Stasio
Current mood: virginal
Category: Writing and Poetry

STASIO

            Stasio rushed to the ocean with a pastry fork in his hand.  The sunbeams reversed their course upon his arrival, leaving him in a red afterglow.  He stood knee deep in the swell.  The waves rose and burst at regular intervals.

            "Oh Father Wiktor," he said.  "All is still so loud.  Your sermon follows me to the edge.  Wait a moment!  It's silent now.  Who is watching?  Is it you?  Yes, I hear every word.  I can still listen.  My sins made me pale.  Yes.  Like these endless ripples.  But they made you red, very red.  And this fork!  It's still got gewgaws of your blood!"

            Stasio hurled the fork into the ocean.  It returned to his feet on the trough of a wave.

            "Ha!" he yelled.  "Defiant thing."

            The fork was tossed farther into the swell.  It returned on another trough.

            "Blisters and bullets." Stasio clutched the fork by its hilt.  "All this salt and the gewgaws remain."

            He dived into the water, like a stone skimming the surface.  He swam out twenty leagues and hurled the fork into infinity.

            "There!" Stasio yelled.  "Into the water.  Gewgaws and all.  But it still floats…."

            He reeled out, gripped the fork, swam another twenty leagues, and tossed it again.

            "All right.  Far enough.  The catfish should stay away lest they cut their whiskers."

            When Stasio began to swim back, he hit his head on a rowboat.  A constable dragged him out of the water, gripping him by the collar.

            "The entire village has been looking for you," the constable said, his breath smelling of bear's garlic.  "Father Wiktor's body lies in the morgue."

            Stasio said nothing.

            "And what's worse," the constable continued.  "The cook has lost his pastry fork.  It was the last gift he received from his late wife."

            The two men locked eyes.  Stasio watched as his companion unwrapped a potato fritter.

            "Would you like a bite?" the constable asked.

9:25 PM - 16 Comments - 26 Kudos - Add Comment

Dissipating Life
Current mood: focused
Category: Life

The bronze rabbit screams

Hurled to and fro by the wolf

Until the burst of a thunder clap

Casts the wolf a' running

Leaving the rabbit to amble

And bleed

Across a narrow path

To a black rock bed

Where it sleeps with eyes open

9:25 PM - 10 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

Paper Thief
Current mood: mischievous
Category: Writing and Poetry

Paper Thief

Dedictated to James D. Merceles!

I see the paperboy coming

He's wheeling down the road

With a smirk like Satan

And a bag full of last night's news.

I follow him down

To a stucco house

Where a fat cat lives

With shirts as smooth and sleek

As monumental alabaster.

And, oh, a wife with looks

That sting like sin.

She's got spitfire eyes

And cinnamon skin.

I feel it in my hips

Morning, noon, and night

And every time in between.

But back to the paperboy….

He rounds the corner

Past the fat cat's place

Tossing that paper

Over a pickety fence

Where it lands with a thud

Between the stone gargoyles.

Their names escape me

I'm sorry to say.

Alright sir, now's my chance.

The house is silent.

The Judas hole is closed.

The storm windows are shut.

And not a soul is near

Save for me and the doves.

Keep chirping, little birdies!

Sing a sweet hymn

While I leap that pickety fence

And rob this fat cat

Of his daily scroll.

And don't hold this against me,

For there is no evil in what I do.

It's a covetous world, after all.

The fat cat will call and whine

That his paperboy dissed him

And he'll get his tummy rubbed,

As all fat cats do.

He'll get another paper

Free of charge

And several apologies

To make him purr.

And as for me, well….

I finally got something to read

To muse

To ponder

To occupy my time.

So maybe I'll learn something new today

About this covetous world I live on.

But right now, I don't know.

I'll tell you more tomorrow.

5:43 PM - 12 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment

Short Order Love
Current mood: envious
Category: Writing and Poetry

You left a trail of herrings

Right into his den

The den of John Dory

A yellowtail among men.

