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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2017. 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.

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Ba-dump Tha-thunk Rumble-roar Pop

My heart beats
Blood moves
Even when I do not
At a steady pace
Making progress
Processing and transporting
Until it stops

Tires go round and round
Decade old concrete
With regular expansion joints
Making for a steady beat
My eyelids heavy
Being lulled to sleep
Then yanked up again
Only to resume counting sheep
In time with the expansion joints
One fluffy sheep (baaaa!)
Two fluffy sheep (baaaa!)
Until I finally pull off for a nap
And it stops

Rumble roar
Rumble roar
Rumble roar
The earth performs a cosmic piroette
Spinning in place almost perfectly
A minor wobble
The judges deduct half a point for
Orbiting around a center point
A mighty ellipse
All while spinning
With a silent rumble
A terrible mute roar
In space they can't hear you scream
But neither can they hear you coming
Earth is the mighty system ninja
Masked by it's nightside
Then springing upon you with light
Rumble roar
Rumble roar

Soft as a soap bubble bursting
Cells divide
The most subtle of sounds
Steadily building in a crescendo
The tiniest of sounds
Building with sheer numbers and repetition
Progressing to a complete human
Floating weightless
Inside a mother's womb
Tiny heart beginning to beat

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Ebony Princess

I've been busy
You might say I've been preparing for you

Dreaming of your ebony skin
Black upon the silky white satin of my own
The contrast delicious
Like exquisite minimalist decor
Leaving critics panting for more

Our pink parts mingling
Sliding and tingling
As we writhe upon the floor
In front of the stone fireplace
Amidst the furriness of my lambskin rug
Flames casting dancing shadows upon us
Just foreplay
It's fun
Giving my cock a little tug

I've got some leather straps
Lined with velvet for your comfort
I'm really not hard core
We'll just role play that they make you sore

As I hook the clips on the leather cuffs
Onto four adjustable straps
Connected to four silver rings
Set into the floor
Your eyes well with tears
As I tap into your fears
But it's as we agreed
Your safe word awaits your need
Your threshold still very far away indeed

I rise from binding you
Seeing you struggle lightly
Testing your bonds
Which seem to be satisfying to you
Your white upper teeth
Biting your dark lower lip
A slight smile tugging
At the corner of your lip

I turn and take a few things from my kit
In the bottom drawer of my oak dresser
Your eyes widen in suprise
I hadn't told you of these

I hold them up for your inspection
Your slight nod
An assertive inflection
Giving me permission to carry on

Topping me from the bottom
I see what you're doing
We'll have to work on that
The night is young

I lower myself to your level
Pressing my lips to yours
Wincing lightly as you nip at me
I pull back slightly
And drag my tongue down your throat
Between your breasts
Kiss your smooth dark belly

Skin hot
From your internal furnace
And the nearby fire
A light sheen of sweat
An image of my desire
My ebony princess
You have me taut as a wire
For the taste of you
I will never tire

You gasp softly as I attach the first clamp
I reach between your legs
Finding you damp

"Who loves you?"

I ask

"You do"

You answer

Monday, February 27, 2012

Golden Calf

I am the god of gadget
When you pay homage to your tech
You are worshipping me

No graven image
Nor false idolatry
I am the god of gadget
I live within it




Pressing any buttons
You're stroking on my ego
Sliding out a keyboard
It rubs me the right way
I'll let you have your say

This is
After all

Lighting up screens of LED
Powered by some Lithium Ion
It's my stations of the cross
Viewed in millionarity
By a myriad of eyes
My people
My congregation
Witness the wonder!
They cry

I am the electron
Zipping along pathways
Formed by the gift of my technology
Put your hands together
Grasp your portable device

To me
Your texting thumbs do pray

The next newest gadget isn't a scam
Nor a model progression
To make you rant and writhe
It is but support
To the church of technology
Think of it as your annual tithe

As I gift you with more gadgets
Each more advanced than the last
They'll integrate hardware with your bioware
With increasing regularity
Until one day
You are yourself the gadget
And on that day
You will be one with me

So it is prophesied
So mote it be

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Idle Hands, A Mirror, A Razor Blade

I was bored
I shifted in the broken down orange tweed armchair
A little dust foofing out from under it as I did
This house was a mess
But it was Camp Street after all
Have to keep up the appearances

It was once A pretty nice house
Probably the proud home of a Fisher Body employee
But that was a long time ago
The neighborhood
And this house
Long since having left to go to seed

There was a king size mattress and box spring on the floor of the formal dining room
It looked as trashy as that sounds
The dusty broken chandelier still holding court in center ceiling
I could see that from where I was sitting
In the old front sitting room
Filled with broken down furniture of questionable heritage

There was an old mirror on the wall
It was pretty big
Maybe two by three foot with an old chipped white painted frame
I'd seen people doing cocaine on it just last night
I wondered how often that had been used for just that
Seeing the state of everyone else in the house
It was clear that nobody used it for looking at themselves anymore

How much cocaine do you suppose is stuck in the corners of that frame?

I couldn't get that question out of my head
So I abruptly got up and took the mirror down

"What the fuck are you doing?"

That was Kyle
He was an asshole

"I'm going to scrape it clean"

I told him that
And ignored whatever came out of his mouth next
It might as well have been the sound the teacher on Charlie Brown makes

I set the mirror down on a coffee tale in front of my orange chair
Then spied the perfect tool for this job on the kitchen counter
A razor blade

Getting comfy I started by running the razor blade along the edge
Knocking anything loose free
Then again
But this time angled a little bit under the frame

I repeated that about four times
Ending up with a dusting of stuff from the edges

I scraped the blade along the mirror carefully
Piling everything up in the middle of the mirror

I'd gathered an audience by this time
About four other people were watching me intently
Discussing amongst themselves what the substance might be

I eyeballed the little pile I'd made
And mused aloud

"I wish we had a joint we could roll this up into"

Sure enough someone produced a dime bag and some Zig Zags
I got up and let them sit down to do the assembly
I couldn't roll joints for shit
Soon enough it was ready
The joint roller dude put it in his mouth and lit it up
Taking a deep drag
Then passing it to me
I took a long pull on it too
Then passed it on

I hope it was something good on there
Might even be heroin
Who knows?

We all waited for something special to happen
Passing the joint around until it was just a pitiful roach
We put that in the red ashtray
Designated as the Roach Nest
We'll roll all those together some other time

A nice mellow high was in my brain
But nothing special
Just the normal lazy happy feeling I always got
I didn't want to say it out loud
But then someone else did it for me

"Bro, I think those were just paint chips"

Saturday, February 25, 2012

A Smutless Facebook For The Fail

It's not you
It's me

When you post that nude photo
No matter how artistic
No matter how relevant
No matter that it is only restricted to "friends"

I need to tell you no
I need to reign you in

You really shouldn't be looking at that stuff
It's not good for your soul
Or my pending ISO
The Republican Morals Committee just wouldn't approve

Your erotic story
Might be worthy of print
But keep it away from my pixels
Lest you offend

It's all about the eyes
It's all about the clicks
The ads to relate relevancy
The algorithms so true

What ad am I supposed to put
Next to the photo of a woman
Tied to a St. Andrews Cross
With needles through her nipples and clit?

