stand it. He fights it every day, won’t buy a cell phone, etc. etc. etc. If it weren’t for his wife and kids, he probably would be totally lost when forced to use any of the modern technology.

He comes in the front door one day after work and stares at his two teenage sons, one is in his recliner, the other is sprawled out on the sofa. Both are wearing these things called ear buds and are plugged into their iPhones. They are both jumping around like a couple of frogs that have been thrown on a lit hot plate. Their eyes are closed, and their heads are bouncing back and forth almost violently. He stares at them for a time with a look in his eyes that has long since crossed over from one born of pity and has bloomed into full-grown disgust. His eldest son opens his eyes, at sits up straight, removing the ear buds and setting the iPhone down on the table at the end of the sofa.

“Hey pop! Got home early, huh?” He says.

He nods slowly, all the while eying the curious contraption suspiciously.

“What the hell is that you're listening to there son?” He asks.

“What? This? This here is an iPhone pop, It plays all of my music.”

He bends down and picks up the device and carefully begins to examine it.

“Music?”

The boy nods.

“How do you fit a CD in this thing?”

Now the other son has removed his ear buds and both boys are giving each other confused looks, the youngest looks up at his father, and then at his brother. Both are now smiling.

“Geez Pop, these are phones, not CD players. Cd’s are a thing of the past, pretty much.” The oldest son says.

He gives them both a cold blank stare. Before looking back down at the device.

“I just bought both you and your sister brand-new CD players. What happened to them?”

The confused looks return on the boys faces.

“Geez Pop, that was 10 years ago.”

“What did you do with the CD’s then?”

“We downloaded them onto our computers hard drive, then put them on iTunes and then synched them onto the iPhones, then the music is stored in the cloud. We put the CD’s away a long time ago, Pop.”

CDs were obsolete now too? All this time he was still trying to figure those out, and now they went ahead and made something new? He is never going to catch up, he thinks to himself. He sets the iPhone back down on the table, and now the confused look is all his. He slowly walks past them but says nothing further, just when he figures out how to use one thing-they go ahead and spring something new on him. It isn’t fair.

He finds himself almost unconsciously heading towards the entrance to the attic, he climbs up into the dark dusty room and locates a chair and begins to mull through some old boxes that he and the wife stashed up there years ago. He finds some boxes filled with old LP’s and when he picks up the Iron Butterfly album it brings a smile to his face.

In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida. Lord, it's been years. He hears a noise that pulls him back to the present and turns to see both of his sons staring at him.

“Whatcha doin Pop?” They both ask.

“Reminiscing.” He tells them.

The boys both appear at his side, looking down in amazement at what he’s holding in his hands.

“Wow, Pop, you still have some old records? That’s kinda cool!” They both say.

He turns in their direction and gives them a surprised look.

“You know what records are?” He asks.

The oldest son smiles proudly.

“Sure, Pop, we were talking about them in history class just the other day. I bet you still have one of them antique record players too, doncha pop?”

“Yeah, there’s one around here somewhere, my old stereo is long gone, but I think your mother put a portable one in that old trunk over there.”

He rises to his feet and walks over to the old trunk and opens it, there are old magazines and several 45’s laying on top, and the smile slowly reappears on his face, as he digs deeper, exposing even more hidden treasures, an old varsity letterman’s sweater causes a memory to resurface. And then there just underneath the sweater he sees the old portable record player and pulls it out of the trunk. The boys both circle around behind him.

“Hey Pop? you don’t suppose that old piece of junk still works, do ya?” The youngest says.

He opens the top and closely inspects it.

“I suppose with a little tinkering I could get it working if it isn’t already.”

The oldest son is now holding the Iron Butterfly album and carefully slides the record out of the jacket and marvels at the shiny black disc as though it were a relic from a dark distant past.

“Just think Pop, these were like the Cd’s of your day, and that was probably YOUR Mp3 player.” The oldest says.

He slouches back down in his chair, suddenly feeling very old. Until he sees the youngest pull a familiar looking cigar box out of the trunk. He stands and hurriedly takes it away from him, almost acting as if he is somehow embarrassed.