As I toddled to a window

Outside his rumpus room

I heard you chirp his name

As he bit your scarlet plume.

I want to mince you

Mash you

Stir you

And scald you.

I want to broil you

Bruise you

Chop you

And churn you.

Go away, John Dory

You salty-minded cad

And scuff back to the sea

Among the lily pads.

5:08 PM - 16 Comments - 31 Kudos - Add Comment

Educating Ribble (episode 2)
Current mood: contemplative
Category: Life

Episode 2:  TAOISM!

Franz and Ribble stare at a yin & yang symbol that has been spray painted onto the side wall of a Mormon church.

FRANZ
Chuang Zu would wince.   His ideas were not meant to be used as crude defacements such as this.

RIBBLE
Who is Chuang Zu?

FRANZ
The founder of Taoism (pronounced Dao-ism).

RIBBLE
Where was he from?

FRANZ
Ancient China.

RIBBLE
How ancient?

FRANZ
Try 3000 BC ancient.

RIBBLE
Darn!  They had foreign people back then?

FRANZ
They sure did, Rib.  In fact, if it wasn't for China we'd all be stupid.

RIBBLE
What is the Tao all about?

FRANZ
The Tao means the way, or the path.  It is a philosophy that sees all of life as one organic, interconnected whole.

RIBBLE
One pie, many pieces.

FRANZ
Yes.  And life (or the pie as you call it) originates from a mysterious source.  This source is what Mr. Zu called:  The Tao.  The root of all things.  It is bound by natural laws that cannot be warped.

RIBBLE
It'd be like trying to cut gas with scissors.

FRANZ
Exactly.  But make no mistake about it.  Tao may be the origin of all things...but all things are not Tao.

RIBBLE
Why not, Franz?

FRANZ
The Tao demands that you abandon intellectual reasoning and embrace nature instead.

RIBBLE
Was Tarzan a Taoist?

FRANZ
Yes, but he didnt know it.  However, you dont need to be a jungle warrior to be a Taoist.  You simply must be in accord with the natural laws of the universe.

RIBBLE
But how do I, little man that I am, spot the laws of the natural so that I can be one with them?

FRANZ
Do not depend on material riches or society's dogma to sustain you.

RIBBLE
My karma ran over your dogma.

FRANZ
To be in harmony with the Tao is to be truly self-sufficient!  To be truly self-sufficient you must know spontaneity!  You must reject rigidity!

RIBBLE
Are there Taoist preachers?

FRANZ
No.

RIBBLE
You may be the first.

FRANZ
Why, thank you.

RIBBLE
How can I unlearn the ways of society and embrace the Tao of spontaneity?  

FRANZ
You must strengthen your Chi, which is your life force.  That is...your awareness and energy.

RIBBLE
But I thought it was called Ki.

FRANZ
The Japanese call it Ki.  The Chinese call it Chi.

RIBBLE
And how do I strengthen my Chi?

FRANZ
Through total self-awareness.  You must see yourself as you really are.  Without judgment or distraction.

RIBBLE
Feh.  Sounds easy.

FRANZ
Its not.  You need tools, such as meditation or yoga.

RIBBLE
Meditation is when you contemplate stuff, right Franz?

FRANZ
You know, there are sooooo many definitions of meditation!  In the west, it means to contemplate a certain idea.  In the east, it means to keep your mind empty of thought through such methods as counting your exhalations.  Or repeating a mantra over and over for a certain period of time, as the Buddhists and Hindus do.

RIBBLE
What is Taoist meditation?

FRANZ
Keep the breathing smooth.  Preferably, through the nostrils.  Notice the natural rise and fall of your naval.

RIBBLE
What's a naval?

FRANZ
Its your belly button, Rib.

RIBBLE
If I was meditating, Taoist style...would you sneak up and tickle my naval?

FRANZ
It'd be tempting.

RIBBLE
Do you keep the eyes open or closed during meditation?

