Have you noticed? The melodies that stick with us are the bittersweet ones.
At least that is the way with me.
Have you noticed? The melodies that stick with us are the bittersweet ones.
At least that is the way with me.
As regular readers of my blog already know, Trick or Trick came early for me this month.
"The Creator has shaped the world in such a way that there will always be troubles so that there will always be a time for heroes, a time for Man to be better than what he believes he can be."
Not hardly.
I have lost how I make a living.
I am about to lose where I live, most of the possessions I cannot afford to move.
I've faced cancer, heart attack, destruction of my apartment by hurricane, homelessness --
but this is scarier.
After nearly a quarter of a century, I find myself alone without daily contact with my work friends --- my only friends.
Never have I had an accident or ticket ... and that was no accident.
The video from the newly installed cab camera that showed my offence revealed no traffic at all anywhere around.
How many of you could never take your eye off the road for a second with a camera right in your face?
Or not scratch your nose once, taking one hand from the wheel?
My work friends want to help ... but the need is too great.I won't ask for help from you for the same reason.
I am scared.
I got fired from my job on my birthday today. Talk about a nasty Trick for Halloween!
All of us drivers have a camera aimed at us. I do not recall running that stop sign.
23 and a half years without one ticket or accident ... then this.
With a camera aimed right at me, it was bound to happen to me sooner or later.
I was hoping for later.
All my coworkers were crying ... even my supervisor.
Who will hire me at this age?
As lame as hearing "Everything happens for a reason,"
it is better hearing it out loud.
Because when you hear it your head, it sounds an awful like "Anything can happen with a razor."
If you can donate anything to my PayPal account, it would be deeply appreciated.
Where do we come from? The dust.
The grave.
Does blood stir in the veins of a dead building?
No.
Only the night wind.
What does it hear?
The Abyss between the stars.
Like a raw scar across a beautiful woman's face,
The shattered remains of
the towering Capitol One Building
haunted all who viewed it
in my city.
Those in power seem to sift the human storm for souls.
Hence the needless suffering in states where FEMA is sluggish.
The Federal Government seems, like a zombie, to eat the flesh of reason, to fill graves with the helpless, and to stumble forth with empty words.
Oh, I asked how do you kill a
Zombie Building?
Here's how
(with a glimpse of the beauty
of my city)
Do you know what galvanized President Regan
to work so hard for world peace?
A TV movie.
I have been finding it hard to write about
fictional horror,
feeling too much like Nero
fiddling while Rome burned.
Scientific studies indicate that those
who are not so empathic
can enjoy horror movies more
than those who feel more
negatively about those in torment.
What do you think?
Stephen King wrote:
"I think people do kind of gravitate towards horror stories when times are tough, and times are scary."
Have you found writing harder these days?
There is a quote from LOVE IN THE TIME OF CHOLERA:
"Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them.
But Life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves."
What do you think?
Yesterday, a ring of evil looking mushrooms appeared in the grass in front of my apartment door.
No other apartment had them across the entire sprawling complex.
None did today.
But my mushrooms had multiplied ...
and gotten closer.
Cue the spooky music
Scofield studied me with eyes holding all the warmth of a hawk’s.
I turned up the corners of my lips. “There are worse things awaiting the living than death.”
“You could have said ‘No’.”
I watched her almost run to the front door, flinging it open,
It looked up at me with hungry eyes.
“Soon,” I promised.
***
Scofield appeared as if out of nowhere, holding a bowl of liquid. I sniffed.
“Doesn't explain that soup.”
“The President of the Community Board?”
I shrugged. “At least none that human ears could hear.”
I trailed off, not having the words that an assassin bred in the “real world” would understand.
I nodded. “My grandmother was full Basque.
“He was Dakota?”
“Apache. But Elu's ability to inhabit dead animals helped him get around.”
I nodded to the black cat studying her like a red-tailed hawk would a lame mouse.
Scofield dumped out the soup with a hurried flick of a wrist.
“H-Help me.”
“You sowed the seeds. Now, comes the harvest.”
“Please!”
“If you run fast enough, you might make it to your front door before our possessed neighbors drag you down.”
Scofield watched the growing black mushrooms with ever-widening eyes for a heartbeat, then raced away into the night.
“Spry for her age.”
The cat grunted: “Hiya Onsi La?”
In the darkness beyond my gate, Scofield cried out.
In the 19th century, the railroads exterminated the buffalo to force the Dakota onto reservations.
Bloodshed ensued, ending with the largest mass execution in U.S. history, 38 Santee warriors,
I looked up at the diamond dust of the Milky Way, the Hanging Road, which led to the Camp of the Dead.
Flying whips of fire hissed down from the sky to consume those platforms.
In Karmic retribution, the Wana’gi sprang at the mushroom-controlled humans
“Come, Grandson,” gruffed Elu’s voice from the cat.
I nodded, walking into that darkness which never forgets … nor forgives.