He slowly opens the cigar box and looks inside to see some old Zig Zag rolling papers along with a couple of roach clips, and remnants of a half smoked Marijuana cigarette. The boys lean forward and manage a peek. They give each other a look.

“Mmmmmm. Hmmmm. Doobage.” They both say in unison.

He wants to be concerned as to how his sons seem to know exactly what doobage is… But somewhere deep inside, he is secretly relived to know that at least there are some things haven’t and may never change.

~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2010~

Aliens, Bigfoot and Atlantis... With a little bit of Elvis Thrown in.

I just love all the conspiracy nuts on the Internet these days. They seem to think that everything, (and I do mean EVERYTHING) is either a multi layered cover up, or an out-and-out full-blown governmental conspiracy. Granted, there is more than likely SOME shit out there that the government definitely has its hands in, but these nitwits blame everything on the government. Can’t find Bigfoot? Must be a governmental conspiracy. Space aliens kidnapped your dog back in 1963? The government must have covered it up. Can’t find new evidence at Roswell? the government covered it up- (And Bigfoot helped them) the world is all one big conspiracy, wrapped in a riddle, wrapped in an enigma. 

For the money space aliens seems to be the biggest governmental cover up of all, from Roswell to Area 51, we are nothing but mushrooms to them, they keep us in the dark and feed us bullshit and expect us to grow and lead healthy productive lives. Now I have seen the customary “Lights in the sky” but honestly? there was only one time when I wasn't exactly sure, that they were just lights, seriously though? it could have been a lot of things, it was dark out, and I never got close enough to tell what it actually was or could have been. But I’m still not convinced that everything is a cover-up or conspiracy. And so after careful deliberation, after careful consideration, I have formulated, calculated & devised my own theory. I promise, dear reader, this shouldn't take too long.

After meticulously examining the evidence, I have concluded the following, the existence of space aliens is a bunch of Hooey Phooey. (Okay, granted, Hooey and Phooey may not be real words, and you are welcome to look them up at your own leisure.) The reason that they can't find Bigfoot is he moved to the lost continent of Atlantis where he has a time-share with Elvis, Bruce Lee & Amelia Earhart and the only way to get there is to travel by boat into the Bermuda Triangle, through a time warp discovered by Edgar Casey in 1929. But you would have to be a total Ninny to believe in space aliens. 

How about we throw this out there for a theory? if it took our government this long to address the issue of health care in America, And the idiots haven't even scratched the surface of the daily struggle of the mental health crisis, that many American taxpayers live through and deal with on a daily basis, the economy is in the shitter, the world around us is crumbling at the foundations as we speak, so maybe just maybe they don't have time for all of these conspiracies, I think that perhaps when it comes to these types of mysteries? Aliens? Bigfoot? Elvis? The mystery of Atlantis? Yeah, I think we're on our own here, we are after all talking about the government here, Our GOVERNMENT? I think it may come down to what most of us have suspected all along, that they really are as clueless about EVERYTHING as we thought. Hey, it's only a theory. Forgive me for babbling, I probably just need a nap, or coffee, I haven't really decided which yet.

Under Construction...

I usually don’t find myself in the habit of barging into a conversation, even if I know the participants, unless of course someone involved decides to test my opinion. After work one day, I ran into a couple of people that I have known for a while now, they came into the restaurant after I did and decided to sit directly across from me, the conversation started out on the light side before getting a bit more serious shortly thereafter. Each of us offered their own perspective based on our different opinions of the subject, dinner came, so the talk was cut short we all ate and went our separate ways without any further exploration of the chosen subject. But it wouldn’t leave me be. So here I am at the time of this writing, sitting up in a dark room with nothing to cut through it but the light of my computer monitor.

Mentally, I try to retrace each footstep of the conversation, I contemplate, I type and then erase, and then start over only to erase the empty page several more times. I get up and turn off the monitor and turn to the darkened living room window looking out at a sleeping world searching for a bit of inspiration, I rise to make a pot of coffee before returning to the monitor turning it back on. It’s a strange subject, I’ll admit, but something about it won’t let go of me. Walls. The way people build them. Hell, we’ve been doing it for years on end. In ancient times we built walls around us in more obvious ways, for more obvious reasons, to keep out the hostilities of the world, to keep out all the shit that frightened us even when we didn’t want to admit that there was always an underlying fear that kept at us.