FRANZ
The so-called experts tend to disagree on this.  For some, it is simpler to keep their eyes shut.  Others say to keep them half-shut so you can focus on a candle flame, or a spot on the floor.  Its all very esoteric.  Relaxation is the key.  Do what works for you.

RIBBLE
You know...for a moment there, you looked just like him.

FRANZ
Who?

RIBBLE
Zu.

FRANZ
Who?

RIBBLE
Zu.

FRANZ
Who?

RIBBLE
Chuang Zu.

FRANZ
Oh, Chuang Zu.

RIBBLE
That's who.

FRANZ
That's Zu.

RIBBLE
Fuck Zu.

FRANZ
No.  Chuang Zu...

8:22 PM - 7 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

Educating Ribble (episode 1)
Current mood: contemplative

Franz and Ribble sit in a booth, discussing random information.

FRANZ
Listen!  It's all about the number of electrons that are present.  These define the atom's chemical and electrical properties.

RIBBLE
I don't follow.

FRANZ
You see, an atom can bump into another atom.  In the process, it can either lose or gain some electrons.

RIBBLE
Are these bumpings consensual?

FRANZ
I have yet to see any case of Atom Rape in all the thick annals I've fluttered.

RIBBLE
Are these scientific annals?

FRANZ
Yes.  But that being said, sometimes atoms share the same pairs of electrons in post-bumping bliss.  So in those cases, it's consensual.  In the others, who can say?

RIBBLE
Sherlock Holmes?

FRANZ
His magnifying glass would have to be pretty thick.

RIBBLE
Then he'd be Sherlock John Holmes.

FRANZ
Indeed.  Anyways, the size of the atom stays the same, no matter the number of electrons.

RIBBLE
Tell me more about electrons affecting the chemical and electrical properties of an atom, Franz.

FRANZ
If I do, will you tickle my Tortoiseshell?

RIBBLE
With fluttering fingers.

FRANZ
Well!  If an object, such as a metal, is composed of atoms with minimal electrons (or electrons that are waaaaaay easily given up), then that object becomes a pretty darn good conductor of heat and electricity.

RIBBLE
You mean, these objects guide the flow of heat & electricity from point to point?

FRANZ
If they have a high free-electron density, yes.  And what a groovy flow it is.

RIBBLE
What about objects with more stable electrons?

FRANZ
Like wood or glass?

RIBBLE
Sure.

FRANZ
They don't conduct heat or electricity so well.  A particularly poor conductor can be used as an insulator to slow or stop heat flow.

RIBBLE
In other words, these poor heat conductor things can be used to keep heat in one place?

FRANZ
Well, to keep it from flowing too far in either direction.  You dig?

RIBBLE
Give me some examples of heat insulators!

FRANZ
Examples would be fur, feathers, fiberglass, cellulose fibers, stone, wood, and wool.  I see you are wearing a fur coat.

RIBBLE
It keeps me warm.

FRANZ
It keeps the heat from escaping.

RIBBLE
Steam pipes and water pipes are good conductors.  Aren't they, Franz?

FRANZ
Yes, but they must be insulated with mighty thick wrappings of fiberglass pulp.

RIBBLE
Why?

FRANZ
In order to keep the steam, or hot water, flowing through the pipes so as not to lose any heat.

RIBBLE
Hmmmm.  That's why it's costly for us to take long hot showers.

FRANZ
Yes, that's why it's costly for us to take long hot showers.  We don't take our showers together, of course.

RIBBLE
No, we don't.

FRANZ
And I'm not counting that one night in Zanzibar.

RIBBLE
We needed some mighty think wrappings then, didn't we?

FRANZ
Stands to reason.

RIBBLE
Stands high.

FRANZ
Stands thick and high.  But I digress....

7:56 PM - 10 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

The Spinning Pygmy
Current mood: restless

He resides up above me,

That silly, spinning pygmy.

With his 9-inch harmonica

And flaunting tap shoes.

