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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.

Friday, August 31, 2012

Genetic Con Game. MMD5

"It was all a front for French's research
He advertised at universities
And on community bulletin boards"

Grandfather's voice took on a conspiratorial tone

"His volunteers knew they were guinea pigs
But he lied to them about the specifics"

His old brown leathery tentacle reaclhed up
Massaging his scaly head
Sending a shower of dead skin around him

Every year around this time
The skin on his head and neck peeled away
Revealing the soft pink underneath
At least for a few weeks
Until it hardened again

And it itched
Or at least that's what he said
Personally I think part of his doing it
Was just the pleasure in peeling it off
Like a kid with a scab

"French's claim on paper
Was that this was all part of Monsanto research
Into synthetic engineered hormones
Designed to stabilize everything
From moods to appetite"

He peeled off a particularly large piece of skin
And held it in front of him for a few moments
Regarding it before tossing it towards the warm hearth

"What it really was of course
Was mutation research
From some of the test subjects he took samples
To others he administered test mutagens"

The fire was dying down again
So I quietly got up and padded over to the woodpile
That stood next to the stone hearth
Grandfather went on as I grasped two medium logs
Setting them carefully on the coals
Trying not to singe my fur as I usually did

"Some of these mutagens were mild
Designed to change hair color
Or produce more or less skin pigmentation
Small changes
Nothing drastic that would arouse suspicion
But Vladimir had joined the research about three months into it
And French had seen positive results from his manipulations
There was something in Vladimir's genetics that stuck out
And we never knew what it was exactly
But Whatever it was
French gave Vladimir something a little more drastic"

"In exchange for forty-one thousand Dram
Vladimir Kudin
A student at Yeravan State University
Traded away his humanity"

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Fingers the Clown

Fingers the clown
Wasn't exactly aptly named
For of the mentioned fingers
He really didn't have any

He'd lost them in Nam
While juggling grenades
To amuse and confuse
The Viet Cong away

Fingers the clown
He could still juggle
In a strange and wonderful way
He'd slap'em and tap'em
Keeping everything in the air at all costs
He could indeed
Still juggle like a boss

Fingers the clown
Didn't get much work
His stumps made people nervous
They'd avert their eyes and curse
Looking at his awful make up and arms
Not knowing which was worse

Certainly not the kids
They thought what he did was marvelous
It was the parents
Who would rather not be reminded of such things

Then came the day
That Fingers was late for a gig
This rarely happened
So he ran
With one stump on his wig

Around a corner he came
And fell into a garbage truck
Like a pratfall in a show
But it wasn't
Just his bad luck

The truck was compacting
And it took off his legs
Sending him back into therapy
One doctor for his body
Another for his head
But they certainly did him some good
For this is where it all led

If you want a unique experience
Some great juggling and laughs
I'll recommend a great clown for a start
He calls himself Fingers & Toes
And he'll arrive quickly
Look for him down low
On his red wheeled crippled clown cart

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

While White

Walking while white
Man it's a bitch
I can go where I want
Without a single hitch

I can check out chicks asses
Without fear of mob violence
I can talk back to cops
I'm allowed a little defiance

Driving while white
That's easy too
I just hop in my car
What? Can't you?

Doesn't matter if I'm driving my Geo
Or a blacked out Lamborghini
With my light colored skin
There's no doubt it belongs to me

I don't get pulled over
And spread out on the hood
While I'm searched and suspicioned
Regardless if I'm bad or I'm good

I can pretty much go where I please
Without any harassment from the man
Except for that time
I had too deep of a tan

But it was soon cleared up
When I showed them my tan lines
We laughed and shook hands
No detainment or fines

Sometimes I feel guilty
But only a little bit
Because after all
I'm not the one getting treated like shit

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Vladimir Kudin MMD4

Hurry up or we'll be late!"

My roommate pounded on the wall impatiently
As if that would make me finish sooner

He thought I had stomach trouble
I'd been in the bathroom most of the morning
And it was true
I had thrown up quite a bit
And there was considerable cramping

But that wasn't what was wrong
At least I didn't think so

I pulled the crumpled up piece of paper out of my pocket
With trembling fingers
The instructions for post procedure care
Were simple and straightforward

Plenty of fluids
Plenty of rest
Keep the solid foods to a minimum for three days
And call if anything seemed too strange

I hadn't been sure what "too strange" had meant
At least at the time

For the first day everything had been perfectly normal
I rested
Watched television
Played video games
Drank lots of water
Had a light meal

When I awoke on the second day
My arm was itchy
The spot where I'd had the injection
It had developed a rash
And it felt like I had a fever maybe
But there had been something going around the campus
So I thought not much of it

The third day after I'd answered the advertisement
Which had been pretty standard fare from the science department

"Wanted: Test subjects for medical study"

Every campus has them often
It had paid well for that sort of thing
Though right now it didn't seem worth the trouble

Two of my teeth had fallen out when I brushed
And the cramping was almost unbearable

I'd developed a rash all around my neck
Similar to the one on my arm

I pounded back on the wall to my roommate

"Go ahead, I have to go back to the clinic I think"

He said something about my missing class again
Then the door slammed
He was gone

Slowly I made my way to the phone in the hallway
Laying the piece of paper on the table
I focused my watering eyes on it with difficulty
And dialed the number


It feels like forever
But someone answers finally

"Hello, this is Vladimir Kudin"
I say trying not to sound as lousy as I feel
"Can I speak to Dr. French?"

