FUN FRIDAY POSTCARDS

Pictures tell a thousand words.

My old reel

Thought I'd post my reel here as well.  More to come.

Philanthropic but not Rich

We run around the world having fun and praising ourselves

through the only system that keeps our image— entertainment.

This is the black water I have drank from;

I take irony pills for my blood.

I got to say I love my life at times

I live month to month

Paying credit cards off while I struggle to

remain in a heated facility.

I’ve been through gutters

Some cleaner than others

Apartment-size house

An acre of yard—I

could mow in less than an hour.

Running and trying to prove to my mother

I was more efficient than my brother— who

was grown up and still looking

to my mother for money.

At least he was working for it,

until the job was awarded to me.

As I know in hindsight,

my brother was probably pissed off;

and that’s probably why he borrowed my bicycle, that

I paid for with the money I earned, and after twelve months

the inquire was answered with

“I sold it!”

Night Walk

Is the concrete too hard for your fee?

The moon; her long life.

Do you ever think about death:  how

you will die.

The words of passed writers,

do they think about what you think of them?

Is the moment too fleeting?

Lives without contemplation:

light still shines stained

glass knight windows,

tannins you drink prolong it—

cycles on.

The plastic and diamonds have similar spans:

unable to see the end.

Becoming old?

Difficult to fathom the cancer hiding

or the ulcers depleting  friends.

Four seasons are all we know.

We don’t separate the years

with dotted lines,

that’s left for the ones forward.

Held until those times,

Dementia:  muggers waiting— shadows.

Belt

Radiation: ozone

loosening up.

Communication,

tightens or ten pounds overweight.

It’s gonna run you...

mechanical serpentines:

SNAKES!

Slacky-two-leg canvas

Heavy: wait

matches soaking wet.                    

Sprinkle showers between

terrestrial red and the Great Red Spot.

Every other day,

mumbles¼

ending.

Mystery of Trees

Standing like a human

Strong and upright

Catching all the gossip

among the wind

Living years vicissitude

Not knowing where it

Begins and when it ends

The streets of solace

Seasons announced

Shedding and green forth blooming

Watching the ages progress

Of friends building nests

It’s becoming a small place

Dirt without many roots

As technology becomes seconds

In a capsule no one takes

Maybe it’s the spinning of the earth

That has created the restless minds

Of this generation                                          

Though the tree believes in the seams

Or waiting for a dreamer.  

Ensconce

What about the changes in a person

Where does the absurdity fall

Where does the truth lie

Nonsense has been written

On the tombs of those before

A distant word for those who rest

The thought of society

Need not mention upon their graves

Only a welcome of peace

The fountain of youth waits

On grass tips of stone

Buried only for those who believe.

What will I leave here for you

A tombstone

Or will I dwell in the shadows of light

Will you see me

On cold evenings on empty streets

Of sidewalks cratered holes

I think of you and what I will mean to you

How you will come to know me

In troubled waters will my echo ring

I am overly cautious of my own mortality

If only you could escape knowing unknown like I did

Holding on until we can both follow the sunrise

Until we both know the moment of existentialism

Until we know the moment of fate

Until we realize we are always bound

In living and in death and in spirit

—my son.

Library

They're many of cheap shots in life

But you got to know when to throw your punches

Not every battle should take your time

A life is but a second of good and evil

How’s one to choose when the choice is quickened

Who’s to blame in moments of welcome

The many sad times one faces

Death and love hold the hands of our time

It becomes hard to see the reason

A rhyme without any cadence

Picked apart fabrics of soiled clothes

If we could write it out, would it be any better?

Possibly, but the excitement would be mediocre

Just a book on the shelf.

Unable to Escape the Danger of Running

Reminds of this time I went running on this red clay parkway, in Augusta, GA, by the railroad tracks.  After my run, I walked over to this 100 foot cliff to check it out while I cooled down.  I notice this truck parked close by and this guy sitting in it.  This place was definitely off the grid but it was a nice play to run without any cars.  As I stared down the cliff I heard the door of the truck open—the truck was parked about a 100 yards from me and underneath a tree.  The guy got out and began walking towards me.  I’m no judge, but he fit the bill for a perverted child/woman abductor.  I think he started talking to me but I didn’t pay him any attention.  I believe he thought I was a woman from behind because I had long hair so he made his move.  As I began to walk away, I started hearing these weird bird calls coming from him, and as I turned to look, he was just staring at me with empty eyes.  As I proceeded my walk, thoughts began to race in my head,  had he murder/raped people out here before and thrown them off that cliff, because I had heard of people who had falling off the cliff to their death in the years before.   Just a short tale about the hidden dangers of exercising. 

FUN FRIDAY POSTCARDS

The music lives on...

Fun Friday Postcards

                                     
                   

In honor of all veterans.

Fun Friday the 13th Postcard

Just a friendly reminder to be safe out there.

Fun Friday Postcards

With the uncontrollable fires raging in Colorado, I thought I would turn up the heat with this postcard. 

FUN FRIDAY POSTCARDS

Being that one of my best friends and fellow QTV ham actor of all these years might be landing a role in the new film about the CBGB as one of the Ramones, I thought this postcard would be relevant.  That's him on the cover.  Best of luck Joshua!

Kieran's Blue Shovel

Fun Friday Postcards

Having just returned home from the Apostle Islands in Lake Superior, I thought I would stick with a postcard that resembled those islands.

Madeline Island

It's been over six years since I've made my way back to the island that I wrote the following story, but this coming Sunday I will be traveling back there, this time I will have company though---Julie.  This time it's May so the bears are probably just getting out and about after the winter.  The weather looks about the same as it was the last time I visited, and I'm looking forward to getting away from the city.  

  A Tale of a Paranoid Existentialist trying to be a Mountain Man

Well, the start of my trip was doubtful: I needed new tires on my Jeep and it began raining— not a very safe situation on the interstate.  I finally arrive at Madeline Island after a long, wet journey.  I set up my tent at Big Bay Town Park; there were only two other campers there.  I ran into one of the campers on the beach, and he told me that bears normally stay in the bog area... call me stupid, but my tent is right next to the "bog area," and besides, winter is approaching and bears are scurrying for what could be their last meal until the following year.

That night I decided to check out Tom's Burn-down Cafe.  Talk about character and characters, that place was like a circus— a limbo between hell and some burned-out head gathering— great Celtic music though.  After a beer I headed back to my tent; incidentally seeing two owls cross my path.  Owls in Native America tradition are signs of sickness or death—great I thought! 

I made it through the night on that cold ground of stone and awoke the next morning with some oatmeal and hot tea.  The day was going great; I went for a hike, but then it started raining and got very wet—on the verge of sick. The other campers left, and I was all alone up there.  I went down to the beach and climbed a pine to just watch the waves crashing in: very calming.  At one point I thought I might fall out of the tree and break my back, leaving me to die of hypothermia or just bear food.  I headed back to my tent.  Night fell.  I started a fire and got in my tent, weary of any noises that I heard.  Then, it began raining—pouring heavens like you see on some horror movie— and my fire was extinguished, so I wasn’t able to make out if anything was walking up on me.  I remembered earlier in the day I had read a little comic strip from the local Gazette, which had a bear in someone's house watching their TV and eating their food:  "please lock your doors, you don't want any unwelcome visitors.”   Well, I didn't have a TV and the only food was me.  I decided I needed a smoke so I went to my Jeep, and this is what I wrote:

I'm sitting in my Jeep— petrified gut bear massacre feeling— it is raining and has been since I've arrived on this island.  Existentialism, more like executionism, all the pieces are in place except me in my tent.  I'm not sure what I'm more afraid of, my uncertainty or some bear lurking around in the dark void of noises.  I feel like a child trying to sleep after seeing their first horror movie.  I was alone, scared, cold, almost out of gas, wet, and had a jar of peanut butter in the back of my Jeep sure enough to entice those cold, alone, instinct driven meat chompers, to go "French style" before having their manly filet.