He ransacks my mind

And distorts my pulse

In a polluted rhythm

Of queasy quick beats.

I was a landmark of sanity

'Till he came along

In a somersault of noise

That wise eardrums dread.

Now he swipes my dreams

With a sinful melody

Of rat-tat-tat tunes

And sooty old chants.

That silly, spinning pygmy.

He's lived a hundred years.

But in just a few nights

He's launched a thousand spears.

4:48 PM - 10 Comments - 20 Kudos - Add Comment

Acid Rice
Current mood: shocked

There's a geisha in my space lab

With a double chin,

A blue burlap robe,

And a jackal's grin.

She's stretched out on my table,

Hoarding the iron lung,

And rapping its surface

With a wooden tongue.

She craves grand vengeance

Since I tickled her dragon.

By tonight I'll be sipping

From a poisoned flagon.

Perhaps I can bribe her

With my manometer.

Or a surgical sponge,

And a lancet heater.

I'll ebb a little closer

And pinch her hip flask.

Sozzle her with words,

So she'll neglect her grim task.

Pray for me reader.

Make a plea for my case.

If my charms don't succeed,

5:25 PM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Conversations in Red
Current mood: weird

At the top of Mount Idler

There sits a green inn.

I was loafing inside

In my usual corner

When the Dalai Lama entered.

He went to a large table

Where Chris Cringle was sitting,

With a couple of Elves

And a bowl of broccoli soup.

As befits my nature,

I eavesdropped on them…

Hearing a conversation

Both sad and strange.

The Dalai Lama said to him:

“Good to see you, Chris.

You seem as happy as ever.

Still a man of motion,

A legion of good will.

But after much thought

And constant meditation

I must protest your profession,

Which I find ill and ornery.”

Chris Cringle replied:  “Ill and ornery?

Why, what do you mean?

If you are suggesting

That I charge all those brats

A mighty fee

For my mighty gifts,

Then I should hurt my reputation

Making it weak and feeble.

Thus, chimneys everywhere would be

Locked, sealed, clasped and latched.

Chris Cringle would be no more.”

The Dalai Lama nodded then said:

“But you have emptied Christmas

Of it’s spiritual center.

You have promoted materialism

And greed.

You have stood on the shoulders

Of Jesus

For personal glory, ambition and fame.

You have made a shallow business

Out of a sacred…”

“Enough!” Chris cried, interrupting the Dalai Lama.

And then, with a ferocity not heard by most humans, Chris said:

“I do not see what authority

That a Buddhist politician could possibly have

On the season of Christmas.

Or on the person of Jesus.”

To that the Dalai Lama smiled and said:

“You forget that I am the 14^th Dalai Lama,

Which means I have 13 past lives preceding me.

In those past lives I have seen many things…

Many wonders…

And many fakes.

You sir, are a legitimate fake.

A huckster of the highest class.

A trickster of the lowest order.

A devil of the deepest pit.

A…”

But before the Dalai Lama could deliver another insult,

He was swarmed by seven elves.

They hauled him from his seat

And heaved him to the door

Which opened on its own

As if commanded by telepathy.

The Dalai Lama was then cast out

And told never to come back during the month of December.

Moments later, the elves were back at their table

At Chris Cringle’s side.

The inn was quiet once again

But the air was cold with tension.

Chris then lifted his glass in the air

And proudly said:

“Here’s to me, Chris Cringle….

The most celebrated huckster in history!”

Chris Cringle then exited the inn

With his entourage of elves following close behind.

And for me…Christmas has never been the same.

5:26 PM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Vet Office
Current mood: worried

The eager rebel

holds his hound

on a red love seat

of faulty design.

He endures the scowl

of the weatherman

who curses storms

with sudden whimsy.

And behind the oak desk

near the tortoiseshell file

is the whisky woman

with her crimson mug.

The roof vibrates

as she tosses charms

near the coughing ants

who call this home.

9:35 AM - 2 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment