Shawna Carlena


THE RED LOBSTER: The Diner (introducing Waterdiva)

by S.C. on 02/21/22

       I had just noticed water dripping from the eave outside and there she was. There she was. Right there on that little spot above my ear. Right in that crook of a place for her stand. One arm wrapped around some convenient strands of hair and the other with her hand grasping tight to the top of my ear skin with her tight little nails. It's okay, Waterdiva knows me pretty well. Once I cried out a river and she helped me. At first I thought she was a fly or mosquito, (I try to keep that fact from her) but soon enough I caught on.

     It seemed like it was going to be a long and rainy day, one where it was kinda cool and grey. You realize after a while that the tiny little drops of water are going to continue to gently fall and not stop. Saturday morning and it was time for a change in scenery. The rooms kept downtown are kept for work, I placed everything there needed to live in a capsule. Every couch, every chair, every book, table, every liquor and taste. Every picture on the wall, every kitchen appliance, all accoutrements, rounded up in a box truck from about town and placed there in one day for my very convenience. One thing that is not there is another.

       So to sate the restless stir and meeting my Saturday, I advanced my weekly routine and shut my doors behind me and set out through wet streets to find another. And found her in the form of my sister who lives some miles out from town. Her house sits on a hillside and is large with levels, and corridors, and breezeways and places and you can go that you did not expect. On flat feet she stands tall and shines blonde bright with a lion's mane. A scorned trophy with the crack of the whip at the back of her voice. I however was warmly greeted with smiles when I entered which is exactly why I had come.

  Tracey is my sister's friend always at hand and most times displaying a need for acceptance. Her smile is perfect but I think the looks in her eyes last too long and they asked unwanted questions. To want to be known by one she adores is her only concern. I can't help what people adore. To adore what is not even there is senseless. She is a friend made true by adherence to these dispositions. Adoration should be displaced by a mutual true attraction. It seems she could never understand this, as most people do. As always, these considerations were placed aside and three friends started the Saturday we would have by lounging on couches, recapping a week's events for each of us and deciding in which direction we would travel for a warm breakfast on a rainy day. The kind of rainy day where it stays cool and gray all day.

     Everywhere I go I compare the place to a movie I've seen. I guess I'm like the cable guy. See what I mean? ..and sometimes I think that everything I'll ever do someone else has already imagined. We three walked into the little diner you'd visit in Stars Hollow. As long as there is some happy waitress cajoling her customers, maybe a sheriff that walks in and takes off his hat and everyone one is glad to see him... something like that is what I like in a diner. If there's not a cabin, or a house, or some woods or a strange dimension, a lot of scary movies usually have the kind of diner that I like. This diner that we walked into seemed perfectly nice for whatever could be imagined that would happen.

 I slid into the booth after I had considered my sister's chosen position. It's best if a person follows her lead in most situations. I will always choose to sit across from my sister, it's what prompts the best conversations. Tracey sat next to me which was fine because I wouldn't have to look at her. I always know what she is thinking anyway. I know Tracey will always like to sit on the outside but that's okay. Feeling sort of trapped and kept safe is something I like. I let her do the things she was good at. 

    I make sure I know what I want to be served before I walk in the door. Time is spent better to comment on the new surroundings we had just entered and noting what diversion we could make of it. It seemed there were more wait staff than what was needed and it became apparent that some of the young girls were new and being trained on this particularly rainy and grey morning. We had menus but I did not need to look at one. I simply say, "Eggs Benedict." Instantly Tracey’s eyes become my eyes. Her voice, my knowledge: "Yes they do have Eggs Benedict Carlie... eleven ninety-five." .. "Thank-You, I came to have just that. That's what I imagined I would have and there it is." Shaking her head,  my sister rolled her eyes up from her menu, pointed her brow and from atop her styled readers shot a wry smile and a scoff. "You think eggs benedict is printed on this menu because you imagined it as so?" .. "Yes.. why not?" .. "What if you had imagined that it was not on the menu and then lo, There it is?" .. "Why would I have done that.?" .. "I wish you would explain yourself sometimes." .."If I could figure out how to do that I'm sure I'd realize that I wouldn't want to tell you." ..I'm sure I read something like that somewhere before. Then three lovely young masked women appeared at the end of our table.


     I think that if someone is going to write a story well they should do it as quickly as they can. Not a second to waste. ..because something may be lost forever. That’s what can make an honest story. This next part is very important and I don’t want to mess it up so I think I need to stall for a little time. I haven't even read that many books really. Just the ones I like.. I like that when I’m done with a book the author remains there in some corner of your mind. And you can ask him, “What would you do?” or “What would this even mean?”. When I feel the urge to turn my chair to the side and stare at the floor till the next clock’s chime I’ll get up and make a drink or a pipe.

   The two at her sides faded into her background and were forgotten. All accomplished with her eyes and what she had done with them. The covered part of her face made some new kind of nakedness that I wanted to see. My mind raced for a way to challenge her. She was introduced as Carrie, our server and as someone who would help.. And then was left alone with us. Tracey knows at all times toward what point in any room my eyes are looking and at this occasion she played the guard, placing her head between my eyes and anything I might want to look at that was standing at the end of our table.

  It is my display of a lack of self-control that let out a tiny audible little ‘um-mmph’ sound when I saw these eyes. Only loud enough for Tracey to hear. I think that’s the way I meant it. It’s funny about that little ‘ummph’ sound. An Mmmm.. with a little umph. It came from wanting something perceived as really good but really it is the exact same sound I would make when nursing the worst toothache.

  My sister went first with a mocking voice with airs: “I’ll imagine I’ll have the Eggs Benedict if you please.” This brought smirks and smiles from Tracey & I. We three will carry a theme and laugh with it all day and this one of imagining the future seemed fresh. Beautiful Eyes (Carrie) said: "Eggs Benedict? I’ll check." And she left. We three searched each other with wide eyes: ‘What..? No imagined Eggs Benedict? Is our Universe amiss already?’ My sister gained the biggest grin while my heart shrank a little. “There’s enough for two more orders exactly. Today is your day.” ..she returned with the good news. I liked how she said ‘Today is your day’ and it was her first day. I liked that she knew what to say on her first day. I liked that she didn’t say ‘Today is your lucky day’ because how would she know. She just said today is your day. I liked how my universe was spinning properly.

   I still had to challenge her Eyes and my chance was at this second: “Carrie, are the Eggs Benedict served poached or do you use an egg over-easy?” It was all I could think of. I wanted to see her eyes search for an answer somehow. But she knew what to say on her first day: “I’m sure they are poached, but I’ll come back.” And she left.

   “You gotta bee in your bonnet? Why are you playing with your hair?  You are incorrigible. Don’t tell me you're trying to flirt. You’re  not even dressed for Christ's Sake.” My sister could take anyone’s properly spinning universe and have it flying in all directions in seven seconds.  “Listen, If I want to scratch my ear and fix my hair or ask a question I’ll do it. You don’t know why I do the things I do” … “I know.. we’ve gone over that.” … “ ..and ‘incorrigible’ is a spent word; nobody wants to hear it. And besides I hate that word it reminds me of rotten porridge or something.” … “Oh Carlie your very mind amazes me; you’re right: rotten porridge cannot be turned back. You are incorrigible.” … “ I am gruel then? ..Sister please refer to me as someone who is perhaps ‘without regard’. It’s more fitting and completely acceptable to me.”

   ...When you are chumming in a place like Stars Hollow the words that fly must be quick & crisp clean and it has to seem that unless somebody stepped in and stopped them they would fly on forever...

 “Secondly I don’t try to flirt I just flirt. And I don't have to be dressed any way for it. It’s just me saying something  or doing something to get attention from someone appealing. It doesn't matter how I am dressed and it doesn’t matter how they are dressed.”  My sister crossed a glance over to Tracey and looked back to me. She let me continue. “Thirdly Dana, I don’t think Christ cares  to take the time to worry about how I am dressed one time or another, he already did his job.” … "Well if you are going to bring religion into it then we’ll change the subject.” … “Technically you did.” … “Did what? Technically I said 'Christ's Sake' name for vanity and that's not all that religious. And you’re so sure you know what he’s thinking?.”  … "I can only go by what he said.” .. "And You’ve heard what he’s said?” … "In so many words.”


  A lot of the time we will forget that Tracey can talk. She knows when it is time to do her job: “Hey why don’t we go out to eat tonight and Carlie can dress up.!” I may think it is over done to suggest the next place you’ll want to eat while you are still waiting to be fed in a current one but Tracey’s suggestion turned the current of our conversation down a gentler vein and I was able to tune her and my sisters ensuing discussion of choices out and notice the rivulets of water streaking down the panes of glass beside our booth. It was a rainy day outside. And it was still an all day kinda cool and grey. And I felt a little Waterdiva whisper in my ear: 'They’re going.. to ask.. you.. about it.. right.. now:

   “Carlie your choice, what do you want to eat tonight?” … “Food of the Gods” … “Whatever do you mean Charles?” … "I mean, Dana, I want pure white, steaming hot, flakey white fish!” … “You can say the oddest things; and you said white twice dear.. Then it’s settled Tracey, The Red Lobster it is..!” Then three lovely young masked women appeared at the end of our table, each with a cloudy, steam covered plate in hand.

end ONE.

Friendless Drifter - The Little Mermaid

by S.C. on 12/28/21

       Of names ours seem like random picks
        Say What's nice and see what sticks.
         But our each name we'll find when come
          The list of all the things we've done.

In this Pathetic Realm the best Named would be 'Helper'.

         It's remarkable the persistence of stories and where they live. Someone could tell of days spent delivering bags of groceries and food boxes to shut-ins. That might be an angel. Or that might be an angle. Who knows? A person that does that has their set of stories to tell I'm sure. Another person could tell of days spent delivering little bags of weed and coke all over whatever town that they happen to be in. There are stories attached to that also very tellable. I was told to write what you know. Or wait- to right what you know. Yes, that's it.

     When you have the opportunity to work as a vendor you get to go to rich places, to poor places. You get to walk into buildings and houses that you would never get to go into otherwise. Oh- the rooms you walk into. And the people to see. And the things to notice. Let me just say that there is a variety that ranges from the mundane right up the scale to pure spectacle. An obligation to not recall anything is the status-quo but with a mind like a steel trap that can't happen.

