Archive | September, 2013

Chapter 2 Part 1

30 Sep

Hands gripped the steering wheel. The narrow mountain road was slippery in the winter mist. These tight curves and undulations were more dangerous than that blonde from the 2 weeks prior. She was a slippery one too; more slippery than he cared to remember. At first he thought Mike was a diminutive for Michelle, little did he know. Mike also made him crash and burn. He shuddered to think of it, just for a split-second losing control as the vehicle fish-tailed around the curve, he deftly regain control as if he knew what he was doing.

“Dinner”, Red called.

“My Lord woman, you almost caused me to drive off the cliff.” He said clinching his cigarette holder between his teeth, swiveling it back and forth.

“Pause the game; you can get back to it after dinner.”

Throwing down the controller and drifting into the kitchen, he exclaimed: “What the hell is this!”

“It’s dinner”, she sarcastically indicated.

“This isn’t a dinner. This is a feast of the gods.  And that is just what you presented; heaven knows what you have in the kitchen. Did you have this delivered? Because I didn’t see any delivery vans.”

“Well, after I cleaned your kitchen I went shopping and bought a few things – threw this together for dinner.” she said adroitly opening and pouring the Chianti.

“Red, you don’t mind me calling you Red do you?”

“Why should I start now?”

“Well Red, I have a myriad of questions, not the least is what is your actual name. But first, what are you doing here?”

“You hired me. I didn’t think you would remember, so the contract spells out our duties and obligations.”

“You hired a lawyer to write an employee contract?”

“No, I am a lawyer.”


“Yes and I am residing upstairs, in the empty suite.”

“Excellent. I always wanted an attorney living upstairs.  The herb crusted rack of lamb is excellent, and the potatoes Boulangère – best ever. How did we meet?  Whatever I’m paying you, I’m sure I can’t afford it.”

“We met in camera when you are attempting to get a restraining order against Mike. I was Mike’s attorney. I was filing restraining order against you.”

“Well,  did Mike go home with my attorney?”

“I think he may have.”

“This meal has been fantastic, better than the most exclusive restaurants-what’s for dessert?”

“Let me thrash a batch of whipped cream.”

“Be quick about it, I have a game to finished!”


Billy Field – “You Weren’t In Love With Me” 1981

29 Sep

mediocracy – (in)valid attempt to achieve

29 Sep

Raining. T’was hot and humid, moist. No, no – those were not the words he was looking for; sultry, it was sultry. Perspiration beaded up and trickle down his face; wiping it away in attempt to remain comfortable.

“Dammit, I could use a beer!” He pontificated murmuring.

“You could use a bear?”, a voice from behind him stated.

“Fuck! How the hell did you get in here!”, He blabber to the sultry redhead wearing a T-shirt 2 sizes too small and Daisy Dukes. Her deep blue eyes stared at his back.

“Through the door, how else would I get in here?”

“I want a cold beer – not bear!”

“A cold bear, like a polar bear not a warm bear like a brown bear?”

“Dammit woman a beer, beer! Not a bear, the only person I know who would want a  bear isn’t anywhere near here, is she?”, he admonished her gravely.

“Don’t disparage me for your failure to enunciate.” she chided.

“Are we going to have an argument?”

“I don’t think so,” she stated, “an argument is a connected series of statements intended to establish a proposition. We’re having a fight.”

Swiveling briskly in his chair he turned to confront her. “Oh my Lord woman, you’re navigational hazard in that outfit. How, how – I thought that only happened in cold weather? You might blind somebody with those! I have no idea what I was thinking about.”

“Well there are other ways. It’s hot, you know; ever hear of ice cubes?”

“Ice cubes? Do you think that might – oh never mind. By the way, when it cools down you think…”

“In your dreams.” She laughed interrupting him.

Suddenly, all hell broke loose. Bursting through the doorway dressed in a cockamamie 16th century garb, with a wide brim hat, gold loop earrings, beads in his beard. he swash buckled in yelling, “Avast ye nates, Who here be  willing shiver me timbers? Fetch me rum -I need to wash me this salty crust of vast.” The Norwegian blue parrot rested quietly on his shoulder; he was probably asleep – and not dead.  He turned to her and explained “How’d you like to see my plank?”

“Oh, I was wondering if that was your peg leg or if you were just glad to see me?”

“Well blow me – down, and make me Roger Jolly!”

“As far as you’re concerned, you’re sailing the horse latitudes. Your sheets be a bit flaccid and there be too many barnacles on the old rudder. This scabbard will never sheath yar cutlass. This porthole be barred.”

“Well then, route me to a neighborly  lagoon where I may drop me anchor.”

“2 blocks down, 3rd house on the left; tell them Maggie sent to you.”

” Well then I’d be thankin’ ye, the cannon be loaded and I’m off to unload a broadside on a fine booty.”

With exasperation, he said, “now, do you think I can get back to my writing?”

“Well?” He stated.

“I’m thinking.

You haven’t broken all the rules yet. You certainly need a prologue; not fractured there. And your gratuitous use of sexual innuendoes is, at best, sophomoric. ” She ended – still without turtles.

What’s Elmore Leonard ’s secret to being both popular and respectable? Perhaps you’ll find some clues in his 10 tricks for good writing:   * 

  1.  Never open with weather.
  2.  Avoid prologues.
  3.  Never use a verb other than “said” to carry dialogue.
  4.  Never use an adverb to modify the verb “said”…he admonished gravely.
  5.  Keep your exclamation points under control. You are allowed no more than two or three per 100,000 words of prose.
  6.  Never use the words “suddenly” or “all hell broke loose.”
  7.  Use regional dialect, patois, sparingly.
  8.  Avoid detailed descriptions of characters.
  9.  Don’t go into great detail describing places and things.
  10.  Try to leave out the part that readers tend to skip.

James Burke : “Re-Connections”

24 Sep

Kofi Awoonor

24 Sep


On this dirty patch
a tree once stood
shedding incense on the infant corn:
its boughs stretched across a heaven
brightened by the last fires of a tribe.
They sent surveyors and builders
who cut that tree
planting in its place
A huge senseless cathedral of doom.

Kofi Awoonor killed in the terrorist attack by Somali militants on the Westgate shopping mall in Nairobi.

Auguries of Innocence – William Blake

4 Sep


To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house fill’d with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro’ all its regions.
A dog starv’d at his master’s gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm’d for fight
Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf’s and lion’s howl
Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer, wand’ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus’d breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher’s knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won’t believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever’s fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov’d by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov’d
Shall never be by woman lov’d.

The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider’s enmity.
He who torments the chafer’s sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother’s grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar’s dog and widow’s cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer’s song
Poison gets from slander’s tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy’s foot.

The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist’s jealousy.

The prince’s robes and beggar’s rags
Are toadstools on the miser’s bags.
A truth that’s told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro’ the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,
And return’d to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven’s shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar’s rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm’d with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer’s sun.
The poor man’s farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric’s shore.

One mite wrung from the lab’rer’s hands
Shall buy and sell the miser’s lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant’s faith
Shall be mock’d in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne’er get out.

He who respects the infant’s faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child’s toys and the old man’s reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar’s laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour’s iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket’s cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet’s inch and eagle’s mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne’er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,
They’d immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation’s fate.
The harlot’s cry from street to street
Shall weave old England’s winding-sheet.

The winner’s shout, the loser’s curse,
Dance before dead England’s hearse.

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro’ the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.