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© Fred Robel, and Fritz365, 2010 - 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Monday, October 20, 2014

[Silence On The Line]

The sound was deafening
Cutting through me like one long pin
Piercing skin and maneuvering past bone
Straight through my left ventricle
Penetrating spine and nerve bundles
Electrically shorting me out
Till I hang from my puppet strings limply
The will to listen to it anymore long gone
All I want is words
But all I get is

[Silence On The Line]

Slamming down the old black receiver
Ma Bell's best outsourced handiwork in Bakelite
I contemplate ripping the dialing wheel from its face
So as to wipe that sneer away
That smug 'Oh look at me, I'm a fucking telephone' attitude
But I shouldn't blame the phone
The phone didn't call me and not speak
Leaving naught but random clicks and taps
I'd kill for some heavy breathing
To break the monotony of the

[Silence On The Line]

Sinister in an old glossy coat
The model 500 called out with tinny bell
Rang incessantly by tiny electric hammers
No doubt run by even smaller electrical gremlins
And so I stared
Watching the almost imperceptible quivering
That was the soundless accompaniment to the sound
Wishing that the little rubber feet on the bottom were not there
So as to see the infernal machine vibrate across the table and onto the floor
Where no doubt it would land unscathed
Courtesy of an overbuilt undercarriage and shell
But that wouldn't happen
Nor would the ringing stop pinging throughout the room
I grasped the receiver once again
Putting it to my ear
Ready for the painful

[Silence On The Line]

Before I even heard the nothing that came through loud and clear
My physical form imploded into dark matter
Sending the now untended receiver clattering to the floor
Allowing me a moment to take advantage of my new form
Condensing into dark matter impulses
I dove into the microphone input end
Through those sexy circular holes
That have seen hundreds of lips brush them by
Imprinting their feel upon everyone's brains
Even if we have consciously forgotten
I chased down the spiraled copper wires
Into the Western Electric stamped frame area
Then back out the backside
Into the wall plug
Using dark matter instilled senses
Which nobody can prove do not exist
To run a hunt and a chase upon the

[Silence On The Line]

Down the wires I flew
From pole to pole
Riding the roller coaster arcs
Point tension to gravity sag
Disturbing the directory assistance
Dropping long distance calls
Coming at last to the central exchange
Where my search ended at last
With the sighting of a bio-electric switchboard operator
Moving ghostly hands and fingers
Connecting calls that were never made
Open lines of silence
Clicking and ticking
To a symphony of cries
"Hello?  Hello!  Is anyone there?"
Sung to me like a choir
Drawing my microscopic ire
An anger that must be quenched
With a dark mattered limb that formed as I thought it
Moving at near light speed
To tear into the living electrical gremlin
Shredding its being
Begetting a roar of triumph from deep in my compressed soul
Sounding more like a near imperceptible squeak
As I murdered once and for all

The [Silence On The Line]


Friday, October 17, 2014

Awaiting #2

"And now
In the center ring
Comes 
-The Thunder From Down Under
-The Brown Streak You Thought Was Just A Leak
-The Log That You'll Blame On The Dog..........!!!"

From within the white porcelain bowl
A pitiful sound echoes quietly
~pthfffffffffffffft!~

You hold the box of ExLax in your hand
Reading the label once again in disbelief
At this taunting tease of relief

"Fast Acting, Guaranteed"

You snort disgustedly 
Throwing the box into the corner of the bathroom
To mingle with the refuse of a small trapdoor spider who made his nest there months ago
Pull up your pants to resume an uncomfortable pose on the couch
With a marathon of Breaking Bad to keep you company

Waiting for Number Two


Monday, October 13, 2014

Fritzy's Sock Puppet Theatre Presents: The Ebola Tour 2014/15

CONTINUING ANNOUNCEMENT TO THE TOUR GROUP:

"The Ebola virus is an uncommonly large and rare life form
Much too large to be spread through the aerosoling of bodily fluids
Such as when one sneezes
Or pees into a spray bottle
And spritzes one's mates for laughs

The Ebola is a sickly flu-carrying parasite
That actually attacks the host organism
Through the use of both tooth and claw
It is thus that the signature profuse bleeding is produced
As pointed out in your Ebola Tour 2014/15 vacation brochures

Thankfully
After a short period of time
(The typical store bought Ebola)
Displays an ignorance of its surroundings
Quickly drowning within the blood and other fluids
That it has caused by its very actions

Now
Those of you who signed up for the Platinum Package
Please follow me through door number one
As we will get you fitted for your HazMat suits

Everyone else
Follow Eloise through door number two
Where we have piles of dust masks and cheap rubber gloves
Remember you were supposed to supply your own eye protection

We'll all meet back here in half an hour
For finger sandwiches and hand squeezed lemonade
Courtesy of Ramone over there"

~Ramone waves and quickly covers a sneeze with the other hand~
"Achoo!"