     People that are worried about the little baggies might just go drink liquor and not worry too much about them at all. Little square ziploc bags. You might have seen them, Different colors. You can spot the empties the morning after near the line that separates parking spots at bars and  icehouses. At least you used to. I haven't bothered to check lately. Or sometimes it's tiny colored balloons with a knot tied. You take your filero slice off the knot, the white falls out and there you go. Some will go to the bathroom at the back of the bar and do this procedure on the top of a toilet tank. Hunched over, sitting backwards they make sure they hog snort every crumb. If I was this person's concern for that occasion I would leave while it was happening. A lady will always have a mirror. But the best way is to dump it on the top of your thumb and sniff it up tight at the bar. Sure Half may fall to the floor but that's just Nature's Bounty, you'll never get to keep it all anyway. 

     I'll take a minute to mention other vendors you'd be happy to see show at any bar or Icehouse. One would be a girl that sells flowers. You must always be ready for this person. Even if you have no concern with you may find two by having two flowers delivered to the two ladies across the way. Another who is important is the man that comes in with a red cooler slung from his shoulder. He'll show later in the evening after the flowers. He will tell you that later on that night, his little plastic cups of Ceviche are what's required to satisfy the woman you'd keep.

     The things I speak fore to happen in darkened rooms, in relative buildings, in the middle unknown no-where's.. However some things happen in broad daylight. In the middle of someone's hometown. Right on the street. On the concrete.

     I first saw the little mermaid one night in one of the aforementioned rooms that I had happened to have the opportunity to be able to walk into. She was in the living room and I'm sure she was only about 4 or 5 years old. She seemed to be the spotlight of attention to those who were around her and it took just a moment to realize why. There was a man at the front of the room and he, by the only light being the bluish glow from a black and white television set that had no channel to choose was charming up good medicine for all the little ones that had gathered in that living room that one particular Saturday evening. He told the story of the Little Mermaid- and this little girl, wearing last Halloween's mermaid costume was the story teller's main character.

      She knew she was lucky enough to be a little mermaid for everyone there. And as the Mage spoke she fell into the part and automatically conveyed every excitement of every told moment. She danced, she ran around the courses of the living room. She knew how to make her face show the feeling and the story that the storyteller spoke. This medicine man had other props besides just her. He had water and salt and he would cast it out at the right moments. He had a face and a voice for every character. His gesticulations and body language told the layers of some little mermaid's story. Everyone in the room was glad to be so entertained and so was I as I watched from atop the café doors that separated light from dark. The kitchen from the living room.

     The kitchen of this particular house in this particular barrio was well lit. Because that's where the grown-ups were. We were counting things. And making decisions about things. I'll say quickly that to do trading, everyone involved knows the very short list of rules that need to be adhered to. These understood rules made it possible to trade amicably with strangers in various lands placed far and wide. The actual rules are  more like safety protocols however. They are default settings that come to the mind by a common sense. A sense of how to sidestep evil. 

     The Dad says to me, "He's Good No? Mi Primo." he continues, "He knows all the stories- 'The Little Mermaid', 'Donkey Kong', 'The Snow White Dwarves'- He even knows 'Aliens'". I had to ask: "Aliens? The movie 'Aliens'?" .. "Yes he has it on tapes. You know- when the chupacabra explodes from this guy's chest. That is scary. My cousin gave me nightmares from that." I realized then that this medicine man was worth his time. And that he wouldn't be forgotten. Well he wasn't by me anyways.

     During the business of counting things it is important to remember that you count from only two piles; things and days. This common method is from that very short list of simple rules but it always had been the one rule I had trouble with. I would always count from three piles; people, things, and days. And in that order. By my order and my dress I was told with varying nicknames like 'Pachuco' or 'Angel' but really I was never either. Only I knew what my name was. So by the common method and according to who I happened to be counting with sometimes my math would not always agree with someone counting from only two piles. This was always balanced out eventually. Having also gained the nickname the 'Guappo' I was always ready to charm my way into gaining either the understanding or the dispatch of anyone I spoke to.

     The Dad says to me, "Mira- mi Familia." and on his wall he showed me the history of his family as portrayed in a mounted grid of framed photographs that receded down the hallway and into the dark away from his well lit kitchen. He flipped on the switch so I could see. He pointed to the most recent family portrait but I also noticed the previous ones. All lined up and mounted in shiny silver frames. First came he in a black suit and she in a white wedding dress. Then came a bundled baby in the next photo. It was revealed that the bundled baby was a boy because a further frame showed the boy next to his mother and father as she held yet another bundled baby. That child by further frames is revealed to be a girl. And this girl I assumed correctly was The Little Mermaid who was at the very moment acting out for the laughter and delight of everyone in the very next room of this very humble home that I had happened to have the opportunity of walking into that night.

     I took an interest in the teeth that I saw in the pictures. The reason being because that is where the smiles shine out of course but in this case it was because of the dentist. It is the manner in the locales in which I did currently find myself for one to denote a status in a way that might be determined from the particulars of his or her own dental work. This applied to all members of a family; child or grown. And the dentist, going beyond the practice of just keeping good teeth provides a family the visible proof that such a modern service such as dentistry could be afforded. The visible proof was not only in the appearance of a sound mouth but that the mouth be decorated by the placement of gold or silver layers and filigrees around certain or all teeth.

     There came a point after the wedding day where the father had a front tooth made gold and then embellished with the symbol of the Jesus cross. There's a line where the stones on the side of the road might jump up and shout 'Jesus! Christ!' if they had to. People say it all the time right out of the blue. "Jesus!" It's usually when something goes sideways. And there it is on a guy's tooth. Some stories can really persist. A similar point came when  the wall of silver frames revealed that the dentist had applied his work to the man's wife. Two of her front teeth were decorated very nicely and around her neck hung the same said cross.

     What did appear odd to me was what I noticed when looking at one of the photos taken of the son by himself. Probably a school picture. "That's a Metal Mouth." I told this to the father. I'll say whatever I need to get the reaction I want. He seemed a little embarrassed when he answered: "Yes, his mother told him 'No Candy' pero he wouldn't listen and then he got a cavity." he went on: "Now he has stainless steel en todos. No more cavities." The picture showed a school boy smile with all silver teeth except three that were missing because after all these teeth were only baby teeth. The father reached to a kitchen shelf and rattled a little glass jar in front of me. Little silver teeth bounced around inside. He said, "See? Three so far." I said, "I See you're very good at counting."

     I looked up over the café doors to the Mage's illusion. The little ones still gleefully engaged in the spectacle. The metallic toothed son sat somber, not so engaged. He watched from a side shadow away from the blue-ish glow. He watched his little sister, the little mermaid. He watched her dance and smile gleamingly with each of her perfectly placed little white teeth.

     All creatures are defined by their will. By what affection their will imposes in our realm creatures are defined. Form means nothing. Only will. I second saw the little mermaid and wondered: What self-made ill-will has come here among us? 

     There it was on the concrete. I rode by and stopped. Rolled back. What I hoped was a carcass was a corpse. Little. And in that exact mermaid's costume. You have to tell a story sometimes. And it can get disdainfully tedious as follows: (I'll try to be brief). The second time I saw the little mermaid she was at the curb with her insides eaten out. The blood smear led across the sidewalk, around the corner of a shop and then to the foot of a tall green dumpster. There were bloody cuts & scratches all around her face and lips. Her teeth looked broken to stubs. The expression on her face was hideously distorted and the lips stretched out in a horrible and uncanny performance of rigor mortis. I knew what caused this hideous smile that I would never forget. The wire mouth gag. The cheek retractors. I knew where to find these items. At the dentist's shop. 

     Among her injuries three perfectly placed holes to form the shape of a triangle were found on the little mermaid's neck. That evidence, and by an unfathomable sense of incomprehensible tragedy and loss the entire town was immediately convinced that 'Chupacabra' was on the lurk. I was encouraged by this uproar and the fear maintained by the idea of Chupacabra. It would  make what I would want to do next an easier accomplishment.

     I was at the bar when I heard the voice call at my back "Maestro!" The bar-keep in front of me looked only at the glass and the white cloth he was wiping it with and simply said, "cabron y el dentista están en'almacén azul." The bar was full but I was the only who heard these words. They had chose me. I know why they chose me. Because I was a tall long hair guero- the only one around. I was noticeably different than anyone else among them. They knew my decisions would be impartial. They chose me because I had found the body. I was the first to see the evidence. They chose me because they already knew I was a fair-minded person. They chose me because they knew I would leave and not ever come back.

     What the bar-keep had named as a warehouse was actually a row of six storage containers lined up about a hundred yards off a dirt highway in the middle of the desert. Well away from town. I arrived right at 9:00 am. Banker's hours.. There was a portable office tailer associated with the site. There was a wire, and a power pole, and a street light. The office trailer had a well worn smallish car parked outside. I knew there were at least two watchers in that trailer. The office trailer, the car, and the watchers were not my concern.

     I rode in and stood the machine in my default way. The second container to the last was blue as was spoke of and had one of its two doors halfway open. An assortment of junkyard debris lay strewn all around the area and having found an adequate length of some left-over barbed wire I swung both doors wide and tied them back in the open position to the doors of the two adjacent containers at each side of the blue one. I could not enter this blue container without knowing that the doors cannot be easily shut behind me.

     I stepped over the threshold, allowed my eyes to dim the light and then saw shapes of two figures inside. "Como tratan tú pesadillas de chupacabre amigo? - dondes' tu primo- el Mago?" Nobody heard me. And I'm only human. I didn't want to go too deep. But I did; to see this guy I was counting. This Dad person. Shipping containers are long- and they go down. And darken as you go. They are as hot as hell inside. The first figure I came to was the dad. He was asleep I supposed because he had not heard me the first time I spoke. He was tied to a stack of wooden pallets configured to provide the shape of a chair for him to occupy. I looked past him to the second figure in the darkened box that contained we three. It was near the back and it was the dentist. It wore a red blood-soaked dentist smock that said something, something, D.D.S. There was no reason to speak to it or to need it to speak. It knew it. It wasn't even tied up. It stood there with white eyes and white teeth that gleamed in the darkness at the back of the container. I knew it would wait patiently as it just stood there, spectre at his court.

