It’s a Major Award!!!

Because “It’s a damn poor mind that can’t think of more then one way to spell a word.” – Andrew Jackson.

 I’d like to thank the academy . . . AKA – Catcher of Stars.

http://versenotprose.wordpress.com/

You literally made my day this morning, as you see, I had a lot of time on my hands.

I’m not exactly sure what I am supposed to do with this -

Paperweight?

My guess was that I merely print-screen the image and paste it on this post right here, where everyone can see it.

Note – If this thing turns out to be copyrighted by Disney -

Ha, Ha, very funny.

This is the first award I’ve received and I am deeply honored and presumably obligated to state ten things you may not know about me. Forgive me if they make me sound like a crazy hermit. I am crazy, but unfortunately I am still only an aspiring hermit.

 

1. I’ve been to England, once.

2. I think clowns are scary. (Mimes are okay though.)

3. I farm bugs as a hobby.

4. I make fuzzy owl figurines.

5. I’ve been told that I am a mad scientist in the kitchen.

6. I share a house with four reptiles, three mammals and a small blue demon that disguises itself as a cat.

7. I talk to gargoyles.

8. I drink more virgin bloody maries then anyone else I’ve ever heard of.

9. Lately I’ve sworn off the more popular books, as finding treasure is better when you have to dig for it.

10. I believe that the answer, is 42.

This also qualifies me to nominate at least six other bloggers.

I know this is starting to sound Like a chain letter but bear with me.

I will be holding none of you to the terms this agreement.

So don’t send a guy to punch me for giving you all extra homework.

http://yobynos.wordpress.com/explore the Philippines with Sony, and help him identify the mystery plant.

 http://suedreamwalker.wordpress.com/ a colorful, mystical, experience, with a colorful mystic.

 http://sharmishthabasu.wordpress.com/  beauty in simplicity, illustrated haikus to brighten your day.

 http://vampireweather.wordpress.com/  I. Am. Mystery. Awesome poet and – mysterious person.

 http://roboticrhetoric.wordpress.com/  Click here and read about the Romantic Escapades of a Delirious Englishman.

Who is this composer, and what is she doing in the garden? Ask her at

http://composerinthegarden.wordpress.com/

 http://thegirlinthehat.wordpress.com/

Here’s to my first subscriber and valued adviser on RUST. If it doesn’t completely suck, thank her, preferably by reading about the hot Celebes and hipster screen writers in – What Would Water Do?

 http://sparksinshadow.wordpress.com/

Thank you for noticeing the improvement and informing me. Your time was not wasted.

Read – A Light In Disguise, Santa tells Lucas that if he can not give the boy what he wants he can take something away instead, and that Lucas will be happy. Can loosing something be a good thing? Read, and find out.

 http://arjun1097.wordpress.com/

Some of your stories are just really good. REALLY good. Especially “Mrs. Jones.” When ya gonna continue it?

If some some of this text is smaller then the rest – it is because I was having trouble with the links. I do not love you less.

Burlap Cat – Part 2

Since some people have expressed their intention to read more of this, I present to you, Burlap Cat – Part Two. SPOILER ALERT! – scroll down for part one. (You can also find it under short stories.) Please read part one first. As I am very proud of it. Oh, and Merry Christmas.

Burlap Cat – Part Two

Slanting rain drops beat the south side of the house. Wet leaves stuck to the windows. One episode of Unsolved Mysteries after another played on the living room television. Soon the disk menu reappeared but Joanne did not replace it. A tray of holiday goodies was left untouched on the couch.

Joanne sat with her eyes keenly focused. She tossed another peanut at the thing on the coffee table.

It had arrived in the mail only two hours ago. After she had only looked at it on a seedy, occult website three days before. Save for the strange manner in which it had come, the thing was nothing more then it appeared to be, that is, a burlap cat.

Joanne wasn’t sure if it was curiosity that prompted her to actually bring the thing into the house or her irrational fear that it would harm her in some way if she didn’t.

Her telephone hummed in her pocket.

“David!” she said, holding it to her ear.

“Hey Joanne, I was wondering if you have any of my games. Red Dead Redemption has gone AWOL.”

Joanne saw the title among the DVDs on the bookshelf and was quick to slip it out of it’s case. “I do indeed have it. I’ll be right there.”

She hung up before he could talk her out of biking over in the rain. David had been present the night she first caught site of the cat. He was the one who had shown her the website. It had been on his computer.

She unpacked her crinkly blue poncho and pulled it over her head, snapping it across her arms. She dropped the game into her back pack, hesitated, then stuffed the cat in there as well.

A soaking wet wind struck her as she opened the back door. She wrestled her bike out of the shed and struggled to build momentum.

Cars rushed by on the slick streets, spraying water and throwing mud. “What the heck am I doing.” She wondered. Joanne was afraid, but this was no time to admit it.

David’s house was by the *overpass. Joanne often teased him about living under a bridge, but his family was far from poor. Restoring their large Dutch Colonial had been her father’s crowning achievement.

She turned down a flagstone path into a garden darkened by the shadow of the highway, and the walls built to control the noise. David claimed he couldn’t sleep without it. Joanne was not so inclined. She flinched as an eighteen-wheeler blew its horn.