Monday, August 27, 2012

The Armenian Incident MMD3

"In a town called Shorzha
On the shores of Sevan Lake
A body washed ashore"

The old man could still picture it in his mind
His gaze turning inward
His body young again
Wearing blue coveralls
Emblazoned with the United Nations seal
Above the left breast

"I was a member of an investigative team
That was sent to find out what was going on
Because this was no ordinary body"

Grandfather grabbed the poker from the rack suddenly
Coiling his tentacle around it
And whacking at the burning logs
Breaking the hot charcoal surface open
Exposing more of the interior wood to burn

"This man had gills
And webbed feet and hands
He no longer had teeth
Just kind of two bony plates
One on top
One on the bottom"

I sat up from my slouch
Almost spilling my still half full cup
"Just like the mermen in the Great Lakes!"
I exclaimed

Grandfather nodded
His mouth pursed into a half frown
"Yes, just like them
At the time we thought perhaps this man was simply a deformity
Perhaps brought on by radiation exposure
As it was known that this man's parents
Had been living in the Chernobyl area
When that disaster had occurred"

He idly rolled the poker around in his grip
"Except this man
Vladimir Kudin was his name
And he was perfectly normal
At least up until two years before his body was found
We spoke to people who knew him
And saw photographs as well"

I drained my cup
Waiting for the kicker
Grandfather had told this story before
But the remembering is in the telling

Turning his mismatched eyes to lock with mine
He intoned ominously
"Vladimir Kudin was the first transformatively mutated human
And he had drowned trying to escape"

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Bubba French MMD2

"Bubba French was a genius
His name first came up in 2024"

Grandfather cleared his throat
Spitting quietly into an old handkerchief
The camp chair made of tree branches
Hiding under all the quilts and cushions
Creaking ominously as he shifted his bulk
As if it was willing itself to not fly to pieces
Becoming kindling for the crackling fire in the hearth

His right tentacled appendage
Wrapping thoughtfully around his left hand
Grandfather went on

"He was the new hope
That was going to reform genetic research
I can't tell you what he did exactly that gave 'Hope'
All I know is he was on Time Magazine's cover
And it said "A New Hope" over his head."

Chuckling suddenly
He added

"Lucasfilm sued them for that
But I don't suppose you even know what I'm talking about
It was a famous movie title
And back then companies and people
They thought that you could own words"

Grandfather was silent for a little while
His mismatched eyes
One blue as the ocean
The other a sparkly brown
Which changed to gold at times

This was one of those times
His ocean blue and sparkle gold
Locked upon the dancing flames
Heedless of time

I sipped my spiked coffee
Grateful for it's warmth as it coursed through me
Sitting back in the chair
Sticking my furry toes out towards the fire
But not too close
I learned not to do that years before
I scorched all the hair off my feet once
And while it hadn't hurt
It had smelled pretty bad

The old mantle clock chimes it's half hour sound at us
Breaking the old man out of his reverie
And starting him talking again
And a wee bit less whispery

"French was hired by Monsanto
He was the new face of the company for a time after that magazine cover
And they trotted him out at every news conference
They made him their poster boy for a new era at the company
A new era that would result in them being loved by the world
Or so they had hoped"

HIs leather skinned brow wrinkled deeper
Brown tentacled left gripping pink monkey right hand
Just a little tighter

"Then in the summer of 2027
We all found out about the Armenian Incident"

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Firelight. MMD1

Dark grey stones set with mortar
Reflected absorbed heat from the fire at their center
A half log mantle ran across the width of the fireplace
Holding an old arched clock
The kind you wound with a key
The kind that chimed every fifteen minutes
Adding to it's song every time
Until it hit the top of the hour
When it would play all the notes again in order
Then solemnly count the hours
With a monotonous single note
Played again and again
Until you were sure what time it was

Grandfather sat in his familiar place
A few feet from the hearth
In squashed down cushions
On his old chair
Covered in multiple layers of tattered quilts
All done in a different style
Of mad colors and shapes stitched together
Until it was hard to tell where one quilt ended
And another had begun

The chair was placed strategically
So Grandfather could grab the poker from it's rack
And then poke at the fire
Sending glowing embers disappearing up the chimney
Chasing away the spirits
Turning wishes into dreams

This is what Grandfather reached for now
His brown leathery tentacle wrapping around the wrought iron poker
Raising it out of it's rack
Bringing it into play with the half burned logs
He was pondering our current subject of discussion
Which we'd paused in order to attend to important business
Such as grabbing some more wood from the woodpile on the porch
And making some fresh coffee
Grabbing a few cups of whiskey from under the sink

You know
Important stuff

Now here we sat again
Me with the six fingers of my two hands
Firmly wrapped around my metal cup
Keeping the chill at bay with the fresh coffee
Mixed with two fingers of Grandfather's whiskey
The metal hot and comforting on my furry hands

Grandfather stopped moving the poker in it's hypnotic rhythm
His flexible appendage snaking out to replace it in the rack
He sat back
Picking up his own steaming metal cup
With his pink skinned traditional human left hand
A reminder in this day and age
Of what we used to be

Grandfather took a sip
The fire crackling healthily
Putting off just the right amount of heat

Clearing his throat he spoke in his whispery voice

"It all started with Bubba French"

Friday, August 24, 2012


I've misplaced my desktop
I came in this morning
And It was nowhere I could find
It's frustrating and stupid
Makes me feel like I'm losing my mind

All I can see
Is a sea of papers
Folders stacked high with projects within
And the tops of desk knicknacks
Protruding like the odd shark fin

I don't think I'll ever see my desktop again
The work displayed
Is enough for a year
And it just keeps coming in

One day I fell asleep at my desk
And when I awoke
I had to burrow my way out
The amount that had come in almost made me choke

This will go on forever
I'm at the wrong end of the delivery tube
It just keeps on pouring in
Nobody even bothering with lube

I've given up on sleep
I stay here twenty four hours a day
In a vain attempt to get ahead
I've literally traded my life away

I've lately come to the realization
As I work like an office zombie
That I'm not meant to ever finish it all
There's no relation to money
For cost is no objective in this endeavor
There is only one fact that is key

I'm a lower middle class drone
Right down to my bone
Opportunity never darkening my door
Till the day that I drop dead on this floor

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Lines In the Sand

There is this line
Seemingly etched in stone
That states firmly
"I will go this far, but no more"

Everyone has one
Or two
Or a dozen
Regarding a myriad of subjects
But all coming to the same conclusion

"I will go this far, but no more"

Sometimes we go right up to this line
Invisible though it may be
And what lies beyond sickens us
Though it fills others with glee

One thing seems certain though
Spend enough time right on that front line
And the concept of going just a little further
Becomes less and less foreign every day
Until an opportunity presents itself
And suddenly something just the other side
Seems to be not that far away

Surely I can go a little over
And jump right back again
Nobody will notice
Your ego looks the other way and then

There you are
In no man's land
In a place just past your limit
But not yet in a place called Too Far

Without realizing it overmuch
You've just negotiated with yourself
And given a small piece of your soul
To an unnamed third party
All in an effort to achieve some goal
That seems shiny like a diamond
Though the reality is a bit more like coal

Maybe you step back behind your line
In an attempt to reinforce your limits
But what's done is done
And that line will never be so firm again
Perhaps if you look back right now you'll see
That this line in front of you is not the only one

There is a succession of lines
Laid out in your wake
Rungs on a ladder you've used
To get from there to here
A progression of choices you've had to make

The most important and real boundaries
Are not set upon us by others
But are set up around us
By ourselves

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Smother My Ugly Brother

Hold still while I open a vein
While I pour out the venom
That collects throughout the day

The repetitious hate speech
That pours like vomit
From one man's mouth
Said with a sneer
Meant to convey
Who the fuck knows what

"Short dicked AIDS riddled faggot"

The rhetoric bounces off me
Not directed at me
Just floating all around
And I fucking hate it

Where's my duct tape when I need it?
Just to tape his mouth shut
I might choose to slip a little while I wrap
And close off his nose in the bargain

Smothering him and his comments
Literally as well as figuratively

I'd be at peace with it
I swear to tap dancing christ
And I'd go home with a light heart
Thinking of nothing but bunnies and puppies

Speaking of which
Isn't it time to leave yet?

I don't think the clock is moving anymore
I'll stare it down just to see


Thank god
Time is still marching on

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Variations On a Pussy Riot

It's a bearded clam block party
Where the shit is going down
And the clams party hearty
Like it's their last night around
Soon they'll end up dinner
So it's time to shave them beards
First one done is the winner

It's an Axe Wound Insurrection
Wide open for all to see
Everything unedited
Just as it needs to be
Don't like the message?
Wishing us dead?
Piss off
Fuck off
Be glad this axe wound isn't in your head!

It's a Fur Burger Revolution
It doesn't mind being passed around
A soft and furry fist of twin lipped fury
Breathing words into you without a sound
It keeps your attention with it's looks
It gets inside and hangs on by hooks
Like a song stuck in your head
Threatening your sanity
But only eroding your ego instead

Its a Pussy Riot protest
Breaking up the cathedral
Punk rock doing what it does best
Pounding at the pillars and bending the dihedral
Silence shattered in an instant
Revealing a shouted melody
Shocking music for the onion dome set
Resulting in a not quite guilty plea
Two years of hard labor is what you fuckers get

Monday, August 20, 2012

Pussy Riot

Where were you
For the Pussy Riots of 2012?

Were you sitting shiva in the congregation
Reading your bible
Singing your hymns
To the great god above
And the great leader
Who are one and the same?

Was the shock on your face
A mask over the rage in your loins
At the bare necessity of the performance?

Did your pussy want to join the riot?
Did it want to jump free of your pants
Run up to that altar and prance
Along with the vocal performance
Sing along and take that chance
Don a mask
With cutouts in just the right places
Flex that labia
Make all the right faces?

Did your cock want to join the riot?
Did it want to protrude and march
To the front of the room
Put on a ski hat
And piss out lyrics
A constant punk rock chant
Jutting to the heavens
Pointing to the cathedral ceiling
Like a massive veined middle finger
Pulsing in Pussy Riot feeling

More likely
You only heard about the riot
Cock twitching once at the mention
Pussy maybe moistening slightly
Mostly giggling in a Western sensible way
At newscasters and columnists
Who were forced to say a "dirty" word

Detached as we are from the Pussy Riot
We'll never know what it was really about

Not really
Admit it

Mr Gorbachev tore down that wall
I even heard Reagan tell him to do it
So now obedient
Mother Russia is a hub of democratic capitalism

Long live oppression
It will follow it's long progression
As it always has in those sorts of places

And in just the same way
A revolution is only a heartbeat away
Just like a Pussy Riot
Barely contained and concealed
Within someone''s pants

Sunday, August 19, 2012

I Only WISH You Were Inconceivable

I find you improbable at best
You are not inconceivable
As has been stated
By the short man in the leather vest

I find you wholly real
Both to the touch
And alas!
To the smell
A very visual manifestation as well

Though highly unlikely
It is true
You did occur
You were conceived
Brought forth
Formed of mud and had much life breathed into

All the swirling miasma
That makes up a DNA soup
All cohesed to make your pattern
And out your mother did you poop

Now here you are
Baffling my sensibilities
Bending my logic
Trying to wrap my head around you

However highly unlikely that you are
Here you stand
Not just a theory by far
Though sometimes I wish you were

I acknowledge your existence
But that's about as far as I will go
But if you don't shut the fuck up
It's conceivable I'll slap some sense into you

Now that's a real possibility too

Saturday, August 18, 2012

The Astounding Pebble!!

It's an airplane party
So why is everyone just sitting around?
Shouldn't you all be flying about
Doing stunts and getting down?

Is the cost of 100 Low Lead dragging at your wallets?
Well I have something here
That will turn it upside down!

It's marvelous
It's magical
It's gravity defying-riffic!
A once a day
Put it in your tank
And fly it right away
Compact fossil fuel replacement

I call it the Pebble

Yes, the Pebble
And to you
This might just look like just a pebble
But let me assure you my friends
It is so much more than a pebble

Why you put one of these in your tank
And you'll see a slight decrease
In the amount that it takes to fill up!
That's right, a slight improvement !!

Don't believe me you say?
Well just buy ten of them
Maybe even a hundred!

Then my friends
You will see an amazing drop
A drop in the number of gallons you need
In order to fill that tank of yours

Your fuel bill on one fill up
Why it will drop quite noticeably
So don't delay!
Order yours today!

The amazing Pebble
Available in brown, black, or tan

Only available on TV

(Not responsible for any drop in range or increase in frequency of fuel stops)

Friday, August 17, 2012

Come My Baby

Come my baby
Come come my baby
Come into the bedroom
And cum with me baby

Mum and dad are out of town
Their big bed is so empty
Take off your hot blouse baby
Set your tits free

Lay you down on the bed baby
Playing house with you and me
This daddy will dine on your tits baby
In a fulfilling infantile fantasy

Slide off your pants
Slip into your skin baby
I'll cup your smooth ass
And tug on your clit so gently

On your back
Stare at the popcorn ceiling baby
As I lick your insides
Making you cum repeatedly

Squeeze my head
Let me know you love it baby
I live to give you love
And to hear your voice squee

Now lick my face
Lick your juices off me
As I slip my cock up in place
"Tell me how you love it baby"

You yell your words at me
Full of filth and form and function
Making me pound on your pussy
Losing track of time in all this fun

As time stopped we became one
Pushing and thrusting and sweating
Screaming at the top of our lungs as we cum
Only then seeing how late it was getting

So come my baby
Come come my baby
Help me remake the bed baby?
Once it dries
They'll never even notice the wet spot

Thursday, August 16, 2012

This Old Hat

This old hat
It played none
It was full of holes
And I couldn't find one

The hole
Inside the whole
Of the whole
Of this old hat

I took it off
I twirled it around
It seemed empty indeed
But then I heard a sound

It was mewing and meowing
It was hissing and swishing
It had eyes that glowed at me
It jumped forth with furious glee

It appears that there is a cat
In this old hat

It ran off with the hat
And I tried gamely to follow
As it bobbed and weaved
All through the hollow
Then it stopped and exclaimed
"Mega meow"

It all had a definite Seussian wallow

And I let it carry me onward
Though the premise was hard to swallow
Past exhibits of Sneetches
Dining divinely on leeches
Using silver cutlery
Polished to a sheen
By the resident butlery
And all in the middle of it
Was the source and the fuse of it

That old mangy cat
In the old holey hat

I wouldn't stand for this
This just wouldn't do
I'd have that hat back
Before I was through
I'll say it again
But trimmed up for time


The cat became wary at that
He could tell I was so serious
As I was sporting my Joker mask
And as I moved in he became quite furious

That cat would not willingly give up that hat

So I called upon the cat's antithesis
A dog nicknamed Genesis
Named such because it had layed down
Just like the lamb
Upon Broadway

The dog charged the cat
Who now took shelter in the hat
But alas it was no shield
There was naught to do but yield
For as the pair came together
A flash in the pan signaled the end forever

All that was leftover
Was the old hat
Now more full of holes than ever
Perched jauntily on my head
And me looking oh so clever

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Raven Night

Black wings spreading across the world
Encompassing all in a downy black night
No stars no moon
No comfort from the terror
Of a blackness that never ends
The wings of the raven swaddle us
Keeping us close to it's heart
Thumping in a quick steady bird beat
As we all plummet in it's feathery grip
Down into what we can only guess
The only glint in this world
Is the reflection of the heavens
Upon the raven's glossy eyes
Staring straight down it's beak
Breaking the air
On this ballistic flight

And then the wings snap open
Exposing us to the 'verse again
Humbling us in it's vastness
Wondering how we could have thought
That our world was as small
As the soft black breast

Of the raven


I can feel you there
Even though my eyes are closed
It's the ten tonnes of your stare
Laying upon me while I am exposed

But then I open my eyes
To catch you in the act
And you are gone
Sleeping soundly in the sack

But I'm onto you
Because you've got it in for me
Every time I look away
You grab the knob and turn up the creepy

About to eleven

I awake to the vivid feel
Of your hands upon my throat
An ice pick sliding into my eye
Living in something Poe might have wrote

But always you are too crafty
Always looking so innocent
Even pretending to love me
As if you were so heaven sent

I'm not going to wait around
To let you succeed at your task
To simply have my body found
While you hide behind the loving mask

The wine I served you tonight
Well it had something extra didn't it?
Feeling a little drowsy in a not quite right way?
Allow me to express my love to you today

In the form of binding you
And by way of dragging you
With love do I toss you
Over the fence into the hog pen

I will toast you my love
From the safety of this chair
As I observe the crime scene
And celebrate the failure of your loving scheme

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

A Woman Emerges

Steam fills the air
Washing mirror
Coating hair
With a fine fine mist of moist

Stepping up and out of the bath
Standing on the towel
Shuffling it forward along the path
Confronting the mirror in the fog

A swipe of the hand
Reveals a face
A face that feels almost out of place
In this porcelain foggy land

A set of high cheekbones
Pouty full lips
Carefully plucked eyebrows
Hands firmly on nude hips

No makeup no agenda
Feet squarely upon the firmament
Nothing standing between her
And her own judgement

With a little wiggle
She regards her form
Her expanse of skin
Beauty getting slightly worn

She sees that she is good
A smile breaks across her thoughtful face
A soft laugh that doesn't feel out of place
And it was good

Monday, August 13, 2012

Mindless Thought Mechanism

Time to get going
Not with a whimper
Not with a shout
But with a mechanical scream

Now that's what it's all about

Uncountable RPM's
And ludicrous miles per hour
A continuous urine stream
A warm golden shower

Lubrication for the process
A quart of whiskey for the brain
Soothing all the fears
Quelling all the pain

Gears and wheels turning
Out ideas ten a second
Contradicting most things I say
Some vacuous and stillborn
Forgotten along the way

If I had a nickel
For every time I said
If I had a nickel
Fifty cents would be in the jar
In the shadows under my bed

But the jar is only figurative
The only one that i have
Is full of moonshine from my cousin
Slowly making me blind and mad

So the fifty cents rolls around
Unpaid and a debt owed
To my psych the penniless bastard
Which thinks oftenmuch
Of steampunk mechanisms
And ideas both young and old
Written upon the walls of my prison
Whitewashed over by the staff
Over and over again

Bleeding through the layers
A confusing mass of half seen symbols
Pollutes any original thinking
Making it derivative and sad

Unable to make corrections
Sheathed in this straitjacket of faith
It squirts out uncensored
In spurts now and then
Until the staff happens by
And paints over it again

Sunday, August 12, 2012

In Goes The Man

A dirty leather jacket walks into the room
Topped by a dusty head of hair
With a shaggy mustache
The whole biker assemblage stops

Right in the center of the room
Facing the dressing mirror
To stare

A hand reaches up and strokes the mustache
Ruffles the windblown dusty mop
Then unzips the jacket
Taking it off and tossing it onto a chair

The dirty white t-shirt
If white was what it once was
Taught against lean muscles
Soon joining the jacket
On the chair
In the corner of the room

The torso revealed
The grim dream of every guy
For one reason or another

No Mr Universe
But lightly defined
With the odd scar
Here and now there

Sitting himself down in a chair
Dirty old boots and jeans
Which sport an impossibly large
Dinner plate of a belt buckle
Gets tossed with the rest

Stocking feet make invisible tracks
For the bright clean place
The porcelain white of a bath
Steam filling the room

Clouding perception
Even as it cleans pores

Socks and underwear
Fly through the air
Landing silently
Next to all the rest

The bathwater is warm

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Disco Digger

A disco balls drops into view
The bass starts thumping
His hips start humping
If you were there you would too

Disco boots polished to a sheen
Hands and face sparkling clean
Tools at the ready
Music getting heady

When the ground starts moving
It's time to get grooving
With a shovel and a pick
It's time for some disco digging

Rocking out with the pick
Swinging close to his face
He engages the shovel
And goes for hyperspace

Glitter ball reflections on the walls
Dirt flying in all directions
Beat picking it up where it falls
Disco ball showing off a million reflections

None can dispute his disco skills
Nor the holes deep in their throes
This disco digging really pays the bills
Keeping him in fresh hoes

Before it seems possible
Last Dance is playing again
Time to put up the tools
With fatigue that can't be feigned

Disco digger pushes the button that kills all the lights
Switches off the amps
Hits the showers with a swagger
Humming Queen's We Are The Champs

Disco digger got style
Even though after awhile
You'll tire of his disco boots
And nerdy sounding woots

He can't be denied

First for the moves he makes
And the looks that he takes
Second for the deep disco holes he digs
So perfect as to flip wigs

Now silent
The dug up dance floor waits
For next friday night
And it's accompanying disco light

Friday, August 10, 2012

Isolated Science

Big ones into little ones
Little ones into big
One part becoming many
Many parts becoming one

Our group was united
Behind a liberated front
Wearing uniform and insignia
We charged and bore the brunt

Now broken but still fighting
Our little battles here and there
The war rages on
Beneath our individual glare

Pulled back a few stops
Unzoomed but still focused
Upon a sight some would call impressive
However this observer is nonplussed

A mass of swirling people
Is all that can be seen
Moving in subtle warring patterns
Like a school of frightened fish
Every kindness and atrocity represented
To be watched and noted as you wish

Stepping back yet again
Things settle down a schoch
The many merging into one again
Not moving, only twitching at the most

Apply the stimuli
In just the right way
Action flowing from the why
That you've supplied with just your say

It's doctored science
Fraudulent at its best
Not worth the paper it's printed on
Failing any unobjective test

Looking at things
From maximum distance
Little to see
Even less to do

Out of boredom
We zoom back in
For the chaos and joy
Of our little plush room with a view

Thursday, August 9, 2012


Beautiful Barbie
With long blonde hair
Pale pink skin
Waist impossibly thin
Perfectly supported plastic breasts
Made for play
Made for fantasy

Fantasy turned expectation

Burned Barbie
With crispy brittle hair
Skin turned black
Lips still parted gasping for air
Doused her in kerosene
As punishment for an unfulfilled dream
Frozen in a burnt plastic scream

An unexpectedly pain filled dream

Savage Barbie
Skin painted different colors
Hiding the burnt plastic flesh
Like a body art installation at Burning Man
Bold primary colors applied tribally
Some little feathers filling in lost hair
Pictures taken and shared virally

Barbie avenges her notional existence

Post Traumatic Stress Barbie
Painted colors now faded
Too brittle to play with
For fear she would break
Driven around the countryside by Ken
In the pink Barbie Motorhome
Looking for a Barbie Dream House that will never appear

Barbie cries herself to sleep in Ken's plastic embrace

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Reservoir pt4 - Tales of the Wrench

Driving the tug back to hangar three
With my little trailer dragging behind me
Laden with a dozen bags of speedy dry
I dreaded arriving at my destination

I was a hundred yards away
And I could hear the yelling
Lots of "What the fuck"s
And some "Who the fuck"s
Were being thrown around

When I got there
I helped unload the bags
Dumping them where it was needed
To sop up the hydraulic pond under the airplane

Eventually, the mess was on it's way to being taken care of
And it was time for the finger pointing

Fingers pointing directly at one thing
The return valve on the back of the hydraulic mule
Which prevented any of the hydraulic fluid from returning
From the airplane to the mule

So the mule kept pumping fluid into the plane
Until it was full
And the quarter inch diameter relief valve
Which was located in the system
Was no match for the half inch supply line
Continually trying to pump a 3000 psi flow into it

When I was asked about it
My response was a blank look
"There's a return valve on there?"