     The Dad had his chin to his chest. He was completely out- unconscious. His face was a cold blank of human flesh. His chest and lap was soaked with blood and vomit- I don't know where he was at his moment but I was going to make his moment mine. I grabbed him by his hair and pulled his head straight up. His eyes popped open and bulged out so largely. His face snapped from a blank to a shuddering terrific surprise so quickly that he threw beads of sweaty ich on across our way and onto my cheek. He gasped and filled his lungs with as much air as he could. He immediately began to beg. I expected him to ask me to kill him right there but I was pleased that he did not.

     "Gracias a Dios! Thank-you! Thank-You Oh the Angel, Angel, Angel, you come, you come." All his teeth were removed, I noticed. All were gone except the gold tooth bearing the cross. The rest were under the tread of my boot. Probably 20 or 25 teeth laying there. They crunched and ground down under me as my friction was applied at the hard steel floor of the shipping container. I pulled out the little glass baby food jar and rattled the three little silver teeth for him to see. "Dónde's tu primo- el sabio?" .. "No sé, no sé! I don't know! Where? I need him!" .. "You need him. Thank-You, You do need him but he's not here. He won't come. Your cousin has named you. I've talked with him. Your name is what you are now: Murderer!" His voice leapt to a panic: "No, No, miha, miha, my daughter where is she? OOh Please, Angel Angel- where is she?" .. "You know where she is. You have a new name and that daughter is no longer and can never be your concern again. You'll have different concerns now."

     "I've died in this trailer Angel. In this box. For three days I've died with those things, los  dentistas. Ayúdame! Ayúdame Angel! Angel! Mercy!" I told him, "I will Help You, I will."  ..and I gave him the jar that held three of his son's silver teeth. "Miho, Miho my son." .. "Neither your son is any longer your concern." I told him all these truths and he sobbed and cried and lost his mind as would be expected.

     The back of the box was the darkest and furthest from the light. This is where the Spectre stood. It was brought there by the actors who had tortured my murderer friend who still sobbed and begged and cried out his futile lamentations. I looked at it: "Chupacabra." I called the name. I didn't move. It only stared at me with its gleaming white eyes and teeth. I said it again, "Chupacabra!" It spoke. It said, "Five-Hundred and Nineteen." It had been counting things and days. It looked to the ground at my feet as I stood as near to this form as I could dare myself to be. I looked at the ground to see hundreds of human teeth were scattered across the floor. It was letting me know what it was and how good it was at it: "Our friends who stay in the office trailer pulled five hundred and nineteen teeth from my jaw. It took them three days. They grew tired of it eventually. You know- if these lands need a new dentist after today those two in the trailer have proven themselves very adept and are certainly not lacking hands-on experience."

     It wasn't only teeth at the floor.  Probably a couple dozen eyes were mixed in with the grit, rust, steel, dust and grease that was the floor. There were scores of different fingers of varying accounts. Blobs that look like they could have been ears or noses or perhaps tongues were discarded on the ground here and there abouts. Hairy bloody things thrown around that were by all  appearances the remnants of several scalpings. The worm cannot not die. The shape-shifter always returned to perfect form. He remained in the shipping container to allow of its own accord that every inconceivable torture be performed on itself over and over.. I looked to my friend the Murderer.. and imagined the three days and nights he spent locked in a box with monsters. 

     I just wanted a simple interview with this self-made ill-will formed lately as a dentist. It was a like book. Could it be trusted? Like a book, it couldn't tell anything other than what it was.  Like a book also, it was an object that could fool you into believing it came from a real place. It was only a facsimile of an idea of anything real that you might imagine or ever see. "Why did the little girl die?" I asked the book. "Because her father wanted to count her silver teeth." .. "How did she die?" .. "By extreme bodily exertions and from the mental anguish experienced after waking up restrained and strapped and in such a surprise of unknown pain on a table unattended. Her heart I suppose. How terrible for such an innocent." .. "Answers only. Don't comment. Why was she unattended?" .. "Men came to the door that needed our attention and she became forgotten for some extended moments." .. "When did all this happen?" .."At Night." .. "Who placed her body at the dumpster?" .. "Her father." .. "Who put the three marks on her neck?" .. "I did." .. "Why?" .."To create these moments we've all shared here recently. It's the only reason I ever do anything." .. "No Comments!" .. "What ate her flesh?" .. "Dogs." .. "Where is the Chupacabra?" It frightened me when it laughed at me: "You don't know? John! It's here ..and it's as old as air." It grinned wide and white like a Cheshire cat: "John, Friend, You breathe it's very breath."

     I stepped back. The heels of my boot crunching down on this chupacabra's teeth and gore. Its gleaming eyes and teeth smiled wickedly from the dark. I kept my eye right at it's eye as I walked backwards toward the light at the open end of the container. I cut my murderer friend loose from the pallets he was tied to and dragged him, forgiven, to the door. Once outside I loosed the barbed wire I had used to tie the doors open and then shut them. I engaged the bolts and latches at the heavy double doors that made one end of the container, closing it tight. I looked at my concern and said, "That old goat-sucker did you a favor by putting that Jesus Cross on your last tooth." The Forgiven had no reply. "You like counting teeth.. you got one left. Count on that one."

     I left him there. My obligation complete I was wasting no time in leaving. I leaned on the seat and took my boots off. Bits of tooth and gore and ich were caught in the treads and on my rubber soul so I set them down right there. I retrieved my spare shoes from my side-bag. As I rolled out I stopped at the end of the drive before turning onto the highway. I turned my bars so I could use the mirrors and see behind. The watchers had noticed I was leaving the yard. They had the hood opened on their little broken car trying to start it. They better hurry. That Chupacabre will find the tiniest crack and shift itself right through it. It will be free by sundown. My most recent concern, the one whose face spelled a word, 'Murder' had found his legs and was walking. Like Abel's Cain, he knew he better walk fast and hard because it wouldn't be long.

     I opened the throttle, turned, and found the ribbon. I made north and I thought about the medicine man and his story, and his water, and his salt, and his Little Mermaid. And of the medicine he made for me- I'll call it Waterdiva.

Friendless Drifter - LILITH

by S.C. on 11/30/21

     As you're falling down the ribbon of black you'll have time to think. Oh the things to think about. You'll go to the most important one. Like Kane's 'Rosebud'. You'll think of every eye looked into.. maybe all the chances missed. I thought of the eyes I wrote in the well worn Notebook that was shut tight with a band, slipped into my silent pocket:

            Yielding Eyes liquid pure
            their soft warm glow did ensure
            that honesty & love's endure
            were simple attributes of hers.
            If I dove in those liquid pools
            would I survive the current's pull
            that'd take me down into the heart
            of her from whom I'd never part?
            I'm not afraid to try, you know.
            Just whisper I'm prepared to go.
            Where two are one and one is us.
            All we have to do is Trust.

     What a darkened cynic I had become. I never saw these eyes I wrote. But I had seen them at least once, somewhere; in order to write the words. I thought of all the eyes I had ever looked into as I rode the ribbon. Somewhere, somewhere, there are, there were, eyes like these. Like the ones I wrote. The ribbon was ending. I searched every thought I had ever had. Desperate to find the Eyes I wrote. And then there they were. And I remembered: They had no paint.

     It's hard to look past the paint; to not see it. Any person can wear the paint. Ladies and Gentlemen. Any dude could wear the paint and then he also may possess the look that kills. And then I thought of Lilith. Scorned of Adam, friend of Eve. Her triangular tryst that meets in secret to this day.

     I rolled in quiet and stood the machine close outside the roadhouse. The Marquee sign out front read 'Last Look'. Whoever had arranged the letters on the sign must have been missing their 'O's because the word 'look' was spelled with a number '8' turned on it's side. It was early morning and the cool, grey, wet light was just beginning brighten orange from my far-off desert horizon. And then she called: "Hoo, Hoo-" so I looked and there she was. And when Lilith knew she had my eye she screeched out loud and danced and spread her wings. She Cast her Owl's Eyes. The Eyes that trick you into thinking she's closer than she really is. So Lilith, perched atop the marquee sign that read 'Last Look' had me watch as she, from between her talons pulled and tore and ate the sweet red heart of her concern.

I'll finish posting the rest of this who-what's-his-name's strange story laterr..!   Ciao! .... Shawna.

Friendless Drifter - THE BRIDGE

by S.C. on 11/20/21

    If Six were Nine -
    We'd all have a Fine Time.
    But Six, each our picks, sets betwixt -
     ...What's begun and what will come.

      My Mind was black and blank but a little Chime shined through. It was Orange I think or Red. It was right there small, glowing in the dark. It was letting me know it was there. It grew in brighter, coming down the side halls of my slumber until finally it was a noise right there in the room. I awoke to see the phone's soft bluish glow shining from atop the nightstand. It reached up to illuminate the hands of the Watch propped on Gideon's Bible. They read 3 o'clock.

   "Hello?" I knew who it was so I went on, "Waterdiva, wherever you are- what time is it there?" .. "Duh John- It's three AM. I know." She went on: "Listen, I had the same dream again- I think it's important." .. "The girl who lives in people's dreams to delight or torment anyone at will is having trouble with her own dreams? That's new for you, I think." .. "Yes, but not anyone John, not You. Not your dreams. Why do you think I'm calling you? Why do you think I even give you the time of day?" .. "Because you haven't figured me out yet. Listen, Dee, I don't know about your dream or where it's coming from or even where you're coming from sometimes; but check your Realms, there is no jungle around me. I am in a desert. I saw a tree I think two days ago and it was like a mile away." Waterdiva replied, "Don't make fun of me John. There's a jungle with hilltops, a train, a grey sky, cool wet air, Raindrops- there's a long and ugly old bridge made out of stones.  ...there's water in the cracks you know." .. "I know, and a Scarred Man, a Baby, a Platinum Blonde and Myself are in the train car when it crashes.. this is like the fifth time you've called with this honey, can't we ever talk about anything else?" .. "I said don't make fun of me." .. "Fair enough, but I'll say again, I'm not in a jungle or planning to go to any jungles. I stay at the roadhouse- You know that. And it's in the flattest, hottest, dustiest middle of nowhere you could ever imagine. There are no trains here. Ugly trucks and motorcycles only. If anyone is the scarred man that would be me and a 'through the jungle train riding Platinum Blonde' sounds very unlikely." Waterdiva finished her phone call: "I'm gonna hang up now. And I won't bother you one more time with my dream. Go to the front of the train John. The very front. The Next Time you'll hear my dream it will be your sixth."