"Bless you Ramone
Get going on those sandwiches and juice!"


Sunday, October 12, 2014

Fifty-Nine

Ensconced within your ruddy '59 Cadillac
A chariot to the stars of old
The Cleopatras of Hollywood
On their way to The Bowl

But this four-wheeled carriage's best days are behind it
With fenders flapping
Edges ragged with brown rust
Not the ideal complement to the faded black paint

Peddling a tattered three inch thick screenplay
Going from door to fancy door
Agents, producers, actors all backing away saying "No Thanks"
Leaving you to drive away topless in a rainy downpour

Oh the poor old Biarritz tries its best
But a power convertible top
That consists of scraps of white fabric clinging to black metal frame
Can only do so much to keep the weather out

And so the water soaks into the premium leather
The kind that they just don't make anymore
But bringing back that faded black paint just a bit
Now looking a bit less like a dirty garage floor

Same as it soaks into you
Your flannel shirt and white tee
Long black beard and dungarees
Giving you that shiny wet look
Sort of clammy ghetto glamorous
Like an old sheep dog's fur that needs to be shook

Quite the pair the two of you are
Both born in nineteen fifty-nine
Still trying to live the good life
And just a little bit past your prime




Saturday, October 11, 2014

Anchors Away

In the beginning
Before you knew that you were you

There was you

Floating in the fluid
In the dark
With your own thoughts
An anchor to yourself
Knowing what this world was all about

Then everything changed
What was warm and wet
Was not cold and toweled dry
This was no longer the world you knew
Things had changed

And so it went
From one change to another
Meeting new people
Drifting away from others

There were those you were certain you could not live without
But you found that you could

There were those who said they could not live without you
But they found out they were wrong too

Of phrases heard along the way
"You are my anchor"
Or
"You are my rock"
Are things people sometimes say

But if they are so adrift
You should likely stay clear
Lest that anchor slip free
Or rock shift and crush something dear

In the end there is just you
As eyes close for the final time
Heart stops
Brainiac electricity peters out

You were your own anchor in reality
As it really must be
A rock to built your reality upon
Sailing the open spaces around you
Free to be the finest version of a "Me"


Friday, October 10, 2014

E.XX.X Series Technical Bulletin #4276

Regarding the Gravity Engine Servo System (GESS)
And the Orbital Sensor Tether System (OSTS):

The recent malfunction of the OSTS
And the resultant loss of four orbital Sensors
Cost the Company sixteen hours of downtime
Over the North American quadrant

A relentless root cause committee has determined
That contaminated re-supply containers out of Birdling's Flat Catapult were to blame

As a result
Approximately 112 Vespadelus Vulturnus (Little Forest Bat)
Were unintentionally released in the Central Maintenance Area

Said bats found refuge in the narrow slots along the root anchors of the OSTS
Fouling the mechanism with their guano
Which caused the emergency release mechanism to sense an overload
Releasing the four tethers on that root section

Engineering was contacted and blamed
However
They explained that bat guano was not something that was in the design specs
Therefore blame must be transferred exclusively to the resupply handlers on the ground

This portion of the investigation is still pending

As a stop gap measure
The eatery previously known as Sally's Forth 
Before the disastrous fire from two Christmas' past
Will now be used as a sealed area to receive inbound cargo

Cargo will be moved piecemeal into this area
Blast doors will be lowered
And only then will the Level 1 maintenance crews open the containers

If contamination is found
It can be vented to vacuum easily
With only trivial losses of any perishables within that single container
And one low level four person crew

If you have any further questions regarding this issue
Please reference your employee handbooks
As well as your employment contract's expendability clauses

End of E-XX.X Tech Bulletin #4276

Wishing you a pleasant day

~ Compiled and approved by Bureaucratic Computational System v.64.8734a ~


Monday, October 6, 2014

An Obligatory Poem For Your Wedding

So it's your wedding day
And you are the loveliest bride I've ever seen
Don't let anyone tell you any different
Whether true or a lie nobody would be so mean

What's that?
No, seriously you look wonderful
It's your day so I have to say
There are rules, I checked

Your beau to be
Looks cut out of a magazine
His teeth could cut glass
Not to mention his abs and ass

So don't let yourself go girl
Because he looks to be a player
If the way he's chatting up your bridesmaid there
Is how he thinks is playing fair

Shoo you, now go
The music's starting up!
Oh here comes the bride
With tears on her cheek
A stranglehold upon her bouquet
And a chain wrapped about her feet

I hope you like this obligatory poem I wrote for you
My exquisite white mother requested it
She said if I did it I wouldn't have to buy you a present
Because as we all know
Bad poetry you never wanted is truly heaven sent