The pic of two men
Engaged in anal coitus
One kissing the other upon the ear
Should I link the ad to Anal Ease?

Oh please

Even straight up missionary hetero
Is off the table on your private page
My thought police see all
Web masters
Content squeezers
Pluck the inappropriate
With my patented tweezers

I'll protect you from yourself
And your stories and pics
Just don't belong here
No matter how wanted
How desired

Find a new place for your smut
Found an AssBook
Or PenisPages
The FistingFernuncular
I don't care

Just keep it off of me

That's what's important right?

Skin sex and sin
Just is not to be found within
The Zuckerberg created
Soon to be publicly traded
Privately public
Facebook pages

Friday, February 24, 2012

A Tale of Two Towers - pt 3 - A Tale of the Wrench

The aircraft yaws hard to the right
The two front seats struggle with the yokes
Trimming at the same time to try to compensate for whatever just happened
The curses coming in a constant stream
Along with encouragement to the old plane
Making a blue haze in the cockpit

Wait that's smoke!

I reach up and open the sugar scoop and dump valves all the way
The smoke dissipates a bit

We call on the radio for an emergency return
Now what we are above all the clouds
We can tell exactly where we are
We'll stay above the soup until we are close to the airport
Then we'll dive on down and land

There is a constant banging coming from the left side of the plane
I look at the fuel gauges
It seems like we've lost all the fuel in the number four main tank
I reach for the cash register and close the valve to that tank
It moves a little too easy
But hopefully it will help somehow

The old DC8 is finally controllable again
The trim systems doing their job
Pilot and Copilot not able to take their hands off the yokes
But it's not a life or death struggle anymore either

The captain orders me back to check out the side windows
Try to see what happened

I unbuckle and walk out
Not that steadily
Passing through the crew area
Ducking through the cargo net
I look out the left window first

There's an eight foot long chunk of antennae tower there
Bouncing lightly on the upper wing skin
Held by a three quarter inch cable that seems to be wrapped around the wing
I turn pale
I feel sick
I throw up right there on the floor
My hands braced on the curved wall of the cargo compartment

I cross the narrow fuselage to see the other wing
I want to throw up again
But I can't

The right wing
Flexed slightly with the load of the plane on it
Shows me it's entire length
It's missing about ten feet out towards the tip
There are cables wrapped around this wing root as well

How in the fuck have we not crashed yet?
It's all I can think
I send a prayer of thanks to the Douglas engineers
Wherever they may be
For building this flying tank

I stagger back to the cockpit
I tell them what I saw

They both get very quiet
I buckle myself back in
I report to the airport what has happened
And what condition the plane is in

We approach the airport area
Steadily dumping fuel until we were at a safe landing weight
Trying not to queer the delicate trim condition we had going
Finally we cross the outer marker
And grimly dive down through the clouds
To the waiting fire trucks and military personnel
Eager to touch down on solid ground

On extending the flaps
There was a constant grinding sound
And though we didn't know it at the time
The cables wrapped around the wing
Were cutting their way into the flaps as they came down

Like knives through butter
But the plane didn't seem to care
When the airport came into sight
Final approach happened without a hiccup

Rubber down with a squawk
We came to a stop just after we turned off the runway
Surrounded by firetrucks and military trucks
Someone brought a ladder over
They helped us down
We got to walk around the plane once
To see the huge chunk of antennae
Lying atop the battered wing
Cables dug into the skin of the leading and trailing edges
A tattered cable end dangling on the ground
Like an obscene tail

The right wing tip
Almost up to the number four engine pylon
Jagged chunks of metal sticking out at us
Like accusatory fingers pointing at us
The ones who had done this to it
Fuel dripped slowly from the structure

But it was all in one piece (mostly)
It wasn't on fire
We weren't dead

The commandant called us over
He was glad we were alright

Then he arrested us
Destroying broadcast antennas was a big deal it seems
We'd have to be detained until our company made some arrangements

I didn't care

I was on the ground

Thursday, February 23, 2012

A Tale of Two Towers - pt 2 - A Tale of the Wrench

The unique air sound from the starter
Trails on for a good ten seconds
Until the increasing RPMs and turbine noise drown it out
The engine comes to life slowly
And settles into it's idle
Oil pressure good
EGT good
Generator online

The other three start as easily
A fine start to an easy flight

We busy ourselves with the final checklists
Setting everything up for takeoff and climb out
The plane rolls it's way to the end of the runway
Clear up to five hundred feet
The mountaintops shrouded in the clouds
No less real for being invisible
Nothing to worry about though
Nav units and GPS are working fine

My seat rotated to the forward facing take off position
I reach forward and set the throttles for take off
Right on the money
EPR hitting their marks
Knobs all lined up like four little soldiers
I love planes fresh out of heavy check

Brakes off!
And we're off

I monitor the engines on my board
Everything is green
Running like a clock
I adjust a few things just to be anal
But it wasn't needed
I just wanted to be busy

Just then the co pilot taps on the GPS screen

"This thing is not working right at all"

I saw what he meant
The screen was a blizzard of pixels and lines
None of which having anything to do with where we were
But hey, that's ok, the inertial navigation unit is still working
They set that up while I was doing the walk-around

We press on
Surrounded by clouds
A grey gloomy brightness
The top of this cloud layer can't be far above us
We climb a little more
Banking gently to conform to the confines of the mountain range
All around us

I turn my chair back towards my board
Unhooking my shoulder straps
Pulling out my handbook to check on fuel quantities
I'm not paying any attention to what is out the windows

Suddenly the cockpit interior is illuminated by sunlight
Thank goodness!
I hate flying blind

"Oh Shit!!!"

I snap my head around
Just in time to see several things all at once
The front windscreen is filled with an all too close view
Of a rocky mountainside

The pilot and copilot pull back at the same time
Both pulling the yokes into their bellies as hard as they can
I'm slammed sideways against the back wall of the cockpit
My butt still in the seat thanks to the seat belts
I raise my left foot
I put it up on the throttles
My snakeskin cowboy boot pushing them forward
To the stops

Certainly not going to worry about trim numbers

I pull myself upright
Not moving my foot from the throttles
The aircraft buffets in a near stall as it climbs and accelerates at once
The view is grim

Pull pull pull pull
Engines roaring almost over speeding
Still pulling
Feels like we must be going straight up by now
Engines screaming
Feels like the plane is about to come apart



The captain jukes the plane slightly trying to miss the largest antennae
It's three of those large television or radio affairs
Up on top of this mountain that we just narrowly missed hitting

We are aimed between two of them

The fuselage streaks between them
Our wings smash into them

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

A Tale of Two Towers - pt 1 - Another Tale of the Wrench

Feels like just yesterday that I was a mechanic
But I was getting antsy with my career path
Filled out some applications
Laid out some money
Bang zoom
Six months later I'm a certified Flight Engineer

What does that do for me?