   It's not that I'm safer in this tent on wheels, it's just soothing to this manic conscience of mine.  If only I could sleep this nightmare thru to the end, I'd read a book on bears, learn their habits, and for the ones that don't fit the profile, retire my AK-47 bayonet knife with the purchase of a Winchester, and a light source that needs more than two AA Duracell.  I'm going crazy.

     I was willing to give it the benefit over my trepidation; but, fifteen minutes later, still in my Jeep, preparing to go to my tent, I was listening outside and there, 20 yards from me, I heard something knock the trash can.  Immediately I turned my flashlight on to see, and there in the darkness, glowing-devil-eye-level-eyes peering back at me.  My heart became in rhythm with the rain drops.  I didn't run though.  I wanted to get a picture, but my camera was in the tent—shit!  I waited around, but all I could think was that the bear was making its way around— subterfuge like—to hit me from behind.  I got the hell outta there, hoping I wouldn't run out of gas on my way back into the only open bar in town— vodka and PBR to calm my nerves. "Better safe than sorry," the bartender said.  Better drunk than dead I think.

Fun Friday Postcards

B n B Movies

Here is a new show that I and Medina will be introducing in June.  We will be discussing B movies and microbrew beers.  Our first episode will be the movie "Laser Blast".   We will welcome any question about the film and chose one to discuss from the audience.

History pages

Taking a page out of the history books one day will not make any sense with every document becoming bytes, still some people go to the library and page through history, as for me, I just walk through my parking lot and find my pages.

Night train

If you have ever drank Night Train, well there's nothing more to say, but if you haven't, well here's a little cartoon I drew to explain what happens.  I don't even think it is legal in most states and it is probably what Axel Rose was singing about on Appetite for Destruction--Nightrain

Fun Friday Postcards

This week is probably the busiest week of birthdays for me, so why not a birthday postcard.  Thunder...thunder...thunder...thunder ______!

Being that fishing season opens this weekend, I thought I would stay with the theme.  Good luck you fisher kings and Happy Mother's day!

Fun Friday Postcards

Now on Friday's I will be posting a postcard that I created and mailed to a lucky or unlucky individual.
Here's #1.

My take on a choose your own adventure story.

Motel Knights

I remember one time I slept on a retired aircraft carrier for a couple of

days. I went exploring it and got lost in the depths of the inner city

of it. There were no lights down there except my flashlight, and I

found decks of cards thrown all over the floor. It was creepy hearing

the creaking and swaying of the ship. Then I came to an exit, which

lead to a catwalk on the side of the ship. Nothing but rusted stairs

keeping me from falling down 30 feet to the water. I made my way up

to the deck among the post World War II remnants...

Advance to: chp. 2 Ghost pilot on deck or Chp 5. Benny loses big time?

Chp. 5 Benny looses big time

After making my way to the deck, I found that our tour bus was leaving,

so our stay on the aircraft carrier New Hampshire was over. Our next stop

would be five hours away, in a small town called Silverton. Silverton is

known for its late nineteen century silver mines, which sparked the great

folklorist battle of Benny and Phillips. The tale states that Benny was

running the mines east of the Chattooga River when Phillips moved into

town. Phillips wasn't a miner, but he knew where the money was to be had.

Having already won large sums of money in the previous town with his gambling

he decided to open his own casino in Silverton. One night, Benny and his wife

decided to stop into the casino and Benny loses big time...