I'll finish posting the rest of this who-what's-his-name's strange story laterr..!   Ciao! .... Shawna

Friendless Drifter - THE TOUCH

by S.C. on 10/18/21

    Before the Moon does Wax and Wane and apply itself again, I have mine environs changed; the friendless drifter's tend. My locks were long and on this bright and shiny day my leisurely occupation would be to find a fair and simple woman to cut my hair in the fair and simple city in which I found myself. A ribbon of black had led me to it.

      I stood the machine just forward and just across center next to the long row of cages. I laid my coat across the seat. I lay it there just as casually I would lay it across the arm of the couch. It's safe. It will be there when I return. I think I already know. I lay it like that because sometimes I think the world is mine. And I think no one is going to take what I know is mine.

       A town square rimmed with store fronts is a very nice place to spend an afternoon. The store I walked into bore a sign that said simply, "Andrea's." -with an apostrophe. And it seemed like a very nice place to get a haircut. The two women tending the shop both bore name tags that said 'DEE' so I might have supposed that at least one of them might be the name-saked 'Andrea'. The taller of the two left her patron in the chair and came to the counter where I stood after entering the store. There was ink-pen on a metal bead-chain that slinked and rattled it's well-worn course across the countertop like a snake as she picked up the pen and made ready to write: "Here for a Haircut?  What's your name sweetie?" .. "Lincoln." I told her. Only because of the bills in my pocket that I would use to pay at the end. When someone needs a name I usually say something like George, or Lincoln, or Benjamin, or Franklin. And when I get tired of those picks I'll just say Adam because because he's the famous failure that began every human misery. But I digress... Dee added the name to a list and said, "Lincoln, I'm Andrea and it'll be about 25 minutes because there is one ahead of you." 

     After sitting down with one other in waiting I look and I notice. There were six of us in the room or I should say nine because I noticed a large cat that had slunk into the salon from the back rooms through a swing door and also that there were two little birds kept in cage, minding their own affairs, hung on a hook and placed in a corner. I sat and waited and watched. I noticed the other 'DEE'.. She was young. She was exactly pretty and I could see exactly then that she was a unmatched strength hidden by diminutive pretense. She cut and she listened and I watched her lips move. And I saw the words that she spoke. I saw the smiles and happy realizations that formed on the face of her client. I saw that the other 'Dee' could reveal whatever she wanted to whoever she wanted.

     The moment had arrived and I was invited by graceful arms & hands and an endearing voice to sit in Andrea's chair. To enjoy a brief sitting as the center of attention was my expectation and she began the execution perfectly. She snapped a new crisp cutting cape out into the air before me. It's generous folds unfurled and it spread out white and floated down like a cloud and settled across my chest and legs. Andrea pulled the collar tight around my neck and buttoned it at the back. The mirror across the room revealed to me an awkward sentiment. My face remained but the garb, the chains, the rings, the symbols, the hands, the dark, were all gone and replaced by a snow-white shroud. My Face looked back at me and I could see it all alone. It didn't seem handsome like I usually thought it might. One could look at the face and see what the hands hadn't done. It stared back entirely helpless. So I waited for her voice. It came with a cooling wet-water mist that swirled around my head. "Just a little water so we can see what we're working with". I waited for her touch. She pumped the spray bottle and worked the moisture into my hair with her fingers. I waited for her question. "How would you like it Today?" All so simple, so expected. so I replied: "I'd like it off the collar and above the ears please. Short enough so I can spend a spell on something else before I'll need another cut." .. "Spend a Spell?" .. Her eyebrows came together a little: "That's Neat." Andrea looked side-wise to the other 'Dee' who, while not even looking, knew intuitively to show a sly little grin at that moment.

     I explained myself, "You know; 'spend a spell' like I can have extra time. I went on: "Like when you visit some country-bumpkin and he says 'come own in and sit a spell..' I'd like it when they'd say that." .. "Oh sure I know! There's not enough time in this world for everybody is there?" She was right so I replied: "That is a very interesting question. You probably don't know how important a question that is." At that moment a nicely printed 8x11 sheet was snapped open in front of me. I reached around from under my cape and took it. All that was offered at Andrea's Shop was written down with a price. The list began with items like 'Color' & 'Nails' but my eyes went right to where I knew it would be. Mine. At the bottom: Men's Haircuts...$24.00. I looked up to see where the paper came from and saw that her back was turned, walking back to her station, two chairs away. The other Dee was sudden then gone but she left a few words behind, "Haircuts are twenty-four dollars sir." and that was it. 

     Andrea mused in my direction: "Waterdiva can be such a diva." Surprised, I asked, "She told you her name? .."Well yeah, that's what she said when she came through the door, "Waterdiva" .."Oh" was all I could say... and then, "Twenty-four dollars is a good price. Thank-you." .. Andrea began: "Oh sure, All our prices just went up a little but we're still in there with the cheapest around. It's hard to stay competitive and open at the same time." She started combing my watered hair, making parts, placing those clips here and there. Making her one of a million plan for my haircut. She said, "You have fine hair. You have a cowlick. A long one. Right on top, then down the back of your head. On the left side." .. "Yes I know. A cow-lick huh?. Are you a country bumpkin?" Andrea laughed and said, "Maybe enough of a bumpkin to be able to tell you how you got that there cowlick." I laughed back, "Oh Yeah, how's that.?" she began her little story: "Well when you was raised up, and you was a little one your mama had you in a basket and when she went out to water  cows she'd set you down and the cows would come up and take a liking to licking on the top of your head." .. I queried: "Why would a cow lick the top of my head?" .. "Salt! Anyways, according to how she set you down and according to how the cow was facing you when it began to licking is how your hair grows off in some opposite direction." .. "and this is tested? it seems like someone would have proven this theory by now." .. "Oh I'm sure it's been proven. I mean; it's a pretty good story." ..I had to laugh and say, "Oh it is, Thank-You. But I only wish I grew up on a farm."

    Why do these Eyes of Mine Cry?
    Don't They know It's the End of The World?
    It ended when You said good-bye.

     WaterDiva had significantly increased the volume of the radio that was plugged in at her station. She spoke, "I've always liked this song." I looked her way and she looked right at me as she played a most haunting of songs. But there I saw her youth, her petite nature was lovable. Tall cork wedges holding up legs of unreal length. White shorts, short and a top held up by strings with an incoherent print of blue and white and aqua paisley. Brown and golden hair curled tendrils down her bare and golden shoulders. She was wearing a clever smirk of a cutsie smile as she showed me with her slender brown arm. She used her pretty fingers tipped long with her perfect red. She reached and tilted her little radio and just as it sang, "Why does the Sea Rush to Shore?" she turned it so I could see the clock. It said 5:19.

     Now there are lots of secrets, all kinds. Some good, some bad. Some enlightening, some haunting, I know it, This Waterdiva knows it. Most know nothing which is good because that allows everything to run clock-work orange. But sometimes two can meet and it's to hell with the clock-work. The song speaks a secret beyond the singer. Three of the Nine knew it.

    "Oh it wasn't exactly a farm." Andrea expalined. "It was a neighborhood, kinda spread out but we had chickens, a hog, and a bunch of goats that ran around every where. I was raised definitely country." She smiled at me with a smile that was ham & eggs and grits on a bright and sunny morning.. I said, "That sounds mighty fine. You might be someone who has taken the time to learn how to care." .. "Oh I care honey... where were you raised?" .. "I was raised in a building." .. "Oh sure me too. We had a nice house there. We had a big 'ol lawn out front and back and a tractor to mow it. I shared a room with my sister and we each had our own window." Andrea smiled at her own musings, "It sure was nice back then.. simple and fun. boy, nowadays; It's just crazy." I began: "It's nice to have a window. I didn't have a window at all actually. There were two doors in my room. One was smaller. This was the door that seemed to lead everywhere. The one I couldn't open. Everyone that came and went used it. When it did open light came from beyond it's threshold. The walls in the hall outside had wallpaper with green and grey stripes. The other door in my room was three times as big. It led no-where. I could open it and go through it all I wanted. Beyond that door was a clutter of all kinds of junk that I couldn't figure out." 

  Andrea had been working her scissors over my hair, clipping as I spoke and she kept doing so after I had finished. She was silent for a moment and I could tell she was thinking. After her silence she stepped back. She dropped her hands to her side and said, "Are you trying to be some kinda cryptic a**hole or something?" Waterdiva immediately brightened and giggled and smiled and then sighed out, "Ooh Andrea that was perfect! I have trained you well!"

   "Well, not cryptic but persay: you can understand the things I say exactly I say them. Nothing is false." I continued: "Maybe I try to see that some deeper meaning is revealed at what I say but that's only because there is always deeper meaning." .. "Oh sure, like we think sometimes nothing is random." I told her: "The devil is in the details.. So to speak." At that, Andrea felt that Waterdiva felt that it was time to change the subject so she fumbled for a new vein: "So, If you weren't raised on a farm, How did you get this four inch long cowlick that makes a big wavy curve on the side of your head?" from her place, two stations away, Waterdiva groaned out a sound insight, "He never denied being an a**hole!"

     "Well I was too young to remember. I only remember what I was told.. and the recordings. I didn't have my mind's eye. It was only months from birth. I had my two eyes only and they were too weak to apply themselves at any memories." .. Andrea asked, "Mind's eye? Like the third eye?" She grinned. I answered, "Maybe, It's mine so I call it what I want." Andrea kept smiling as she asked, "and recordings? There's recordings?" .. "Yes my sister's recordings; there's hundreds actually. They're kept in a box- Or at least I think they still are. Unless the house has burned down or something." ..with that I stopped. I felt It was time to stop speaking.