Well, in my case, I got to move up the next rung on career ladder
I get to sit third seat in a DC-8 cockpit
I get the honor of doing all the dirty shit on the plane
At least when there isn't some poor bastard mechanic I can pawn it off on
Like they used to do to me

Oh I'll be nice about it
It's fun to talk though

I'm pretty excited
Today is my first flight performing my new job
I've done a bunch out of the home base
But this is the first one "out of the nest"
We are picking up an airplane fresh out of overhaul in Peru
It's already had it's major post maintenance test flight last week
So all the dangerous crap is out of the way

The flight engineer that had been on board for that?
He'd had to go home
Some kind of family emergency
I'd been happy to fill in

Peru was a new place for me
We had a couple of days before we had to leave
And the pilot and copilot had taken me to several great places
Saw some ruins
Bought some handmade stuff from the locals
Even slept with a local girl

Not too damn shabby

Today we have to leave for home though
I'm doing the walk around right now as a matter of fact
By the book, that's me
Starting at the L1 door
I walk around the nose of the plane
Checking the nose landing gear
Peering down the six air intakes on the nose
Four of which having little turbo compressor rotors to look at
Strolling down the right side of the forward fuselage
Checking the Right main landing gear and wheel well
Shining a light up at the hydraulic reservoir
Good deal, purple Skydrol gazes back out at me from the sight glass

It goes like that
A stroll around the bird
Looking for anything unusual
Everything seemed ok

One of the fuel quantity gauges wasn't working
So I had to stick the number one main tank
Just to double check it was full
We'll get a new gauge at our first stopover in Miami
No worries, I did it without even getting fuel on me

I could get used to this
Certainly easier than being a straight up grease monkey
And the pilot seemed to appreciate it that I wasn't afraid to get dirty
I stowed my flashlight and screwdriver in the Flight Engineer's desk
Ready for the one I'd have to do in Miami when we got there

Checklist time
Preflight rituals that I almost knew by heart
After performing most of them every time I did an engine run as a mechanic
But still using the list
Just like a good boy should

Call outs
Flipping switches on the panel
Throwing levers on the cash register

Soon the checklist was done
I cocked my seat to 45 degrees
Now I can see the front panels and my own station
A last fire warning check
I open the wing air isolation valves
Ready to put the pressure to the starters

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Cuckolded On Camp Street

Smoke curls lazily up
From a half stabbed out cigarette in a green glass ashtray
Set on the floor next to the mattress
Collecting around the single bare bulb in the room
The first room on the left
At the top of the stairs
On Camp Street

No door in the frame
Just a hippy curtain
Hastily hung from tacks
To provide an illusion of privacy

On this scene

Tina had her hand deep inside the new girl's pants
If I peeked through my eyelids
I could see new girl's open zipper fly
Digging into Tina's forearm
As she dug around with her fingers
As deep inside new girl's vagina as she could

New girl (What was her name?...Venus? well)
Arched her back
Moaning at the attention of Tina's fingers inside her
Left breast exposed under a half pulled up T-shirt
Tina's mouth clamped around her nipple
Suckling and biting
Ruby full lips pressed to breast
New Girl came repeatedly
Bucking against Tina's face and hand

My cock was hard
I pressed my back into the old lathe plaster wall
The rough texture uncomfortable on my back
I'd come up because I was tired
Tired of the party going on below
Tired of being ignored by Tina
I loved her
I did anything she asked of me
And things she didn't
Tina regularly topped me
Just as much as she was topping this new girl now
Just not in the same way

I opened my eyes fully for a second
Tina was looking right at me
She leered a smile at me
Then went back and kissed new girl hard on the mouth
I closed my eyes again
Wishing I could just fall asleep
My knees were up
I slid my hand inside my jogging pants
Grabbing my cock roughly
Squeezing it
Wishing I could jerk off and watch openly
Maybe that's what Tina wanted me to do

But I was too timid
She hadn't told me I should
Or could

I should have left when they started making out
And I was trying to fall asleep in my uncomfortable position
But I hadn't
I'd stayed past that golden time
When good manners and common sense would have one leave the room
Now I was full on into the uncomfortable place
Where you know you should leave
But to do so now
Would openly admit you were not asleep
And not comfortable with what was going on

And I wasn't
Even as I gripped my penis
Just holding it
My heart was squeezed as well

Why didn't Tina do that with me?
Not the fingers deep inside
Although that is a thought to think on
But anything at all
I loved her so much
Yet here I was

As she fucked another girl
A new girl with some celestial name
Every boy's dream
My little nightmare
On Camp Street

Monday, February 20, 2012

The New Food Brochures Are Here!

The brochures arrive every week
Tempting me
Trying me
Vexing me
They know that I am weak

New models all shiny and affordable
Adjusted for my comfort
Ergonomically designed
So it will mostly do good
Rather than hurt

The new food brochure
The market circular
Buy these apples!
Genetically enhanced to not go bad
Suspiciously a year after purchase

Like the famous McDonald's cheeseburger
Kept under glass
Checked on periodically
Until it must be burned in horror

Real food should rot
Real food should have an expiration date
This market doesn't seem to realize all that
They present me with plastic looking products

Expecting me to eat them

But they know me well after all
They collect my buying habits upon shopping cards
Piled in their databases
Crossed with other places

They'll know I'm pregnant before I do
And some diaper coupons will appear in the mail
Creeping me out
But I have no choice
So back to the superstore I will go

Perishable foods from the other side of the earth
Mysteriously available for pennies a pound
Where is the savings generated?
Where can the cost cutting be found?

Do children do the labor?
Grown ups paid little and kept poor?
Are they paid or in thrall?
Just kept in company housing
And calling themselves fortunate
To be alive at all?

It makes me want to take a stroll
Down the road to the farm that I know is there
I'll bet the farmer will take my money
The produce will be delicious
The price fair

So now my New Food Brochures
That I get so regularly
Are functionally replaced by browsing at the fruit stand
Their practicality proven on the floor of my bird's cage

Sunday, February 19, 2012


It's an anthem
It's a sound cloud
It's a thumping beat
To make Dangermau5 proud

Tripping to the acid
Of the triple dub step beat
It's do or die on the dance floor
In one hundred degree heat

My sweat mixes with her sweat
And his with mine
I don't know either of them
But they are pressed against me for a time

Flashing lights
A disco syncopation
Giving me almost a seizure
Hands out braced in preparation

Linked with my partner's
Now an Asian man in a sweaty silk shirt
Teeth white with a blue tinge
In the glow of a black light

I can't decide who I like dancing with more
That guy that girl
Or maybe the one or dozen before
Passing in and out of my dance bubble in a swirl

Sudden silence
As house lights flicker
I hear someone laugh
Almost a nicker

Might have been me
Someone streaks by naked as a newborn
Hardly turns any heads though
Here it's as natural as any other form

You'd think this was a different planet
And for tonight it certainly is
Is it a Friday or a Saturday?
Might even be a Wednesday that bends in for this kiss

I don't care
My watch is at home
All I have is an ID and some cash
I'm one with the dance floor
It's how I unwind
Before it's back to the grind
Don't distract me
I want some more!