Advance to: Chp 6. The lost treasure of Benny or Chp 11. Hot dogs in paradise

Chp 11. Hot dogs in paradise

"Wow that was a close one!"  I said.  Jenny threw again, missing the balloon on the wall.  Jenny was a sweet nineteen year old girl whose uncle died and left her money to take this trip after she graduated high school.  Pop!  "Oh you hit one Jenny, that’s great!" I yelled.  She lifted her hook and pointed towards the stuffed monkey holding a banana, "I’ll take that monkey sir."   Jenny had lost a hand in a trampoline accident when she was fourteen and that’s why it took her longer to finish school.  We had met on this trip, but I hadn’t really spoken to her until her excitement for the carnival eased me into conversation.  I was taking this trip to try and find the part of myself that had been missing, so I wasn’t here to make friends, but Jenny seemed like a nice girl, and I got to admit, the hook on her left hand held a mystery to me.  "I’ll hold the monkey for you Jenny," I said, as we walked around the carnival.  It was a hot day and the breeze blowing in from the coast reminded me of one night I spent eating hot dogs at the Paradise Café, out on Navy Pier…

Advance to: Chp 12. The Paradise Cafe incident or Chp14. Held up in Smoke Town

Chp 12. The Paradise Cafe incident

It was early, one late summer evening when I decided to take a stroll out to Navy Pier.  I had heard of an event that had drawn a lot of news:  The Paper Airplane Contest.  I had heard about this kid from Toronto who had created—what the papers called aerodynamic genius—a paper plane that could fly for over thirty minutes.  I had to see this.  On my way down the pier I could see, what looked like a business man’s briefcase emptied into the air.  There were so many paper planes in the air that I could not determine how they could judge such complexity.  After about an hour, I decided I would grab a hot dog at the Paradise Café, which stood at the end of the pier.  I took the Chicago style dog, in which the mustard is applied before the wiener is laid upon the bun.  The problem with this style is,  that sometimes the bottom of the buns rip and the mustard drops on your shirt or, in general, is just a complete mess of pure ecstasy.  I usually grab a few napkins to prevent this and this time wasn’t an exception.  With my hot dog, I walked to the edge of the pier so I could view the planes flying when all of a sudden a gust of wind almost knocked me over but instead ripped the napkins from my hands and lifted them into the air, crashing into the contestant’s planes and causing them to fall into Lake Michigan.  With this I noticed children yelling and pointing at me, while large men began moving towards my direction and that’s when I decided to…                                                                        

 Advance to:  Chp 13. Blame it on Reagan or Chp 16.  Motel Knights

Baroque except Dimes

Adjusting my conductor seat

I’ve been listening to music from the Baroque period

Bach pedantically proving himself as a pedagogue

I’ve been finding dimes on the ground lately

Everywhere I walk, if for some reason I’m without

a dime, it shines on some inconspicuous floor

I don’t know what to make of it

The only thought that comes to mind

is my payment for the ferryman Charon

Today I found such a dime

                                     

A normal day until I came home

after a walk to the grocery store where I was accused— nonchalantly,

of trying to steal some produce because I was trying to save on plastic

Arriving at home I decided to get the ball rolling and begin to cook,

I placed a beer on the counter, it then proceeded to

shatter all over the floor in a hundred particles

After an hour of cleaning it up and finishing a meal,

things resumed back to normal:

watching net flicks of Breaking Bad

Then the sultry came about 

Protection was drawn into aroused suspicion

After all was finished, I decided to have a taste of Russian delight

Two ice cubes in and I spill it over the counter

I curse and complain what the hell is going on

So I make another

There upon putting the mixer back in the fridge

I hear it fall

Causing a domino effect onto a drink yet consumed

Stroke 

The coast was clear, I stepped outside to catch my breathe

I noticed something in the snow; it was the first time this winter

I could sit on the step without freezing

The object in the snow is still unknown

I’m afraid of what it might be

but from the looks of it, it looks like a cat collar

I would hate to dig beneath the snow next to it:

A cat— frozen in motion?

So I flipped my dime towards it and went inside.