     Andrea looked a kind of amused. And maybe also a little distressed. Befuddled might be the word. But probably just a bit of flabberghasted. She looked to her partner, "What do you think WaterDee, should we let him tell his story? The girl stopped her hands and looked at me. I didn't realize the sound in the room had stopped when she looked at me. And the motion; it also stopped until it started up again all at once.. Her eyes were gone and it was like I had just lived in a moment that never happened. Her hands were back to work and her gaze was back to the head of hair before her. She replied, "He's a no-body but he does know secrets, but he has secrets too. It's none of my business really." .. "Dee! Please! A no-body..?" .. Andrea looked at me with her kind eyes, "I'm sorry about that Sir. No-body is no-body around here.. or wait, Everybody is somebody around here! Yes that's it." Waterdiva giggled as she would. Andrea continued: "Go ahead, please tell us how you got your cowlick."

      "It was in that same room. The cryptic room with the two doors. One meant Everything. The Other meant Nothing. The Everything door opened and the hall light shined through." Andrea asked, "What about the nothing door?" .. "My sister had hid in there. She went in and hid, and hidden, looked out from nothing." .. "Nice.!" Andrea smiled so I said, "I'm glad you like the story so far but spoiler alert! There are no cows in it." .. "Oh, I know sweetie, please go on." So I did: "Well there may have been no cows but the general idea may have been the same. And perhaps a reversal of roles as far as who was the stock. 'Salt' you say?"  Andrea replied, "Salt?" .. "The cows, they wanted salt right?" .. "Correct- Critters like cows livin' outside don't get all the salt they'd like so when they see a babies' head they know its right full of salt cause that's a brand new babies' head." .. "Very Nice!" I told Andrea. "You're as good at this as I'd like to be." Waterdiva giggled and smiled and that was also very nice.

      Andrea asked, "Why did your sister hide in the closet?" .. "You're right. It was the closet. The nothing door. 100%. But she hid in the closet cause she knew that the tail-waggers were coming." .. "O-M-G- Sir.. tail-waggers now? what's that?" exactly?" .. "Well cows are tail waggers aren't they? So what's so unusual about that? Well I'll tell you what's unsual about these tail waggers, They weren't wagging their tails, the tails were wagging them.!" I went on: "My sister said the men who came into the room came riding on the end of a tail" .. "Your sister said?" .. "Yes, I heard her say it" .. "On the recordings?" .. "Yes." .. "How old was your sister?" .. "I don't know, old enough to remember I guess." .. "When was the last time you saw your sister"? .. "Forever I think." .. "What does that mean?" .. "It means nobody, God or anybody else, no one will tell me where she is or where she went."

    The Waves of hair had been falling as Andrea had been busy parting and judging and clipping around the parts of my head. Waterdiva had left her station and was now at the counter checking out her client who, on the way out the door deposited the magazine back at it's place on the rack; the magazine that she had held and leafed for entire course of Waterdiva's beauty treatment. I looked at the cover and it shined the title 'Vogue'. I had preferred the publication; 'La Mode Pratique' but I do with that admit my years.. and my wherewithals. 

    Waterdiva moved to address the next in waiting as began her courses for all her fresh arrivals. Besides the sound of small talk, some laughter, the occasional chirping of birds left hanging, and the smoldering of oldies playing on the little clock radio, there was left only the clip, Clip, CLIP.! Right next to my head. It was nice to know there was someone right next to my head, cutting out what's not needed, A fair and simple woman, someone I could trust.

    "I trust You don't believe me." Andrea heard me and replied in a very matter-of fact way: "Mr. Lincoln, you can trust that I believe that you say anything you want to." .. "Fair Enough. And true." I was pleased to be telling this story to this fair minded person but before I could continue she spoke again: "How is it that your room, the one you were raised in- had no windows?" .. "That's your next question?" .. "I'll ask the question you don't expect. And you'd be better to be quick with an answer Mr. Lincoln." .. "Well, It was an old house. I never saw it from the outside.. I don't think I did anyways. The windows were boarded up I guess. There were curtains and a window-ledge but no light came through. So it was no window. If there's no light there's no reason to look at something or wonder about it." .. "So how did you see? What did you see? I mean, besides the green and grey striped wallpaper?" .. "There were two other lights in the room. One was high atop a dresser. It lit up the whole room. That was a desk lamp. It had a bread-loaf shaped green-glass lamp shade and it stood on a brass stand. It had a brass chain with a little green bead that hung on the end of it but I couldn't reach it."

    "The other light was a night-light that was plugged into the socket low on the wall. This light I figured out actually. I could turn it off and and then back on but it was left on almost always." Andrea, busy, continued her scissor work around my head and worked in an occasional 'm-hmm.' or an 'uh-huh..' as I continued speaking; "It was small and it had an orange sea-shell for a shade. It only lit up one small corner of the room so that was the corner I watched at night. There was nothing else. Just that corner and that orange light." Andrea asked, "Your sister? Where was she?" .. "I was always there it seemed, in the room. I was kept there for some spell. But she wasn't always there. When she was there she slept in the same bed or hid under it or hid in the closet. There was only one bed." 

     Andrea's attention was to the next who had entered the shop. She came through the door that rang a little bell that caused the large cat, who occupying a row of chairs to look up from it's nap to see that at the magazine rack it seemed there some everyday person only after everyday things was not too much of a concern to anyone. So that very cat went back to it's nap and very that person knew dare not sit near that cat's fat lap. Andrea chimed at the same little bell because this customer would be her next: "Don't Mind Felix, he's our lucky cat so we let him keep an eye on things around here." The new-comer said, "Oh he's so pretty!" Felix had rolled over to tempt anyone who might to feel the warm, white, soft, furry and fuzzy luxurious coat that is his underbelly. Andrea added, "Er- but watch out he can be weird. Please go ahead and write your name on the list and have a seat and we'll get right to you!" .. "Oh thanks, My name is Georgia." ..and Georgia went to the counter with the snake of a chain to add a name to a list.

I'll finish posting the rest of this who-what's-his-name's strange story laterr..!   Ciao! .... Shawna.

What I did this Summer

by S.C. on 08/26/21

As Summer Closes and Vacations end it's time when a lot of folks head back to school. Usually the first paper to write would be: 'What I did this Summer'

This Summer we went to the beach. There's lots of neat stuff at the beach. Shells. Jellyfish. French fries with ketchup with sand. We played Mini-Golf. We went on a Sailboat but here is what I liked most about going to the beach:

If you get to the shore early enough you can see the sunshine straight through the wild, golden, frothy dance that lives at the crest of each wave for one second and then is gone forever. But that's okay because another will come with all the nuance of the last. And if you stay out late enough you can see the full Moon turn the waves into comfy silver blankets that roll up the shore and put you to bed. 

I liked that I could stand at the shore and face the horizon and see it's clean edge stretching past the limits of my left and my right. I liked that I could see the expanse of sky and air, of ocean and water, and the sand. and the Sun. I liked that I could see four things neatly arranged and explained. Earth, Water, Wind and Fire joined together in a void called space to make a place for me to be. My Heart caused me to wonder as I looked out across the planet, "Is what I see Mine to Command..?"

At the end we checked out of the Hotel and just drove home. There were a lot of bridges. It was a nice drive, everyone was kinda quiet really. Well that's all there was; my trip to the beach this summer.  the end.



by S.C. on 08/22/21

Professor Adam Harfax taught ancient history in a big city school. Although he wasn't around to see the history unfold, he was sure that he knew exactly how it happened and felt a cause to share his knowledgeable offerings on the subject to a continuing supply of spongy young minds. The activity of everyday life around him annoyed him immensely. He knew a paradise was possible so he hated the the big city's concrete jungle. He also knew that man had evolved to what he was because of Darwinian rules so he hated the biblical symbols.  ..but still longed for his own symbol of peace and paradise..

"Professor Harfax, What about Adam and Eve and their Paradise?" the student wanted to know: "How can I believe the Bible if I accept Darwin's theory of evolution?" Harfax explained: "Paradise described as the 'Garden of Eden' is a simple dream of man. How can a man just appear with a just thought? There never was an actual Adam. There never was a paradise. These are symbols derived from the peace and tranquility that we all desire.

The last student left his classroom and, as everyday Professor Harfax went to the window to look at the life tide that ebbed and flowed on the city streets below. The first thing he saw was indeed the concrete. It was everywhere. Except for an occasional green tree or bush that emerged from the cracks everything was a giant unforgiving and unyielding hardscape.  Grey or Black- which aren't even actual colors. The people he noticed were hard and unforgiving. Children ran by an old man sitting on cardboard. Laughing with glee as children do they grab at him and his belongings and scatter them about. A car slams into the back of another. Drivers get out and exchange withering verbalities. A shop keeper chases a man down the street for stealing an apple. One Apple! Why can't he eat the apple that he found? Man can have no leisure. No peace. No tranquility.

Nothing can be as simple as seeing an apple and just eating it. A cave man may have been able to do this at one time or another but that simple existence has been lost. Survival of the fittest dictates the condition of humanity. There must be a system for eating apples created by fittest among us. That society built after the strivings for ever greater heights can never have leisure, tranquility, peace.

When classes weren't part of his daily routine Professor Harfax would quit his concrete jungle and escape as far from it as was possible. He would wander the natural environs being the woods and forests- and other places as desolate as he could find because that is where he supposed his leisure, tranquility and peace would likely be found. If he were inclined, here he could shed his clothes and live like the jungle ape that he knew that man had descended from. Jungle man or Modern man he realized it made no difference. Modern man took the caveman's jungle and made his own version, the concrete one, full of all the hustle and bustle and down-right terror that can exist in any jungle.

Professor Harfax was getting closer to the truth.. so the Jungle turned on him. Giant raindrops fell from the sky. It fell in such quick copious amounts that the ground he walked on became a dangerous thickened mire of mud. At that moment he wished for just a little piece of the concrete jungle. The wind blew hard bending the trees down low, branch tips scratching at Harfax's collar as he ran through the instant tempest that had grown around him so amazingly. And then just as quick as the storm had come it was gone. It had not gone anywhere really. It had not moved to the south or the west, or any direction- it was just gone. Harfax looked down to his feet and to the water that had covered his path as he ran and watched it run and disappear into the ground in receding rivulets, in the bright sunshine. And right before him gleaming in that bright light was a strange and curiously shaped house.