The walls helped us to keep the world at arms length, gave us some sense of control, even if it was merely an illusion. Kept out all invaders and gave us a false sense of security. Walls crumble, walls fall, but we tend to keep rebuilding them. Even now, we all try at least in some way to separate ourselves from the ugliness of the world by trying to keep it there at the end of arms reach. People are still in the business of building their own walls. Oh, you can’t see them, but they are still there. We just don’t do it in obvious ways, but the walls we build are still there, keeping the ugliness out, giving us that same false sense of security. every time we turn the other way, every time we ignore the pain, and injustices of our world, the walls that keep us away from each other just keep getting bigger. Every time we close the curtains, put bigger locks on the doors, buy bigger guns, turn a blind eye or a deaf ear. every time that we choose to ignore the human condition, it seems that we become somewhat less human.

Oh, I don’t think that it's because we are bad people, I think that it has more to do with the fact that the uncertainty of the future scares us more than we would care to admit. We need to feel safe, untouchable, even when it's painfully obvious that we are neither. I am, just as guilty as the next, of it. My wall however is still under construction, and I am in no hurry to complete it. From time to time I like to venture out from under its rubble to not only view the world but to actually take part in it, I like touching upon the humanity of people, I try to see the good in us, but am also careful not to lie to myself when it becomes ever so clear that there are some people that are just not so nice.

I figure it is reasonably safe as long as I can continue to recognize the differences between the bad and the good. My wall isn’t very high, mind you, perhaps just high enough for me to feel some degree of safety when I am behind it. It's funny, every now, and again I can almost feel the hand prints that people have left there, people just trying to reach into me, maybe they are just trying to tell me that I’m not alone. Hand prints. On my unfinished wall. Hopefully, one day the world will be a safe enough place that I may even be able to end its construction, or tear it down completely. Maybe one day, we can all feel safe enough so that we won’t need to put up walls between us anymore. Maybe someday.

~Scratch.. A.B.T. copyright © 2008.~

Blogging VS Social Media.

 

Someone asked me on X (Formerly Twitter) why I do still write on a blog site? well, I've always enjoyed reading and writing blogs more than I have enjoyed sites like Facebook and their ilk. On social Media you have a limited platform in the respect that most of your audience won't have the patience to sift through two or more paragraphs of text to get to a point, when all they can be bothered to read, is what you had for dinner, or some quirky meme or a joke, if they have to engage their brains for more than 2–3 minutes they can't be bothered with it. I remember the first time I saw a text message, I was like, WHAT IS THAT?? it was like I was trying to decipher some long-lost text, from Ancient Greece, or something written in Klingon. What it may boil down to? It's the simple ability to read and write in long form VS the short dispersal of brain vomit that you typically find on Facebook and other social media sites. I really don't like social media for this reason, to me, it's more like short attention span theater, If I post there it's usually just to give family and other people I'm trying to keep in touch with a quick update on my day and to let them know that I'm still breathing, otherwise it goes largely ignored 99% of the time, most of them don't even know what a blog even is. so why blog if you feel like nobody is reading it? well, I suppose there are just some things that we do simply because we enjoy doing it, being creative enough to write in long form at any level is becoming more and more, a dying art. you almost HAVE to enjoy it, or the point of the exercise is lost.

Honing The Art of Story Telling.. (Horror VS Gore)

There is an old empty house that stands alone in the middle of a large group of trees, it is a two-story Victorian style that has been long since abandoned and left to fall into ruin. The paint though bright white has lost its luster and is peeling, showing the house's true age, many of the windows are covered in dirt and most others have been broken out by vandals. The grass lawn has grown out of control and much of it has been taken over by weeds, the narrow sidewalk that leads to the broken down rickety front porch is barely there, the whole scene in front of you gives you pause, as you stop and look up at the black cloudy sky as the first drops of rain begin to fall, in the distance you can hear the rumblings of slow rolling thunder and when the lightning flashes it chills you to the bone. 