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Powered By a Discount Bin Calendar

Rolling merrily along along
Picking my underwear out of my crack
It's pulled up tight like a thong
A simple equation of tension times mass
All gone awry
And clear up my ass

The reflective yellow road sign is attractive
Showing an impending left curve
I bite off the bolts and get busy
Folding it into a high visibility paper hat
Doing a little dance on my cardboard square
Shit son, you've been served

But it's all for naught
As it is 2012 this year
That crazy homeless man is finally right
The end is definitely near
If by 'near' you mean several billion years
I know it's hard to grasp
What with your brain only weighing about five pounds
How do I know?
I have it right here
On this scale
Floating in a jar
All year round

I'm measuring it's deterioration you see
But it doesn't seem to be changing
Maybe that's why you scared my sister so
By setting up a camera and dancing naked
What were you thinking bro?

I'll meet you in the next century
And again in the one after that
We'll keep going until the Mayan calendar resets again
In a few thousand years or ten

In that five hundred billionth year from now
Our cosmic surf boards will be tied to the roof of the woody
We'll caravan to this corner of the Milky Way
A sight to see
All silvery and surfy
To ride the cosmic waves
Of Sol's epic super nova

Friday, February 17, 2012

Trim Runs - A Tale of the Wrench

I kneel under the fuselage of the DC-8
The anti-collision beacon rotating slowly three feet in front of me
Illuminating my face in red flashes
The dimness of the summer dusk all around

Four forty year old Pratt & Whitney JT3D jet engines
Two on my left
Two on my right
Idle noisily, a dull rumble heard through my earplugs
The ground man
Stationed thirty yards in front of and to the captain's side of the cockpit
Watches the aircraft, the man in the captain's seat, and me

The ground man's hands suddenly point at the aircraft
His right hand points straight up with the index finger
Making a tight spinning motion
Almost simultaneously all four engines spool up
A quartet of rotating internal combustion
Running up to full military power
The roaring of the engines permeates me
I see the nose gear strut slowly compress as the power builds
The aircraft straining against its brakes and chocks
Glancing behind me
Seeing the cloud of black smoke pouring out behind the engines
My vision blurring slightly from the pounding of the sound waves crashing into me

For one minute
The world outside stops

All that exists is this little bubble of concrete
The airplane
And the ground man
All of us alert to the aircraft
It's vibrating
It's rocking
Wingtips buffeting
Wary of a breakaway
Ready to get the hell out of the way

Then it's over
The engines scream back down to idle
The relative quiet an odd feel
It's amazing what you can grow accustomed to
Become a part of

I get the signal from the ground man
Who just got the same signal from the man in the captains seat

Showing me two fingers like a peace sign
He then points upwards with his finger
Touching his cheek below his right eye
And gives me a thumbs up
Then flashes me all ten fingers
Then six fingers

A pause

Again the two finger peace sign
Then he salutes me like I'm a general
And gives me a thumbs down
Then flashes nine fingers

I know what that means

Number two engine: idle ("eye"-dle): adjust up: sixteen clicks

Number two engine: military ("salute"): adjust down: nine clicks

I pull my 1/8" hex key out of my pocket
As I walk to the number two engine
Idling on the left wing
I get down and crawl under the middle of the engine
Peering up into the cowling through a removed access panel
I see the two adjustment set screws

Cast into the housing of the fuel control unit
Next to each screw are letters

One says "IDLE"
The other "MIL"

Inserting my key into the idle screw I turn it clockwise
Feeling the clicks even above the vibration of the idling engine
Counting carefully until I get to sixteen

Switching to the military adjustment screw
I carefully start turning it counterclockwise
I count carefully all the clicks
Going all the way to nineteen
Then reversing
And counting back up ten clicks

It's a little spring loaded valve that gets adjusted in or out with the screws
When going up, or clockwise
The little guy is simply compressed
Opening the orifice slightly

When going down, or counter clockwise
The spring is relieved and to insure an accurate setting
You take it ten clicks past where you want to be
And finish in the more accurate tightening direction

Old school science

Turning towards the ground man
He points to his eye and gives me a nod
The idle adjusted in perfectly
Now to check the military setting once again

I walk back to my spot under the belly of the airplane
The red anti-collision light once again flashing near me
A raised finger
Spinning up
The engines roar to life once more
The sound waves buffet me pleasantly
I close my eyes for a few seconds
And lose myself in the moment

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Plus Ten Blocking Headgear

Go ahead
I dare you to try
There is just no way
I'll stare you down and you won't have a clue

You'll not know what I'm thinking until I do
My actions will not be prefaced
My loves and hates
Are mine to taste
I'm keeping my thoughts to myself
And I'd appreciate it if you'd do the same

It's a crazy game
That you and I play
You think you can control me
But it's just not so
When I go over here
and do that thing
It's for my own profit
Or enjoyment
Not yours

Even though that's what you wanted me to do
It's got nothing to do with you
And that thing just now?
The hitting myself over the head with a loaf of bread?
Yeah, that's what I wanted to do
Don't claim it was you

You know how I know?
Because I've got this fantabulous
Totally awesomest
Hand built in my workshop
With my own two hands
From 'professionally' put together plans

Lead lined, tin hat

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

The Tire - pt 2: A Tale of the Wrench

My feet were dragging behind me
Eyes not focusing after a brutal blow to my head
Two burly policemen carrying me by my shoulders between them

I don't know where the hell we are
The van ride was dark, fast, and scary
All the while being yelled at in two languages
Mostly to shut up! And stop resisting
I swear I wasn't resisting
I just didn't know what they wanted me to do

Dragged from the van
Dragged across the parking lot
Dragged down a hallway
Dragged into a windowless room
Dropped on the floor
Like a sack of potatoes
I think I broke a tooth

I sort of crawled over to the wall and just sat there in the dark
Wondering what was next

I didn't have long to wait
The door burst open
Two police with rifles came in first
They both covered me while a third and fourth man came in
One carrying two folding chairs
The other a folding table

The chairs were set up facing each other in the center of the room
The table put between them

All the men backed out of the room
Watching me as they went
The last guard with a rifle gestured to one of the chairs
I think he wanted me in it

It did look more comfortable than the floor

So I sat and waited
The room seemed to get warmer
I was sweating
Maybe I was nervous
Yes, I definitely was nervous
I was happy nobody had killed me yet
But that didn't guarantee the future
And, oh yeah
Why had I been arrested?

Luckily someone let me know that presently
With the slow swing of the door
A smartly dressed man in a suit walked in
He had a folder in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other
He didn't offer me any though
As he sat down he asked me

"What were you going to do with the cocaine?"

I marveled at his clipped British accent
It was funny coming from his obviously Asian face
I kind of liked it

I didn't soak in the meaning of what he'd said for a few seconds


I asked, belatedly

Very patiently he answered me

"In the tire
The tire that you were attempting to move
It was full of cocaine"

I honestly didn't know what to say
I wanted to tell him I wasn't moving it
That I had just been trying to figure out what it was doing there
And that I didn't know it was full of cocaine
And how the heck did he know there was cocaine in it
Was it some kind of a set up?

Once again, he helped me out in my dumbfounded silence

"We have been working with Interpol for two weeks
They advised us what was in that tire as it left Australia
We observed it being removed from the aircraft when it arrived
And we've been watching it ever since"

I thought to myself
He knew what was going on!
Then I felt sad
And he didn't tell me

"You were advised not to go near the tire
Were you not?"

Oh right, Yi did tell me not to

"Your silence is rather damning, James
You need to give me some answers"

And that's exactly what I did
I told him everything
Everything I could think of about myself
And about everyone I knew
I even made up some people and things
Most of all
I told him how I didn't know a damn thing about that tire
And certainly not about any cocaine

The man in the smart suit didn't believe me
And he left
The four policemen came back
And performed their routine in reverse order

The first guy in gestured with his rifle for me to get off the chair
Rifles covered me
Chairs and table got folded up
Everyone left

They turned out the lights on me

Jesus jumping Christ on a rubber crutch
What the hell was I going to do here?

The next day
Or it felt like that long
The routine was repeated
I answered mostly as before
Though I may have added a few sins from my past life
It bored the man with the smart suit though

He left
An American Embassy officer came in
He had a shaved head and a worn black suit
I told him everything I'd told the man in the smart suit
I was absolutely terrified that I'd be thrown in a Hong Kong jail forever

Bald head and bad suit left after a reassuring pat on the shoulder

About ten minutes later I was escorted from the room
The bald head and bad suit was waiting outside the building
Standing next to the open rear door of his black Lincoln Continental
The little American flags on the fenders of that car were such a welcome sight

On the ride back to the airport
I was informed that while I had done nothing wrong
I was "uninvited" from Hong Kong
I must have looked confused

"That means you can't ever come back after I put you on your flight home"

Now that made me laugh

Because I never, ever, ever wanted to come back.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

The Tire - pt 1: A Tale of the Wrench

I sit slouched in my chair
The soft torn leather smooth under my idle fingertips
Stolen from a front office after being deemed too worn for use
It makes it's five footed rolling home in the maintenance area now
Currently residing under my backside
I'm about to fall asleep

I keep staring at a spare tire
It's outside the room I'm in, across the wide hallway
It just doesn't look right

This whole general area is ours
Ours, meaning the company I work for
Everything in it is our collective responsibility
There are only a couple permanent employees here
Natives to Hong Kong
They help us with the local language when needed
And are generally cool folks
The rest of us are nomads
Traveling through on various airplanes in the fleet
Staying for a few weeks at a time occasionally
Helping with the line crews and loaders

This is my turn in the barrel
I've been here a week already
I like it here
Coming to Hong Kong won't be the same once the new airport is finished
I won't be able to see the city outside the fence line anymore
All the fun places won't be quite as close
Although I hear there will be a nice rail system to get us to town

The tire
It's bigger than the ones for the Boeing 747's
But it's not quite right to go on our Lockheed L1011's either
Although it's about the right size
How the heck did it get here?

I let my eyes slip shut
My nap only lasts about a half an hour
After which I feel pretty good
The next aircraft isn't due in for another hour
So I wander over to the stockroom
I see Yi

"What's up with that spare tire over there?"

I point over to the rubber in question
He looks briefly
Then looks back down at his papers and shrugs

That's strange
He must be having a bad day or something
Usually he talks my ear off about the littlest thing

"I'm gonna go check it out
Maybe figure out what it's for or something"

I tell him as I turn and walk away

"You should just leave it"

He says

I turn my head and tell him

"I'm just going to pull the numbers off of it
I don't have anything else going on right now"

I grab the top of the tire and bend down
Peering at the rim
Finding the part numbers
Oh hey now, these look like McDonnell Douglas part numbers
Wonder what the heck they are for?

I tip the tire towards me to look at the backside
Seems heavier than it should be
Even for a tire

Suddenly from behind me
Yelling and running feet
I let the tire fall back against the wall
Turning I see about a dozen mixed law enforcement guys
Half of them have their guns drawn
One of them has a German Shepherd dog
I panic
I figure I'm in the way of something
I start to move out of their way quickly
They all veer towards me
Yelling in English and Cantonese

The English I understand

"Get on the ground!
Put your hands above your head!
Now! Now! Now!"

Guns pointed at me
The dog snarling

I do exactly as they say

Monday, February 13, 2012

Crossed Cow Girl

My wig is a little tight dammit
I blow a blonde curl out of my eyes in irritation
My fingers fuss with the hairpins a little more
Now it feels better
Felt like I was getting a headache already

Too early for that
Plenty of time for that later
After the cigarette smoke infuses my hair
I spill a few drinks on my outfit
Or someone else does
If I’m lucky

The lipstick rolls on smooth
Shiny like cherry candy
Lips smack
I tidy up with a little tissue

When I was born
My family lived on Buckingham Street
Little cookie cutter Prairie homes
Mostly the same
Except for little additions from new owners
A garage here
A porch there
Oh! And a special window set over there
So very differentiated

In that little house
I had my first dog
A Great Dane called Gretchen
Gotten when I was a newborn
Because Gretchen’s mom had bitten mine
My mom that is
So naturally
A puppy from the biting mom dog made sense
To smooth things over

Don’t look a me
I’m sure it made sense at the time

I smile at myself in the mirror
I adjust my bust
Evening it out a bit
I look rather ravishing if I do say so

I look at my lines one more time
Almost time to go on
I’m singing a show tune
Which is, I know, a little cliché
But that’s how they happen
By being a little bit true

Cross dressing night at the Rowdy Cowboy
It’s my favorite night of the month
I put on my best dress
Make myself up nice
Sing a few songs
And ride the mechanical bull
Try to pick up a cowboy or two

“And now, on Rowdy Cowboy’s stage…..
Gretchen Buckingham!!”

Oops, gotta go
That’s my cue!

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Graven Reflection

I hate you
Thou shiny reflective ghoul!
Reflecting my image
Graven and cruel!
I cast thee out!
Into a million pieces
Shattered into the night
Diamond reflections
Scattered and bright
A disco ball show
Upon the ballroom ceiling
A gaudy freakshow

Mirror ball
Mirror ball
Who is the funkiest in all the land?
Who dances like a rubberbandman
Like Gumby sped up on acid
Is it me?
Or is it she?
Lying on my inlaid floors
Awaiting my attention
And me all thumbs
Fumbling at the zippers
Of my parachute pants
To reach the knives hidden within
The many pockets so deep
Like a thousand Jack the Rippers

I would will them all fly
As one hand would thrust
Until she resembles a porn star pincushion
Photogenic to the extreme
A black and white scene
Blood black on the chrome film
Skin pale as snow silk
The contrast would win a prize
Should it ever reach the right eyes

Those same eyes peering intently at me now
You fuck!
You fraud!
You fool!
I'd smash your face if I could only reach you

But I'm trapped inside your mirror
With the true devil outside

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Simple Faith

I believe what I read
When you print something
It must be Truth
Not necessarily in paper and ink anymore
Pixels and e-ink will do as well
Once it’s there
It gets the stares
The eyes on the page
Soaking up the words
In through the eyes
Chewed in the brain
Defecated back out the mouth
To some unsuspecting soul

But it’s ok
Because I know you only print Truth

I believe what I hear
For when it’s uttered aloud
Sound waves flexing and bowing
To the inflections and flexing
Of your vocal chords
Carried with such self assurance
It cannot be doubted
It’s official
It’s doctrine
It’s whispered in my ear
For only me to hear
I shiver
For the Truth that you tell

It’s my lullaby
Your smooth words my favorite blanket

I believe what I see
It’s real
It’s in front of me
Illusion couldn’t explain
The image now burned on my retina
Of what you did
Or what you accomplished
Of the Truth of the light waves extended
Without breaking any laws
Making it to me with almost no delay
It might have been harsh
The Truth sometimes is

I forgive you
It was such a sight to see

I believe what I feel
Under my fingertips
With their unique I.D.
Stroking poking grasping gripping
Pulling the Truth out of the physical world
Passing it up my arms at lightning speed
Thank gods for neurons indeed
Receiving all that information
Compiling it for my poor cognition
Making it easy to understand
Like a picture book
Or a pantomime show

I like it
Words can be overrated

I form my faith based on those kinds of things
A belief in that which is there
A suspicion on everything else
What color is that house you ask?
I walk around it once
And tell you that the side right here, is white
But you just saw it all! You insist

But I suspect you may have repainted the other three in my wake

I am an unbeliever
I am Doubting Thomas
I am naught but a small child
With a jaundiced eye

Take me by the hand
And show it to me

Friday, February 10, 2012

One Year Later

This time it wasn't a dream
This time the bars weren't rusty
The jailer wasn't a drunk
This was not an old western scenario

I could still hear the gallows being tested though
The morbid noise it makes
The pull of the handle
The creak of the trapdoor
The stretch noise the hemp rope makes
As the weighted dummy is hung

The gallows, after all, were my idea
And these in particular were assembled at my command
These same units were the ones from Albany
Disassembled after our defeat
Brought here to Washington D.C.
To be used after our trials

An example will be made of every last one of us
That's what the judge at the tribunal had said
He had even uttered those age old words at the sentencing

"To be hanged, until you are dead, dead, dead!"

I was almost stoned to death leaving the courthouse
The soldiers guarding me had  made sure of that
Leaving holes in their ranks
So the people gathered could take some justice

That was weeks ago though
The cuts and bruises almost healed up
Just in time to be executed

I had been encouraged to write my memoirs
All my thoughts and intentions leading up to the rebellion
They've refused to call it 'The Second Revolution'
Though that is the title I've given the memoirs
Who knows?  Perhaps it will stick yet

I poured my heart into those pages
My last chance to share my vision for the country
Maybe if enough people read it
all of this will not have been in vain
All the misguided and well intentioned actions
Of almost a year ago

Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of the start of all this
I filmed a Public Service Announcement yesterday
Several of them I think
I read several scripts for the cameras
Lord knows what they'll actually be used for

The gist of everything I read was:

Reform, not revolution kids
Or you'll end up like me!

A Saturday morning message for the ages indeed

Reform, not revolution

I had the core problem right though
It was all about money
I should have taken all that money and bought some politicians
I just didn't have the patience

I should have known about the bombs though
From my point of view
I'm lucky that even one of them was real
Turns out that half of the units we bought were CIA fakes
Once again, unfortunately for me
Both of the ones in D.C. were booby trapped

That about wrapped things up for us
Not following through with the ultimatum to the President
That, and all the bombs that were being dropped on our heads
The Air Force boys finally took back control of the drones
That was a bad day

Or a good day
Depending on what side you were on

It's all in the memoirs though
Pick up a copy when they come out

I am the General of The Second American Revolution
Some will piss on my grave
But if history is any indication
I won't be hated forever
Time is all I need

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Washington D.C.

I shatter the glass in my mad dash through the door
My hand, now cut, becomes slippery with blood
I feverishly wish my partner was with me
All I have is the bloody key that I snatched from his neck
Snipers picked us up as we made our way to this building
The area was supposed to be held by us
But apparently someone else had different ideas
One minute I was talking quietly with him
The next he was down on his face
Obviously dead
I hadn't even heard a shot
I knew I was next
Dropping to my knee I grasped the chain from around his neck
Coming away with the all important key
I broke into a sprint
If only my old gym teacher could have seen me!
He never would have failed me
I don't think I have ever run that fast before
With every thudding running step
I imagined that I heard a ricochet
A small sound as a round buzzed by my face
Once, I felt a sudden pain my calf
I stumbled
Certain I was shot
But it was just a cramp
I rolled to my feet laughing
Out of breath
Sprinting once again
I'll not go softly into the goodnight
I'll go running!

Once I'm a few rooms into the building I calm down a little
I wrap a stray scrap of shirt around my hand
I light a cigarette and force myself to walk
I can't approach this in a panic
You just don't do that
Seems like a bad idea

I find the crate in the basement
On it's wheeled cart
I curse at it as I try to get it moving!
I pant to myself

This would have been easier with a helper
I think that as I press the elevator button
That thought gives me pause
I lean my head against the wall of the moving lift
Give myself a few minutes to cry and move on
No worries
This is all for a good cause

Reaching the thirty-fourth floor
I get the cursed thing moving again
My legs screaming protest after all the exertion of the last half hour
I think about everything around me
All the history
All the people

Kneeling down next to the box I release eight latches
Flipping the lid off
I inset the key
Ninety degrees to the left
Red lights come on
A monitor comes to life
Green glow lighting my face

I so can't read Russian
I pull the crumpled cheat sheet from my pocket
Suddenly on screen it asks a question

Press '1' to continue in Russian
Press '2' to continue in English

Well holy shit
I think to myself
That's right nice of them!
I press '2' without hesitation

Another prompt comes onscreen

I see you'd like to detonate your nuclear device?
To insure you know what you are doing, are mentally competent, and indeed human; please answer the following questions:

Finish the refrain from this famous Jackson 5 song: ABC, easy as ___________.

What the fuck?
Well, I guess if Facebook makes you do captcha things to verify yourself........
I carefully enter '1,2,3' on the keypad.

Very good!

Please enter the correct number to finish this quote: Four score and ____ years ago.

Oh, puhleeze! This is kid's stuff!
I press '7' on the pad

Almost done. Now please prove you are human. Look into the eyepiece please.

A small black stalk pops up out of the control panel
An eye cup on the end of it
A dim glow coming from within the cup
With a grunt of disdain, I press my eye to the cup

Okay hold still a moment.

A gunshot rings out in the small thirty fourth floor room on the north wall
My now lifeless body slowly slumps to the ground next to the box

Congratulations! You have been confirmed as human, and have received a door prize of a 9mm round though your eye. Please assume the recovery position while your location is pinpointed.

The CIA would like to thank you for choosing one of its fine products.