The house to him seemed like a short, squatty lighthouse. It had a domed roof with silver shingles. Under the roof instead of a gallery and the roundabout of lantern panes typical to a lighthouse there were four dormers that looked out to four directions. There was a door at the base of the house covered overhead with a gabled roof and also topped with the curiously silvered shingles. The body of the house was painted silver but at closer examination Professor Harfax noticed that it may not be paint at all but some sort of silver metallic siding material. Harfax remarked to himself that this house seemed both remarkably sturdy and curiously placed.. or miss-placed; seeing that it was noticeably large and the only man-built structure for miles around. Also curiously odd: The whole thing, the whole house had a tilt to it. And he couldn't understand why this house would. Except for the Tower of Pisa which he knew had a fault to its foundation he had never before seen a structure so large; so tilted, except perhaps a ship that had run aground or was caught in the throes of facing a fierce and heavy sea.

The door was in a closed position and seemed sealed tight but when he touched the door it seams opened and the door swung wide. The windowless room he entered was dimly lit by the light coming through the open doorway by which he had just arrived at this scene and by the dim light falling slowly down from the staircase that was the room's only other feature besides the door. Professor Harfax noticed that the interior of the room seemed exceeding old and covered in dust. And there was a curious odor, a musty smell of something left-over wafting down the staircase from above.

The stairs were covered in a thick layer of dust. He approached them and before he did anything in such a curious and queer sort of place he examined every circumstance before he acted. He noticed that the dust on the stairs revealed that they had been used a minimal amount of times in that span of time through-out which so much dust had collected.
There were three distinct patterns of foot prints that led up the staircase and what was upsetting to the Professor was the fact that each footprint on each step led only up and that there was no footprint that indicated that anyone had ever come down the steps. Would he dare add his own footprints to this morbid collection?

Realizing the probable foolhardiness of his course but being beyond intrigued Harfax placed his foot upon the lowest tread and at that moment he heard a groan from above. Then he heard a voice: "Hurry! Hurry! Please!" and at that Professor Harfax without apprehension ascended the staircase and entered a level beyond belief. He thought he had entered the interior of watch's case. Every available space was taken up with some sort of machinery. He had to duck under, and twist sideways, and climb over all types of apparatus and mechanism put there for what purpose he could not understand. He followed the pleading voice: "Hurry! I found You! We can't be here! The weakest must die! Hurry I have to tell you!" spurred on by the pleading the professor finally arrived at the voice. There was a cot. and on the cot was an exceedingly aged old man with a long white beard and even longer white hair. Books, notebooks, papers and food tins littered the floor around the cot where the old man lay. Harfax felt an odd uneasiness as he approached the old man. He felt somehow that he was backward or opposite or inside-out.
and that this feeling may be his end. 

It was apparent that the old man was also in a very uneasy condition that seemed to get worse by the very second. As Harfax approached the old man he winced and cried in anguish and he now begged Harfax to keep his distance. "We can't two be!" The professor didn't understand but listened. "This Machine is a Time Machine!" It was the last thing the old man said because he died immediately then. Harfax was amazed and he went to the man. He saw a recognized familiarity. He saw that the old man wore the an exact match to his own clothing. He saw the same at the corpses of two others that lay in near proximity to the cot. Harfax's mind melted a little and he wondered who he was after all.

He knew he taught history, he had students. He knew he only cared about the hard facts. Adam Harfax knew that somewhere in history, or somewhere in some future existence that man could live in the paradise he longed for. Leisure, Peace and Tranquility was what man was made for because that is what man has always longed for. Harfax knew it! He now had the way. He would find Paradise. He gathered up the notebooks and papers off the floor and studied them. The were amazingly familiar to him. He found the controls to the Time Machine and dialed in his desired settings. Then in that odd looking, very old silver gleaming house he pulled the lever to engage the machine.

Harfax disappeared to himself. He knew he was but then also that he probably wasn't. In fact- when he did realized he wasn't- an unknown and unrealized terror gripped his consciousness. He fell backwards and stretched to a million miles. His thought could only scream. His own thoughts ripped apart his own sensient constitution. He knew his end was coming because all seemed like some blackened hole. He did though finally feel a fabric to realize, and through an empty lonely terror began to feel a texture to an existence to which he could arrive.

Finally a perception of vision returned. Flames were all around him. Seen through the walls of the silver house. He was relieved and began to realize that He knew he was safe and that the Time Machine was behaving exactly as it was designed to. Through the walls of the house he began to see a world. Mountains and red skies. Molten rivers. Adam Harfax watched the mountains rise and fall like waves on a sea. The red skies flashed and turned to pink and purple and Blue. He looked to his feet and saw through the floor of the silver house a landscape rushing by and coming up to meet him. And finally it did.

There was a tremendous crash, and a flying tumult. Harfax knew that the improbability of a safe or gentle journey was remote because of the settings he had dialed in at the machine's controls before he had pulled the lever: The very beginning! The machine came to land in a surf of some ocean. Before him was a broad white sand beach that stretched to a vast green plain. Then to a surrounding range of purple mountains capped with snow. He looked behind and saw the Silver House, quite destroyed and disappearing; the remnants being swallowed by the sand and the surf. His conveyance destroyed, he realized his journey had ended.

His clothes were ragged, torn and wet so he removed them. He walked naked across the beach to Green Plain. Some how he knew he was singular and alone in this new world in which he found himself. A tremendous feeling of Tranquility began to warm him from the inside. He quickly realized this new world was the paradise he had longed for. He understood a peace and realized he had no cares. He entered the edge of the forest and felt the cool green grass beneath his feet. He looked up and saw an apple hanging. He thought about the apple, the same apple he watched the chased man steal one million or so years forward. He knew that and so it seemed intuitive not to care for it. Harfax felt at peace, at leisure, tranquil. Harfax felt a pressure on his side. He thought, 'Had I damaged a rib in the crash?' He thought: 'There is some kind of ache here.' Then before him through the foliage he saw a face appear. Graceful hands and arms spread leaves out of her way and then, created by a thought she emerged: She said, "Adam? is it you?"

Ditko helped..



by S.C. on 08/16/21

    Andrea had completely forgotten about the new girl that applied for the job at the salon where she worked. When she walked in after nearly a week away 'newgirl' was there at the station right next to hers, combing and cutting and talking with her customer. At newgirl's feet at least 3 different kinds of hair littered the floor. "She is quick" thought Andrea. The young woman smiled at her and Andrea sent a grim matter-of-fact smile back to her. The girl giggled out even more of a smile as Andrea turned her attention to the row of clients attached to the wall. "Oh-h-kay.. NEXT!" and Andrea was off and running. A week off from work so she needed to get busy.

   The morning went on at a steady pace. By the time Andrea was on her fifth head of hair it was approaching noon and her fingers were tired. The new-comer was working on her seventh customer since Andrea's late arrival earlier that morning and she realized how good this girl was at her job. Andrea had to ask the young lady, "Wow, you're good where did you learn how to cut hair?" "I didn't" was the reply. At once the man who happened to be sitting in the the girl's chair chuckled, "Uh-Oh Look out! Amateur on the loose!" He didn't seem really worried though as he had watched her work on two other customers before he sat down. .."I didn't?' what kind of an answer is that?" Andrea thought, perplexed at the new girl's stange admission.

    After lunch the two were back at it. Once again Andrea had to ask something: "What's your name? My name is Andrea." .. "Hi Andrea, my name is Waterdiva. It's nice to finally meet you." .. 'Waterdiva'? what kind of a name is that?', Andrea thought: 'Nice to finally meet me? Has she heard of me? I hope not.' .. "That's a cool name" Andrea said, "Is that your last name?" "No it's just my name" "Oh, so you use just one word as your name like Cher.. or Pink?" "Share?" .. 'Oh brother!' thought Andrea 'this girl is too much.' Waterdiva went on: "My boyfriend, John, he has two names. His name is John Waterstood." At that exact moment that good looking, tall, tanned guy was rapping his knuckles on the window. At that exact moment Waterdiva was leaning the broom in the corner as she had just swept her station perfectly clean. "Gotta go Andrea, see you tommorow!" "Wait a minute" called Andrea, "So you two are Waterstood and Waterdiva?" "That's right. and that's not all. We have the sailboat on the hard at the Sealove Yard right on the point right on the inlet. It's  Waterdiva's Hope."



by S.C. on 08/16/21

    Andrea woke from sleep. It was dark. She looked to the clock at her side and it was blinking 3:00 am. 'Why would it be blinking..?' she thought. 'Did the power go out?' Andrea always knew what the moon did as it coursed through each night sky and looking at her bedroom's open window she quickly knew there was a bright full moon outside. She went to the window to look. Her apartment offered a view of the river and she looked and saw her familiar scene. Her shoreline, the bridges that crossed the river. The barrier island across the way with it's series of hotel buildings and condos. Lined up as dimly lit monuments. Each one holding the lives of so many people, so many happy lives; happier than hers she thought to herself.
     A detail was missing from this moonlit visage. Curious, very curious. She looked down to see the glint of the moon on the water and there was none. Impossible. Her eyes traced to the shoreline, to the park, the pier, the boatramp. All familiar, all part her apartment complex's offerings but where the water should be there was only black. She was instantly intrigued. Instantly she was at that shoreline facing the black. She felt a vacuum, and a pull, and she reacted by bracing her legs and weight against it. She looked around for something to grab and hang on to but there was nothing. She saw nothing but a tiny lit square up the shore, a small distance away. It was all she saw and now she made her way towards it.
    The ground was spongy and her feet sank a little into it at each step. The air became warmer. It felt thick with some hot rancid moisture. She approached the small moonlit square and realized that it was an object lying there. She felt a hardness in her throat as she reached for tiny the silver key hanging around her neck. The thing was about as big as a postcard, about an inch thick, pink and with a large capital 'D'stamped on it. Her Diary!
     Andrea gasped and reached for the book. She had to recover what was hers. ..but it moved, downward, down the slope to the black. Was it on a string? Her movement towards it made her slip a little. She tried to dig the edge of her shoes into the river bottom and stop her descent. That helped a little until she realized it was not a river's bottom she was standing on but something else. The hot air began to move. It slammed into her face and then reversed and was at her back. It repeated again and again, the ocsillations became accompanied by a hoarse, rasping rush of a noise. She slipped and reached for her book and reached and slipped again until realized the object of her attention had brought her as far as she needed to go. Before her was a raised stone slab. It wasn't a cut or hewn stone but did seemed shaped for a purpose. Terror gripped her inside and pulled hard as she finally gained an inkling of where she was. Forrest was there!