The downpour begins, slowly at first, but it quickly builds up steam, and you run for the cover of the front porch of the eerie old house, your foot goes through the rotting wood of the second step and your ankle makes a popping noise, and you make it up to the porch as you wince in pain. But you are out of the rain now, you feel relieved, almost safe, but you never see the door knob slowly turn, the inhuman calculating eyes watching your every move. The door slowly creaks open and a cold dead hand grabs you by the ankle, startled you kick at it but to no avail as it slowly drags you inside you make eye contact with it, and you can feel your own screams rise and choke up in your throat, you hear the door slam, and when the darkness comes to surround you suddenly, there is nothing.

What is wrong with this picture? There is no blood, no guts, no entrails strewn across the floor, no hulking hockey mask wearing homicidal maniac wielding a chainsaw, or machete, or something far worse.  No collection of body parts, no chains rattling, no moans, so sound at all in fact, just you alone with some unseen monster, who will bring death to you. What scares you? for most people nowadays it seems it's always something different, for some? They like seeing a decapitated head slowly rolling across the floor coming to rest at the killer's feet, for others it's seeing some poor unsuspecting schmuck who never seems to see it coming, getting chopped up into little pieces. but is that really horror? or is it simply something that shocks and shakes you to the core because of the brutality of the scene.

I love the horror genre, but unlike most modern audiences, I really love it when it takes its time, when it shows me that it has the patience to properly set up the scene. To take me by the hand and lead me up to the front door, it pushes me and prods me in just the right direction, and it shows me the main course, but for the first time, for only for a split second. Now I don't mind a little bit of blood here and there, as long as it doesn't disconnect me from the actual story, just don't beat me over the head with it, I'm not bloodthirsty. When I was a kid, Alfred Hitchcock's movies used to terrify me, he was a masterclass storyteller, and he just got it, Hitchcock always seemed to know just the right time to pull back and let the audience's own imagination take the lead. Those were and still are the kinds of movies that just stick with me after I see them for weeks on end. wondering, but never knowing for certain, what was behind that last door? sometimes it's what we aren't allowed to see that is truly terrifying. 

Mother's Kitchen.. (Based on a childhood memory.)

 

This week has been, I would dare say, exceptional for me, and mostly, it was today that pushed it over the top. Of course, whenever I happen upon the opportunity to share some of the wisdom of my mother with other people is a special day for me. I sort of stumbled into a conversation with a couple of friends at work in concerns to their parents and their upbringings. (Both friends are older than me.) mostly the conversation seemed to revolve around how their parents got them to eat foods that they didn’t like. Well as usual it got me to thinking about my own dear mom. They said that their parents were like, “Eat it or else!” nope. Not my mom. My mom was way too smart to try to force anything on me, nope she was too slick for that, instead she would employ all the most diabolical mom tools and tricks of the trade to ensnare me into her little trap. Let me explain.

As with most children in the late sixties or in any other period for that matter, the one sure fire way to get them to run away from the dinner table in sheer terror was to announce that there was going to be vegetables or anything else that was good for them served at the dinner. Well me being the youngest, I was always the last to know, everyone else would go to our older sister's house for dinner and I would be left behind to become the sole guinea pig. The first offering that I can remember was “Liver and onions.” the conversation as I recall went something like this:

“Hey ma? Where did everybody go?”

“They’re over at your sister's house, they’re spending the night over there, and having dinner with her and Richard.”

So, it began, her first entrapment, there on the counter was the bait, a small plate of cooked liver swimming in what looked like to me a sea of cooked sliced onions. It looked disgusting. But soon, feeling the slowly building volcanic like rumblings in my vacant belly, I had to ask.

“Hey Ma? What’s for dinner?”

As I now seem to recall, whenever she answered on those occasions, she would always keep her back to me, so I couldn’t see her face as she further baited her trap.

“Liver and onions son, now before you make a face, I made you a little plate so you could try it for yourself, I won’t force it on you, but I would like you to at least try it first. Then, if you don’t like it, you can to wait until breakfast tomorrow morning before you eat.”

Now, granted, that’s probably not an exact quote, but I do recall vividly the part about waiting until breakfast to eat, so with my rumbling belly cautiously prodding me ever forward, I slowly began to examine the contents of the plate in front of me.