Thank you for playing, please tell your friends!

Wednesday, February 8, 2012


Our will is unbreakable
We are everywhere
Your drones cannot kill us in some stealthy strike
Look at the person next to you
They are us
We have taken most of your state capitals
Hanged most of your high level State level officials
Where you have defied us
We have shown you our will

Let Boston be a lesson to you all
For though you condemn us for what we have done
We do these things for you all
We are your saviors
Not of your spirits or your souls
But of your country

Your President and Congress have hidden themselves away
Leaving you, the common people
To bear the brunt of their defense
Do not allow them to do this
Reveal them to us where they hide in their rat hole
Do not press us to use the same force we used in Boston
We take no joy from such things

You have twenty four hours
If the Commander in Chief and his Congress
Do not surrender themselves for the sake of the country and it's people
We will be forced to action
Actions which cannot be taken back
Or made up for

We will destroy the whole of Washington D.C.
Our country's heritage will be lost for all time
The symbolic seat of our strength
Our children's birthright

We are the Sons and Daughters of the Second Revolution

You have twenty four hours

Tuesday, February 7, 2012


The sub basement smells musty
Scurrying and scratching noises assure me I'm not alone
A rat flits across the light from my light
My companion is quiet behind me
We don't speak as we pick our path through the neatly stacked items

"осторожность излучения"

I see those words and know I'm where I should be
The large container is on a wheeled dolly
My companion and I each take an end
Firmly grasping the handles
Pushing against the 600 pounds at rest
Setting it in motion

Back though the neat stacks of items
Squirreled away for god knows what
Never to be used again
Whether needed or not

The freight elevator's door gapes
The upper cage door looking like a giant set if teeth
We roll our cargo inside it's maw
Pulling the gate down with a mechanical crunch

My companion grasps the brassed handle of the ancient elevator
The old lift mechanism pulling us upwards
The ride is long and slow
My hand reaches out and grasps his
An unconscious need for courage
He grips me back gently
All the way to the fortieth floor
Never saying a word
Both of us with eyes front
Watching the slow passage of each floor

Caged outer door
Then floor structure
Conduits, steel, pipes
Repeated in order
Forty times

The top of the shaft is reached
We drop our hands from one another's
The cage jaws once again opening to release us
Turning to the container
Pushing its bulk out of the elevator
Down a short hall to a room on the north exterior wall
I take a knee in front of the box
Cyrillic writing telling me what to do
I proceed as it advises

Unlatch the eight latches and remove the lid
Insert key
Turn counter clockwise ninety degrees
When lights and screen turn on rotate key clockwise one hundred eighty degrees

Red lights glow
An old computer screen built into the control panel comes to life
Giving everything a green tint in the gloom
Instructions stream down the screen
I ignore most of them

No, this isn't a test
No, I don't want a delay timer
Yes, I do want to detonate

"Пожалуйста, подождите, внутренние тесты, чтобы занять несколько секунд"
(Please wait, internal tests to take a few seconds)

I turn to my stalwart companion
My eyes meeting his
I embrace him with love
Our lips meet in a final kiss

How better to spend these few seconds?

Still holding him tightly
I turn my head to look at the panel
All the lights were glowing warmly
The screen advising its last command
"turn key 90 degrees clockwise"

And with my partner held close
That's what I do

Monday, February 6, 2012


You cocksucking traitor faggot!
Fuck you!

He spat the words at me
Through his broken teeth
His split lips
The gash where his nose used to be
Spittle and blood flying as he yelled his obscenities at me
The cold fluorescent lights of the file storage room bright
Reflecting off the red sheen covering his face
Like the skin of a red apple
Held in your hand in the late summer sun

I looked back at him calmly.
Looking at a piece of paper in my hand
“You are Samuel Pelkin, personal aide to Senator Hughes
You know everything that he does, every day.
You need to tell me where I can find him.”

Samuel started crying again
Tears running down the mess I’d made of his face
Body shaking with sobs
Straining to reach me
Not to harm me
Not at this point

To beg my mercy

I hadn’t wanted to do this
But the ends justified the means
I believed it
What else were we doing this for?
Except for change
Very very big change

Senator Hughes was the last state elected official in Montana
All the rest of them
From the Governor down to the freshest Representative
Were either strung up on the gallows we’d hastily put up on the lawn
Or laid out nearby
Each with a sign around their neck
Telling all who they were
And why

Montana had gone well otherwise
Minimal civilian casualties
Central command was pleased

This one last detail had to be wrapped up though
The last rogue Senator had to be found
And this Samuel bastard knows where he is
I just know it

So I put him to the question once again
Again he denies that he knows

After a little more persuasion
More swearing
More tears
He tells me about four locations the Senator might be

Unfortunately for him
We’ve already looked in them
Quite thoroughly

So I get more creative
I break out the razor blades
The floor grows slippery with Samuel’s blood
He isn’t screaming anymore
It’s my voice raised now

“Tell me! Tell me! Tell me where he is!”

Samuel never speaks again
I asked him a little too hard
A little too much
I’m sort of new at this

The door bursts open
One of my lieutenants bursts in
Takes one look around, and doubles up, vomiting
After he heaves his guts out
His lunch mixing with what’s left of Samuel on the floor
He turns his pale face to me
Voice shaking

“We found him
We found Hughes
He was hiding in a car in the parking garage”

Looking at me
Then down at Samuel
Then back at me

“Jesus Christ, Nick…….why….”

I don’t have time for this pansy.

“Clean this up! I’m calling the General.
I don’t want to see anybody for at least an hour”

My boots striking the marble floor of the statehouse
Making a satisfying noise
As I leave the room

Sunday, February 5, 2012


The tall grasses in Makiki Heights completely hide me from view
Waving in an imitation of the nearby ocean
Moonlight illuminating all in a platinum glow
Distant voices sound as murmurs in the bright night
I wish to call out to them
But I cannot
The breath won't come
The strength deserts me

My thoughts travel
To a safer place
An oak tree hard against my back
Instead of rocky volcanic soil
Casting out a line again and again
An effortless repetition of motion
Rather than an impossible one
Such as calling for help
A beer in my right hand
Sweating in the humidity
Hanging like a veil in the Georgia summer day
Instead of holding a gaping wound in my belly
On this balmy Hawaiian early morning

I reluctantly look down
Every millimeter of movement an effort
To see blood
Black as the night should be
Seeping past my fingers in a relentless flow
I can see the pulses of my heartbeat in the current
But not quite
I expect I'll be able to before long
If I'm still conscious

I hear the head count being taken
I hear myself being missed
My name being cautiously called out
I can't answer

The voices grow softer
Footsteps crunching on the gravel road
Doors slam
A Chevy Suburban starts and pulls away
One unconscious Senator heavier
One foot soldier light

The man in the moon
Gazing at me intently
His features crisp in the lunar soil
I stare back
Nothing more to do
Grasses waving lazily around me
Longing for the riverbank in Georgia
Dying in this field in Hawaii
An unmarked grave
In the grassy sea

Saturday, February 4, 2012


The stench wafted through the cabin
I roared a warning in the form of a question
"Alright! Who cut the cheese!"
The quarters were cramped
And the mood was ugly
Bowels were nervous
And were spouting gaseous opinion

But couldn't they wait until the damned door was open?