                       He was born in the House of Pain.
                       He was fitted with Collar and Chain.
                       He was told what to do by the Band.
                       He was dragged down at The End.
                       He was dragged down All Alone.
                       He was Dragged down by The Stone.

Cinnamon Cheese Cake Dip

by S.C. on 08/15/21

Please take a moment and View some Advertisements...

Streamline Hotel

by S.C. on 08/15/21

Just Steps from the Sands of Florida's Beautiful Daytona Beach.


by S.C. on 08/14/21

Something old,
 something new,
 something borrowed,
 something blue...

There Once was a Box of Beads that sat on a shelf. The shelf was in a house where there lived a girl who had met with unfortunate circumstance. Her father had died, her mother also was not there. She lived alone in the house with her servants. She felt idle and wondered "What must I do except go out and see the world." She felt lonely and wondered, "What must I do except go out and find my lover."  She set about immediately to improve herself for these endeavors.

There, in the box of beads sat Blue-bead waiting patiently and thinking, "When will I see the world?" he sat lonely and wondered, "Who shall I see it with?" The girl, or as should be said at this point, the Lady of the House opened the box of beads and finally Blue-bead saw the Light of Day. To see the miracle of light for the first time and to see the radiant countenance that was his mistress' smiling face caused Blue-bead to think that all the joy of that moment was meant just for him. He had no thoughts of all the other beads in the box. All the hundreds of red beads, black beads, tiny little silver and gold beads. Beads made of glass, painted beads; green, yellow, violet, short beads, long beads, fat and skinny.

The Lady, the girl, did take a particular liking to Blue-bead, she picked him up, rolled him around with her exquisite fingers, considered him for placement on her silver thread; to adorn her neck. But no, not this time she thought. ...she picked some other beads out and closed the box. Blue-bead was not set back by this dismissal. Being sure he was the most important bead in the box he said out loud to all the other beads, "Did you see that? That she picked me and cast her eyes upon me and smiled at me?" ...All the other beads just rolled their eyes and sighed and murmerd in low voices. Blue-bead didn't know what they were saying but he was sure it was something like, 'Blue-bead is so important' or 'The best that could happen to any of us will surely happen to Blue-bead.'

Days and days, months and months, the box opened, the box shut, Blue-bead was never his mistress' choice. Never dismayed he kept right on with his thoughts to himself: 'The day I will be my Lady's choice is the day I am made for.' He freely shared these thoughts with the other beads and they would just sigh and roll their eyes and mumur in low voices about the nature of Blue-bead.

One day Blue-bead's moment did arrive, his Mistress opened the box and selected Blue-bead staight away. She exclaimed out loud, "I've been saving this bead for my most special and important day... Today." .. With this Blue-bead was enthralled... he was beside himself with joy. He knew he was the most important. He knew her most important day was the day he was made for. She placed him on the silver thread. Now she was ready.. with something blue.

Blue-bead's first Day in the World was joyous and happy beyond belief. It was so full of cheer and brightness although he had no understanding why. A beautiful gown of white, smiling expectant faces at every turn, music sounding heaven sent, talk of God and Eternity. He had no idea where he was, but was happy to be there, adorning this gracious girl's neck, on her most special and important day.

Whilst in his happiest moments...      ..came Blue-bead's disastrous downfall. That Night, the most special and important Night... fingers being not so exquisite, engaged in pure passion, in the darkness, ripped the silver thread from his Lady's neck. Blue-bead's world turned to a tumult, he flew through the air and bounced and rattled across the floor. He rolled and stopped quite snugly- stuck fast in the little crack between the floor and the baseboard.  ..And there Blue-bead remained. Blue-bead could see out from his tiny vantage, "Oh there is my Lady's ankle, Oh how beautiful she is, One day she will come to find me because I am so important." Of course she never did, after all he was just a very tiny, very forgotten blue bead.

All the other Beads in the Box eventually learned of Blue-bead's fate. They all agreed together that Blue-bead indeed was the most important bead in the box. They also agreed : Be careful of what you wish for.


by S.C. on 08/06/21

a story from..

Undone City

    The late afternoon  was  cold but the sun was  bright and Rose shined  pink like new life that would burst from her apple cheeks. Rosy cheeks where her smile was framed. It was ample and at this moment the smile I saw was being offered for quick glances, at whoever joined in a look. A nod of acknowledgement and a smile. An exchange of smiles with unacquainted people in the bright light of day. This practice may have you smiling at either monsters or angels but still; a wonderful thing. She was beautiful. She could be so she was. She had to be. The smile used to face her more mundane world was less arranged and presented. It was there. It clung to her face and she allowed it to remain because she never knew when she would need it. She knew she could never make it with out it. These smiles. These smiles that rarely tell the truth. They show everywhere. 

       Six of us were waiting on the platform. I should say nine because Rose was only the top of a mountain. Her white beret capped it all as her blonde hair flowed down into the folds of her scarved pea coat. She pushed a grey baby's carriage that held some attention for her as she constantly leaned forward to dote on the bundled life within. Grasping her free hand was a boy and held in the child's opposite hand was the end of a leash attached to which was a smallish and brownish dog. There was a brown paper sack, with a bread-loaf and items purchased. There was a white box tied shut with a string. All together they moved as a mass across the platform floor. All her troop kept close one to the other; bunching together with bundled and layered attire, each themselves being well padded against the season's coldest days. 

       Snow lay at the edges of things and at the late afternoon's long last shadows. There is a moment every day when, as light slowly begins to fail you realize dark is soon upon you and that need arises to decide if you are presently safe. It is a primal concern; real but washed out in modernity by the electric light. It's almost night. The last train that would arrive before dark was due any moment. The platform lights turned on just as the distant clatter of steel wheels was heard. There were six, were nine and then there were sixty-six or ninety-nine or a hundred all at once filling the station's platform as busy, quick people stepped off the arriving train from East Undone. I glimpsed the beautiful Rose, still on the platform, through the glass as my train lurched and swayed and began to pull away. The white beret capped mountain was joined by a tall tree that had grown there just by the time I had made it onto a train car and to my seat. A dark Fedora and a black flat attaché made him the perfect tree to live on her mountain. She said 'Forrest' when she called to him. My train escaped into the night and I thought, 'Who were the other four?' 'I never cared.' 'Did I miss something?'

     They disappeared one by one- the street lights, the storefronts, illuminated lots. That one small final light far off in the distance that represents some farmer's porch; they all disappeared into the what-not. I strained to see something through the glass. I knew I was looking into a rush but I could see nothing. Only my own vapor showed on a window that had been painted black. My fellow travelers being served and satisfied also began to disappear one by one. Some did linger in the dining car for cards, brandy, subsequent laughter and after the car had become sufficiently filled with a heavy atmosphere of cigar smoke and after an adequate consumption of coffee and sweet pie I also disappeared to my own compartment to see what dreams may come.

     There was violence and chaos beneath my feet but my precept was ordered. I knew what I was doing. Where I was going. All every the while every joint of my car's under-carriage was at work bending and swaying, slapping back against it's only reason; the steel rail which had been conveniently placed before it. Placed long and continuously and without fail. Above the rushing spray of sparks flying through a blackened firm, Above the screeching and squealing I was. I sat above an incessant deafening clattering shrill. I could  feel it through the floor boards. Above all this I rode to where I knew I was going to do what I knew.

     I dreamt of the blackened clattering firm, exercised as dreaded fearful futility. To travel through it was my course. To ride a wave of violence and be deposited on some safe shore. And then I dreamt of the beautiful Rose and her Mountain, exercised as a hopeful validation. To know her way was my course. To see a world from behind her eyes. To see her world from behind her eyes. To tell her was mine: "You are everything I can ever be."

- end One.


by S.C. on 08/06/21

       A neighborhood friend gave me a wood carving and asked me to accept it as she didn't want it anymore. She said a friend had given it to her and explained that they were no longer aquainted and she hated having it around as the item brought her nothing but melancholy. I had found it with the daily rubbish at the stoop upon entering her house and it caused me to notice and take hold of it as it looked as if it could be worth something more than whatever what needs caused to dispose of it.  

     She seemed a little irked at first but then somehow happy to have it back on her kitchen counter so quickly after saying good-bye to it. Knowing of it's and mine coincidental arrival she asked me to take it and not bring it back. She said she didn't want it anymore. I asked her why she didn't want such a nicely carved piece anymore and she replied that it was obvious: It didn't have a face. She said if that was acceptable would I please take it; and if it wasn't I could always dispose of it myself.

     I told her that it was perfectly acceptable and handled the tallish womanly figure in my hand and looked at it's faceless head. It was heavy, made of dense wood.. It was roughly carved.. it seemed like it was whittled and each blade mark left a facet that lent itself with the whole of the others like it to represent a figure of a woman in a long dress holding a long stemmed single rose to her breast. The carving had it's colors but not by paint or stain. Interestingly the rose seemed to be carved right at the location of a tree's knot and seemed red. Her dress, the largest part of the statue was lighter, whiter wood. Her brunette hair flowed into some brownish darker part of the wood, perhaps where some woody knot once formed into a branch. ..I took it home and stood it on an end table. Standing, staring faceless into my living room. Then that night something stange and interesting happened.

     As night falls the day fades from the windows; even at last it fades from the final seam of tiny light right at the edge of the window blind. It's gone and like me, you'll search around for different things to look at. Things in the room. The first thing I look to is the door and see the books I've read, on their way out. Then the search is to the register to see the books brought home; the ones to be read. Then to my side table, to the book currently being read. I placed my mark and shut the cover and dimmed the room's final light. It was in that dimness, in that grainy what-not world that I saw her face!