“Ma. That looks yucky!”

“Well, baby, you don’t have to eat it, but it's really pretty good.”

Now here’s where the words, Hook, Line and sinker come into play. She turned around and took the knife and cut it into little tiny pieces, and told me that it would make it easier to chew. So when she turned back to the stove I slowly edged the fork closer to the plate and sank it into the first piece, and ever so carefully lifted the fork to my mouth, and wouldn’t you know it? She was right,

I did end up liking it.

My brothers and sisters all thought I was a sucker, they told me that Mom played a mom trick on me. Meaning, she got me to eat something that was good for me by tricking me into thinking that the whole thing was my decision. My idea. Well ma played that trick on me more times than I could count growing up, Broccoli, cauliflower, Spinach, you name it, and she got me to eat it willingly. But upon reflection, now I would be more inclined to think that it was testament to her talents in the kitchen, more so than trickery. If you think about it, nobody ruled the kitchen like our mothers, she could make anything taste great. She had that mom magic, nobody did anything like her, they never have, and they never will, geeez, wouldn’t you know it? Now I got myself a hankering for a plate of Liver and onions. I wonder if they make it like mom did?.. Naw… Highly unlikely.

~Scratch~

Let it Rain

 

On some days all that there is to do is sit at the window and watch the rain fall to the earth, its mentally taxing, exhausting even. Your fingers restlessly tapping on the window sill, as you watch cars rolling down the avenue, coming to and fro, there in front of you, the ebb and flow of life in the city. Honking horns, cars filled with impatient people just trying to get on with it, red light, green light, stop and go, people walking, some shuffling, down a crowded sidewalk, some with umbrella’s, and still others without, getting soaked to the bone before they even get halfway to where they are going. And there you are at the window watching scene after unique scene, as each unfolds as if it were on a stage. The play of life, there are no second or third takes here, all you get is one shot at it. And then you see the black car slowly roll to a stop, and she gets out and slams the door behind her.

She is angry, animated even, she’s shouting at the unseen driver of the vehicle, and even though she’s standing in the middle of a down pouring rainstorm she doesn’t even seem to notice it. All of her anger, all of her rage, focused on the black car that quickly pulls away, sending sprays of rainwater into the air in its wake. She is now soaked, and for the first time since her arrival the look of anger is replaced by surprise. And for the first time, you begin to notice how beautiful she is. Her long black hair soaking wet falls to her shoulders, rain soaked fabric clings to her perfect figure as she turns away, fumbling with her keys as she unlocks the door and swings it open, disappearing from view. And for a brief moment in time you try to return your attention to the street below, but she won’t leave your mind to wander for long, as you see the curtains in the window directly across from you slowly open, and there she is in all of her glory, scene one, act two.

There are no lights behind her as she steps back into the shadows of her darkened living room, and with almost a sense of childlike curiosity, you wonder to yourself what she’s doing in there. Briefly you manage to pull your eyes away, slowly returning your attention to the street below, the scene is much the same as it was before, people coming, people going, light slowly drifting away into dark, slowly your eyes move back up to the window across the street and there she is again, standing at the window, wearing a bath robe, smoking a cigarette, silently watching as the life scene below plays itself out. She presses her body closer to the rain soaked window pane, and when she notices you noticing her, you draw a deep breath as if you were caught doing something wrong, but when her beautiful lips purse into a seductive smile, within the confines of a second, everything disappears, all worry, all doubt.

You light your own cigarette and slowly exhale, and you and miss perfection take turns moving your eyes away to look at the street below, only to end up looking back at each other, she presses her hand to the steamy window pane, smiling out at you, with her forefinger, she slowly draws out the form of a heart on the pane, and steps away closing the curtains behind her. You catch your breath, shake it off and light another cigarette. Cars just keep rolling by, people are still impatient, and the red lights just can’t seem to turn green quick enough. Some days can just lock you inside, reducing you to a spectator, and other days there just doesn’t seem to behind enough minutes in a single hour to accomplished all that needs to be done. On days like this is all that there is to do, just sit, catch your breath and watch the rain.

~Scratch. A.B.T. copyright © 2009~