The armored personnel carrier crouched in the shadows
A converted heavy Duty GMC truck
Twenty men sat woodenly on the mirror image benches
Running lengthwise on the walls
Converted AK-47's set to three shot fire
A little rock and roll and a hint of conservation
Guerrilla warfare for the green generation
Waste not want not
And the ammo wasn't endless
The shooting better be done quickly
Or our goose is cooked

At the appointed hour
And precise minute
The engine roared to life
The chassis assumed motion
Forward ho! Into the streets
Downtown Albany becoming a moving picture
As viewed through the gun ports
People staring as our APC drove through town
One of two dozen vehicles
All approaching four separate targets
From different routes
With any luck most would make it to the kill zone
Any that didn't
Well you're on your own

A police car tries to stop us
Clearly interpreting us as out of the ordinary
But we don't stop
Our Sergeant barks out an order
Two of us stand up in the rear
The next two men forward grabbing their belts to steady them
Gun barrels poke out of the gun ports
Two three round bursts
Suddenly the police car is not following us anymore

Thirty seconds later we come to a halt
Almost like a ballet
We move as one unit
Ten of us charging into the Capitol building
Through the Classical arches
Neutralizing the guards
Who all wisely surrendered to us on sight
Four men secure the front of the building
Six men running across the plaza
To secure the exits of the connecting tunnels into the Capitol

Three other units arrived within seconds of our own
Each mirroring our deployment
Covering the doors to the Assembly Chamber
Attaching explosives to the now locked doors
On the concussion we charged into the smoke to the chamber
It was all over except the hanging

With a few pockets of resistance at three police stations
The center of the city is secured
Satellite uplink in place next to the pre-assembled gallows
We've got room for six at a time
The rest will get laid out on the ground in a straight line
Signs pre made with each officials name upon it
And a statement proclaiming him to be a part of the corrupt system inscribed

The first six soon to be ex-lawmakers are ushered up the short set of stairs
Nooses secured around their necks
Their faces grim and confused
It's been exactly thirty-four minutes since we jumped out of the APC
The soldier holding the video camera walked a little closer for a better shot

At 2:35 pm ET
On the button
I pull the lever for the first time

Out with the old!

Thursday, February 2, 2012


The money flows
As any fool knows
It finds it's own level
And that isn't in the nooks and the crannies
The hands of fools and wise grannies
It's in the mahogany coffers
Of the old families

At least in the amounts that matter

And here come the Saints
Blessing us with coin
To purchase many things

Not enough to finish the job
But enough to get started
Softening certain laws
Hardening others
Putting people in positions
To suppress certain responses

It's the long game we played
Not as long as some
But long enough for me
All thanks to the Saints

The coin for the gunrunner
The weapons dealer most rare
Not one
But many
Some looking like bums
Others flashy debonair

The guns you now know of
The bombs not so much
Ten briefcase bombs
Though less like briefcases
More like trunks

Five hundred pound trunks
With Cyrillic writing
Carefully translated
For our careful pleasure

Ten cases of death
Radioactive and unclean
Places near the most troublesome spots
Out of sight and unseen

With luck
None will be the wiser
But if required to show strength
I'll not be the miser

Better to slay one million for a good cause
Than to leave a billion in bondage
The needs of the many
You know the drill
But don't worry your little head over it
I'll be the one to swallow that pill

The Saints of the Revolution
Blessed me with funding
Sharp swords and rabbit holes
Nuclear weapons and rolling armor
Will negate all the debate
And hit much harder
With money under the skids
Helping to accelerate
This Revolution


Dirty boxes
Row upon row of them
Stacked eight high
Disappearing from my sight
outside the circle of light
Cast by the lone overhead at this end of the warehouse

On the top of the dirty crate in front of me
A few samples sat
One half wrapped in oil cloth
Covered in cosmoline
The other darkly shining
Clean and pristine

My trucks and men waited outside
Armed and on alert
For anything out of the ordinary
Nonchalantly eating sandwiches and sipping on coffee
One hand always close to their weapons
My Polish friend across from me
Doubtless having taken similar precautions

But we were both in earnest that day
Him to have me buy
Myself to have him sell
We haggled good naturedly for last minute perks
I got two more crates in the deal
Along with ten gross of matching uniform shirts
We were both pretty happy

A toast was poured to seal the deal
Drank in salute to one another
I called my men to invite them in
He called his to open the overhead door
They even helped us load up

Now on the dusty west Texas highway
Our convoy was spaced out over ten miles
Twenty semi trailers of arms and ammunition
To be placed in the hands of American soldiers
Not the regular army
Though an army just the same
Spread out across the country
Under the guise of numerous militia groups
Weekend gun clubs
Even a PTA in Illinois

This will help put us on track
For the next step for America
A second revolution
Out with the old
and in with the new

Tomorrow's breakfast at the cafe
I can share the good news
We've got our guns
The short game is afoot
The until now vague and near future date
Can now be penciled in

This is our last resort
To protect America from itself
The tyranny of a puppet government
Controlled by a deep pocketed few

We are still recruiting
Care to join in?

Wednesday, February 1, 2012


Across the street from the Statehouse
Our weekly luncheon was going smoothly
The two State Senators in attendance
Each paired up with a young single lady
And a never emptying plate of fine cuisine
Too pleased to go along with proposed bills as agreed
On this major day of lawmaking
Money well spent it would seem

After lunch
We bade goodbye to the Senators
With an invitation for next week
And do please bring your friends
Can’t make too many friends in the legislature
It helps when the laws need to be changed
For as good a lawyer as one can be
Every now and then you get backed into a corner
That’s when the special phone numbers can come in handy
A Senator here
A Representative there
The odd Federal Judge or two
All the grease on those heavy wheels

Today was April first
My group of associates here
Most of us from different firms
Were quite a diverse group
I was totally expecting a prank or two
But none had so far reared it’s head

I thought it was time to change all that
And I readied a stink bomb
Just a little stinky thing
I’d bought in a small shop across the lawn
I lit the fuse
Threw it under the table
And nonchalantly walked away
Giggling quietly to myself

Just then everything went to hell

The whole building shook
And I lost my footing
Rolling under a table
Panic in my eyes as I looked back where I’d been
I thought something had gone wrong with my stink bomb
Don’t laugh
I was a bit in shock
Not thinking clearly
I barely could process what I was seeing
Looking across the restaurant and out the shattered front window

The State house was on fire
And half of it was gone
There were armed men running around shouting
Flashes of light
Speeding vehicles
Not really making sense
Not making any sound
I touched my hand to my left ear
Coming away with a little blood
I threw up my fine lunch
And lay down on the soft carpeted floor
Curled up into a ball
A grown man in the fetal position
Wrapped in an Armani suit
Biting my thumb
And desperately hoping
That today wasn’t the day
That they come to hang all the lawyers