     The tiniest bit of light crept to her; as she stood there waiting. So obliquely it was cast on her void condition.  An acute array of the tiniest of shadows crept across the smooth blank surface of her face. Her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her lips, cheeks and chin; they all appeared! Built by shadows. Framed in the flow of hair that fell down her back. Imperceptable variations in form, barely distinguishable; bring into the world by the smallest bit of light things unknown and unseen in the broader light of day. I wondered at the artist. Who was it? He would make a work certainly to be abandonded.

      Five-Nineteen was the face the clocked showed most usually when glanced  at hearing the familiar rap upon my door. I was always glad to see him; my friend as he stopped in almost daily making his curcuit through town. My house lay between the offices where his duties are performed and his own and though no few taverns also lay between he finds occasion to frequent my abode and my humble offerings. Gin. 

     The hand that held his glass extended it's pointer and struck a bead straight at the statue that stood on the table. "Why friend, do you have that there?" .. "Oh isn't it lovely? It's so uniquely carved. Whoever worked that knife.. well you can see the handiwork." .. "It is an interesting concept. Where did you get it?" .. "My neighbor, Ms.Haversham." .. "The old woman? Two doors down?" .. "Yes. And though as you can see the statue has no face it has a secret." .. "A secret; what?" .. "Face! it has a secret face you can only see in the dark!"

 My friend was rather portly and usually finely dressed and his chains and lapels and loose ends all spun around with him as I in tight quarters brushed by his round circumfrence toward the window. I pulled down the blind and asked him to look at it. "What? Look at what?" .. "The face! Her face! Do you see it? There in the dark?" He looked down at his shoes and then to his suit. Her face was there! I turned the statue on its base to offer him the best inspection.  He looked at me instead. I offered weakly from the dark: "Look, see! -her face." His handkerchief was out and he was dabbing at his cuff. "George, would you please open the blind?" I did. "Would you please tell me exactly why I have my drink removed from my glass and soaked to my clothes?." .. "because you.. because I-". I began but he interupted: "We've know each other for quite some time?" .. "Since school" .. " Since our early days- correct. And you know me as, someone whom being elected by our friends and nearby citizens a person allowed to make the most discriminating of judgements everyday?" .. "I do" .. "Friend this is no objet d'art." 

     He spoke plainly. The same plainess I'd assume he speaks every day to every client. "I love you enough to tell you," reaching with his free hand, "this is a piece of wood." He held it. Musingly he flipped it from end to end. "She is a witch?.. no?" .. "Who? Haversham? She's my neighbor. And please, be kind as you usually are." .. "She is also blind, you know this.. and as faceless as your objeda here." He went on, "Nothing has a face for her.  She can't know her own face and has none to share. You have no face to her. No passerby does. Her house has no face to her. The entire blue sky has no face to show her.. How did she manage to confuse you?" .. "She only said that a friend had given it to her and that it had no face and that she didn't want it.".. "Precisely! and that's all? Then she is cleverly skilled or you my friend George have bewitched yourself." .. " I requested that you please be kind; she is no witch but a gentle old woman." .. "Fair Enough. whether a witch or a gentle old woman or a gentle old witch I can't know but I can tell you what this is." He held up my statue. "This is a piece of firewood. The only blade it has ever seen is the one that split it from a larger piece of wood. It looks as if it has bounced around at the bottom of a lawn-cart for quite a few winter seasons; always being the piece too small and too far down to be convienently retrived and used at the fire." I listened and he went on: "And now it sits in your living room as an object reputed to hold some sort of ethereal self revealing quality only available under the most inopportune of circumstance; the dark!" He added at the end: "It dosen't make sense. Georgie,  Get rid of it!"
                                                  ___ .... ___

     It began the same almost every night. Well before daylight. Far after twilight. The clanging. The grinding. The flashes. It was coming. I knew it. I knew it. It moved through the streets to see who needs what where. Slow. Slow because it was doing things. Two or three at work. I could hear it through every window in the house. Soon it would be here and it would be at its loudest. Then it was. Enormously loud. I knew the judge was right and I would've have gotten rid of it. but.. I can't. I couldn't. It didn't make sense but I knew at the least that someone else could want it. I was sure. With sweat soaked bed clothes I raced through the house toward the deafening clamor. I slipped and crawled and at the last slithered across cold wet grass to the street to beg the tall green monster.. "No..! Wait! I want her.!" I grabbed her from it's form. The monster roared and stomped and bucked in the night. From it's ichor I pulled out what I needed: My Faceless She.


by S.C. on 09/12/20

   Yielding Eyes liquid pure
their soft warm tone did ensure
that honesty & love's endure
were gracious attributes of hers.
  If I dove in those liquid pools
would I survive the current's pull
that'd take me down into the heart
of her from whom I'd never part?
  I'm not afraid to try, you know.
Just whisper I'm prepared to go.
Where two are one and one is us.
      All we have to do is Trust.

Silly Love Songs. The writing of
which there will be no end.



by S.C. on 09/08/20

     One topic of discussion when you meet someone or as you try to understand somebody is the revealing admission of favorite movie quotes. Most People have them and remember them because they have identified with a character.. Perfect! The quotes generate from the sum of our human understanding and are received by a human thirst for the same.. what a cycle. 
    My number One Favorite Movie quote is of course, "Come with Me if you want to live." Spoken by the Terminator turned savior as his concern is ready to die in a box headed down. This actually a true invitation spoken to everyone on the planet. This Quote says it all.
    My number Two Favorite Movie quote is, "Dying aint much of a living, boy." spoken by the Outlaw Josey Wales. I'll try review it, but I think he says it right before he gut shoots the ambitious yet apprehensive young bounty hunter. This quote also applies to everyone on the planet. This Quote says it all.
    My number Three Favorite Movie quote is, "Whether you hear me typing, (kickity click click) or whether you don't hear me typing, I am Writing!!" (or working? idk.)  ...spoken by Writer/Caretaker Jack Torrance right before he expresses his wishes to 'Bash her Brains in'  ... iick! Everyone writes their own life. I think more should get behind the typewriter and write themselves a correct one. We need to do a better job than what Jack did though. This Quote says it all.
     Finally It's not really a favorite but I think it is important: "Where? are? my? Detonators??" Spoken by big loser, Hans Gruber as he realized his plans to utterly destroy Sky High Christmas Joy were imperiled and that his Term had been fixed. I'd like to think that we all know to whom this would apply. This quote will likely be forgotten.
     Whether I've quoted or only paraphrased, I may not know.. When gravity (the planet) pulls you down into your comfy you don't want to get up and walk to the shelves.
     Well I did my best.  ..Shawna.


by S.C. on 09/06/20

Girls like to keep the best nails. You've noticed the pre-occupation spent at the end of our fingers. Is it? or is it the real occupation? All my little bottles and tools are right there at my desk.. the next position over from the mouse. I work at home with a boss of sorts a few states away so what do I care if I'm engaged in either my occupation or my pre-occupation..? or care even which is which? ..I am fortunate but most evenings of late my friend Gordon finds himself pre-occupied with his fingernails and this action each evening, for some reason selected from many provokes the ire of his wife:

     "Gordon. Really? It stinks." Gordon returned a 'whatever' and screwed the brush back on the bottle. He was left to sit there and just look at them. Check them. Click the heavier thumb nail across four finger nails the way he liked. Did he realize what he liked ? Maybe. He did assume that with these he was ready for anything. They were right at the lead of his best forward motion.
     "When are you going to cut those things? They're daggers." .. "Jealous?" ..and it was her turn to scoff and return a 'Whatever'.  She positioned her pillow, settled down into the covers and to mark her spot, she tore the corner of the page of the book she was reading before it was tossed to the night stand. ... "Why do things have to suffer just because you use them.? It's not even your book. it belongs to the library and I have to return them." .. "Gordon. You drop it in a box. Nobody Cares. You are ridiculous. Go to sleep."  Gordon felt the words. He felt the pounded weight of her dry and spelled out cadence. Gordon's soft reply: "Nobody Cares Including You." Weak. Weak and unanswered.
      The bedroom was completely black and soundless. Gordon hated that. He hated the grimace of the stifled sob that wrenched and wet his face. His mind waded through thick blackness and searched for an anchor. When the air conditioner finally came on he could sleep.

Well this tiny chapter needs some fleshing out but so far it may be easy to see that Gordon and Grace are themselves amiss. Can this be Gordon's ordeal each evening.? What of a wife so overbearing? I do plan on checking back on Gordon, his nails, his wife and his tears but for now.. Ciao! Shawna.


by S.C. on 09/06/20

..One lonely cube sat fading to nothing at the bottom of my lowball. I looked up from the glass, caught her eyes and asked, "You know what's interesting?" She walked over and smiled. I remembered her hair was up only twenty seconds ago. She picked up the glass, her eyes and mine. "I'll bite. What is interesting?" .. "Chemistry; it flies across the room and happens all its own." "Nice.. I thought that was Cupid's Arrows.?" "Well... the chemistry is on the tip of course." Some reaction curled a smile, parted her lips and the pretty tip of her tongue glistened out to moisten her breath. So I said, "See what I mean?" and She replied: "I do".

Short Stories  ~   Tiny Tales    ~   Potpourri   
Trainsgendered                   ~~~~~~                                Potpourri
TG-1 The Mountain                ~~~~~~~~~~                                 PoLINESri
TG-2 The Valley                               Blue-Bead                                           Potpourri
TG-3 The City                                      ~~~~~~~~~                                            PotEYESri
TG-4 The Night                                     ~~~~~~~~~~~                                            Potpourri
TG-5   Departure                                    Faceless She                                                 Potpourri  
The Red Lobster                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~                                       PoNAILSri
RL-1 The Diner                                   Julio & Romeytte                                         Potpourri
RL-2 ABC LQ                                            ~~~~~~~~                                               Chemistry
RL-3 Starbucks                                 ~~~~~~~~~                                           Potpourri
RL-4 The Road                              ~~~~~~~~                                        Potpourri
RL-5 Red Lobster                      Tiny Tales                              Potpourri