It all ended up being chalked up to a training accident
And after the whole day job
Of removing the exploded reservoir
Which needed two ratchet straps around it
To chinch it back to some semblance of it's former shape
In order to get it down through the access hole

At the end of the process
The beleaguered and detonated reservoir
Took it's place on the scrap table
Along with a dozen or so lines
Which had had the misfortune of getting in the way
And two tired mechanics
Wet like two Skydrol swamp monsters
Posed next to the unfortunate victim
So as to preserve the moment

All mostly forgiven
Lessons learned
Experience gained

Murphy lurking in the background, somewhere

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Reservoir pt3 - Tales of the Wrench

The airplane hadn't quite stopped shaking
When a new noise rushed in
Sounding like a waterfall
Hydraulic fluid began pouring out of the aircraft
Dumping on the floor at an alarming rate

I grabbed my radio and yelled like a panicked French hen
"Stop it! stop it! just make it stop!"

He was quick to reply
"You silly bastard, you have the off switch!"

I punched the off switch as fast as I could
The whine of the pressure pump inside the mule stopped
But the sound of the waterfall did not
At least not right away

It still rushed out
All over the floor
From the left main landing gear bay area
Covering the floor with over 100 gallons of Skydrol fluid

I was in full panic mode
Something had happened
And I'd had something to do with it

I grabbed the speedy dry barrel on wheels
And pushed it towards the spill
Dumping it on the floor
Trying to keep it from getting to the drains
It would be hell to clean it out of those pits

A couple other people working in the hangar came over
Dragging a second barrel of speedy dry
Following my example
They tipped theirs over too
And started using the push brooms to build little dikes
Containing the mess to one large area at least

My partner had arrived by then
Having shut down the plane and unplugged power
He took one look at me
And told me to go get some more stuff

When he said 'stuff'
It translated to 'spill kit' in my head
Which is a plastic barrel full of special absorbent pads
Only to be used in an emergency
Which I considered this to be

I drove over to a different hangar looking for a kit
Spotting a supervisor
I ran over to him and asked
"Where is the Spill Kit?"

He stopped in his tracks
And looked at me strangely
"Why do you need one?"
He asked cautiously

I hesitated
Due to my assumed guilt in the matter
"We, um, spilled some hydraulic fluid over in hangar three"

He narrowed his eyes at me a little
"How much, exactly?"

I fessed up sadly
"I don't know, however much is in the plane and the mule combined"

"Jesus Christ! Just go get more bags of speedy dry
I'll meet you over there"
And off he went
Swearing to himself
Though I imagined it to be at me mostly

Monday, August 6, 2012

Reservoir pt2 - Tales of the Wrench

As the needle on my gauge hovered at 3000 psi
I announced to my partner over the radio

"3000 psi"

He called back, "Cycling the flaps
I'll let you know when to check the angles"

The flaps on the Douglas DC-8 slowly retracted
My hydraulic mule whining in protest
At the additional load being put on it
As the large actuators sucked and pushed
Against the volume and pressure of the fluid
That pumped like lifeblood
Through the thumb sized tubing
That routed in around and through the aircraft's skeleton

My hydraulic mule
Sitting just behind the wing
And just to the left of the fuselage
With it's thick
Arm sized rubber lines leading to the plane
Where they are attached near the left main landing gear
To large fittings next to the hydraulic reservoir

The mule pushed the fluid
Making the show move along
The flaps cycle up
Into the retracted position
Taking about thirty seconds to get there

My partner calls out
"Coming back down"

The flaps start to move again
Extending aft and starting to angle down
I am transfixed by the mechanical motion
Idly watching my pressure guage
To make sure it maintained near 3000
Keeping a watch on the flaps
Making sure everything moved without a problem

The flaps reached the bottom of their travel again
My partner called out again
"Going back up, then we'll start taking measurements"

I open the plastic box I have set on top of the mule
Inside is the digital protractor
I can't wait to use it
All the new toys seemed cool
It wouldn't be boring yet for years

As the flaps reached the halfway point
Between extension and retraction
I was ripped from my thoughts

An explosion rocked the aircraft on it's shoring

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Reservoir pt1 - A Tale of the Wrench

I want to tell you that my voice was steady
That I sounded strong
That I took it like a man
That I kept calm and carried on

But I can't

It was a hot day in August
We were working in Hangar Three
An ancient Douglas DC-8
Stood upon shoring
In to the facility for extended maintenance

It was training day for me
Just having recently transferred departments
I was going to get to play with some equipment

"Just have your radio on
And press the power button to start the motor
Then adjust this knob until it hits three thousand"

Pounds per square inch that is

"Don't do anything until I tell you though, ok?"

It sounded so simple
Performing flap rig checks
Just fire up the hydraulic mule
Run the flaps up and down a few times
Then use the digital protractor to check the angles
At several different stop positions

It doesn't get much simpler
A fine way to kill a few hours
On a sunny day in August

But as with most things
There is always just a little bit more to it
Than you think at first

And Murphy
With his silly little Law
Was lurking around the corner
Ready to laugh as something went wrong

We plugged in the ground power cable
My partner going upstairs
To nestle himself into the cockpit
With all it's 1950's era controls and dials
My radio crackled
At the same time I could hear the inverters fire up
As the aircraft power came online

"Ok, fire up the mule and give me pressure"

I pressed the big red button
The heavy duty electric pump
Buried inside the mule came to life
With a loud whine
LIke a huge vacuum cleaner
But without the rushing air sound

I grasped the knob
Turning it clockwise
Watching as the pressure gauge inched upwards
To the operating pressure
Of 3000 psi

Saturday, August 4, 2012


Like a wanderer I roamed
Too far away from my home
Upon a ribbon of highway
Named most appropriately TransCanada

A young transgender
Or at least that's how I thought of myself
Of neither the pussy nor cock clan
Sort of out on my own
To find out who I am

Coming over a rise
On a hot day in July
I was transfixed
My mind transported
My body transmutated

Into solid stone

As Lot's wife to salt upon looking back
At things best left forgotten
So there I sat
A living soul
Cast in granite

For a thousand years I stood
Watching winter become spring
Become summer then fall
Winter always following
As it should after all

Until one day
That thousand years later
Or one thousand seconds
Either or, it doesn't matter

I was transformed
From the not knowing who I was
To the knowing
And from that did flow
Everything that means anything
Thoughts taking on a healthy glow
Transfigured to fit
Into the place
That I now know

My niche
My hideaway
On a lonely granite outcrop
By the great green grass sea

Friday, August 3, 2012

Dark Temptress

I'm tempted
Oh so very tempted
To eat you up
I love you so

Just like from that book
With the island
And the monsters
And the boy

But this is no book
And there you sit
Taunting me
When you know how frail I can be

Especially about you
And your kind

I don't care if that makes me sound awful
I have my particular tastes
And you are just a reminder
That I have some favorites out there

I'm in my armchair
Watching television
But I can see you
Out of the corner of my eye

Ten yards away
Across the pea green shag carpet
With the cigarette holes
And piss stains
From decades of use and abuse

Teasing me with yourself
Flaunting what you know you have
Weaving a spell
That beckons me
Like the wispy grey finger
From a Warner Brothers cartoon
Stretching from you to me
And saying, "Come hither"

I cannot resist you
Thou foul temptress
Sweet seductress
Of it's own volition
My body rises from it's chair
My brain having no control
Not in this situation

Inside I'm screaming
"Nooooo! Stop! This isn't right!"
But my mouth is watering
Already tasting your silky smoothness

Stopping briefly at the middle drawer
My mysteriously autonomous hands
Pull out what they need
I sit before you
A prisoner to your charms

I angle my chair so I can still see my show
And I dig into you with my fork

I'm not disappointed
Chocolate triple overload
Overcomes my senses
Quiets my brain's protests
Tramples my convictions

Before I can blink
I've eaten all of you

Chocolate cake
I declare you the winner

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Seven Heavenly Virtues - Humility

Mistress puts one four inch heel
Firmly on my back
While I use my teeth

Never my hands!

To remove the buckle on the other shoe
Grasping the toe of the shoe
Within my mouth
Tugging it off
Her sore tired feet

Mistress tugs on my chain
Attached to the collar
Tight on my neck
To remind me to get on with it
She's impatient
She's spent

So I toss the shoe aside
Shivering with the delicious roughness
Of her heel
Persistently digging into my spine

Carefully I use my tongue
To clean between her toes
Kissing each one
Knowing she loves how that goes

I bathe her whole foot eventually
In tender submissive ministration
It's what she and I love
It's one of my daily acts of humiliation

Wait, what?
This was about "Humility"??
Well, that's an entirely different animal!


At least I had the reverence part down.....

Submitting modestly
To my Mistress' brave dominance
I show reverence to her body and spirit
With altruistic acts of love

With my Mistress
It's all about the Humility

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Seven Heavenly Virtues - Kindness

"Be kind"
Says the anthropomorphized videotape

Kind of like a prostitute
Asking you to set her up
For the next John
Because it's only polite after all

You've had your fun
And now you're done
So won't you put the seat back down
So that sister doesn't fall?

It's a kindness

Helping old ladies across the street
Tipping the wait staff
Pressing flesh when you greet
It keeps society lubricated

Like a high class condom
Torn fresh from it's foil package
You know
The one with the face of your favorite Pokemon

Some kindness is better than others

Is it a kindness to put old Rover down
When he's lived his life fully
And can't raise his head to say hello?
Maybe he'd say, "Wait! What's your hurry?"

Maybe Rover doesn't want to go
Much like some humans
Who get plugged into machines
Fearful of the death on the other side

But we judge it a kindness
To euthanize the family pet
As much as we loved them
Another one we can get

Down to the Rover store
For a brand new model
A little fuzzy run around
Hey look at me I'm doing the poop on your floor waddle

A kindness
To put the new little Rover
In with old Aunt Hilda
Plugged into her machines
Not ready to let go
To remind her
That not all of life is pain

That sometimes
It's good
To have a brand new puppy again