A light came on, revealing a sinister, if not familiar face. “You will have to pay the toll! Sayeth the troll!” “This is why you can’t get girlfriends.” She snapped. Driving the plastic bag containing David’s borrowed game into his chest. “Red Dead!” He laughed manically. “The lady hath good taste, she does.” He stroked it lovingly. “My preecioussssss . . .”

She ignored him, and made a bee-line for the house. David followed, his smile turning to a frown. “Joe what’s going on.” “Nothing. I’m cold and I’m wet, and I do believe you owe me.” “Owe you? I never said you had to return it right this instant, is something wrong?”

“I think your over-reacting.” said David twenty minutes later as they sipped cider and stared at the cat.

“Just tell me the truth.” Joanne insisted. “Are you, or are you not fooling with me.”

“Look Joe, you saw an ad.”

“On a website selling cursed knick-knacks.” She reminded him.

David sighed. “On a website selling haunted nick-knacks, supposedly haunted knick-knacks. Those things were far too cheap to be authentic. You clicked on a blank space and found an ad with a picture but no price, no name, and no contact, then it went to an error message. They were experiencing technical difficulties. Not surprising, considering most of them couldn’t spell. Someone probably thought you were trying to order when the site crashed.”

Joanne crossed her arms. “They would have thought you were trying to order, it was your account.”

David shrugged. “Perhaps you signed in out of force of habit.”

“I would have still needed a credit card number, or at least an address, then there’s the fact it came in an unmarked, open box.”

“A crappy website, a crappy delivery service. All you need to worry about is someone trying to charge you for it.”

“but what are the odds, that I would run into a problem like this on a website like that?”

“Because people who run websites like that still think the world is flat and are consequently, bad with technology, but hey, there’s no reason why we can’t make the best of it.”

He removed a small black box from his pocket and pointed it at the ancient stuffed animal. “I wouldn‘t do that.” said Joanne. David pressed his lips together. “Why?” “You could provoke it or something.” “You’ve explored haunted buildings with me before.” “When I was certain they weren‘t actually haunted.” “You read way too many ghost stories Joanne.” “I’m not the one with the EMF detector.”

David put away the Device. “Look, if it makes you feel better I’ll send an E-mail to the owners of the sight, asking them what happened. If you want, you can leave Marvin here with me.”

Joanne glared at the little brown face, the remaining button eye dripping hardened yellow glue, the black thread mouth seeming to smirk. “Marvin?” David picked up the cat and made it dance on his knee. “It just seems like a Marvin.”

The rain beat Joanne as she sped home. David had wanted her to wait it out, but she told him her family was eating at Sylvan’s tonight and that Sylvan’s was her favorite. It wasn’t a lie, but it would have taken more then great food to push her out into this. David’s casual treatment of the cat was making her nervous. He could do as he pleased with it, by himself. After all, it wasn’t like she didn’t warn him.

She passed the neighborhood mail box and decided she might as well. She parked her bike near one of the yellow concrete posts that sheltered it from the road. The box was covered by a tin awning, but the slant of the rain made it useless. She held an umbrella in one hand while she fished for the key to her family’s compartment.

The Christmas cards, bills and random junk, fell in an avalanche at her feet.

As there was no way to tell them apart she would have to collect all of it. She dropped her phone. There was a text from David.

“Hey, I thought you were going to leave Marvin with me.”

Joanne saw something out of the corner of her eye and snapped to attention.

Balanced atop the yellow post where she’d parked her bike was

- the burlap cat.

Forgetting everything else she screamed, and ran.

A loud squeal of tires was followed by a crash.

She turned to look, and saw a damaged pickup truck backing away from the crushed mailbox, swerving back on to the road and, speeding away. Her bike had been folded around the post, yanked free, and left with the front wheel bent skyward and spinning.

The cat lay at the base of the post, face down in the mud.

Joanne didn’t want to think about what almost happened. What would have happened, if the cat had decided to remain at David’s house like a good little inanimate object.

Joanne tucked it under her poncho, and began the long walk home.

*(Note – to my friends across the pond, an overpass is a flyover.)*

Yule Storm

I’ll be willing to bet Santa has one of these on the door of his dojo.

YULE STORM

A storm hath risen . . .

blowing ghosts from their prison

like sand through a sieve.

They shall all dance together

as the bells ring forever

here on all hollows eve.

The wild hunt commeth

with a black horse’s whinny.

Howl the hounds in the hills,

sound great the horn of plenty.

These are the days of friends, foe’s, and feasts,

when pilgrims and braves,

witches and naves,

all dine till the sun shows her face in the East.

The Halls, shall be decked to the uppermost gables,

Fools on their pedestals.

Kings in their stables.

Larders or swelling

From Gaia’s dark dwelling

Come all far and near

See the wheels that are spinning

tis the end

the beginning

tis the close of the year.

Wolves of the Circle

I woulden't recommend the salad . . .

 
  There was a man, born to the land,

who tilled the earth, with a heavy hand,

till thought he, “I long to be free.”

and so that man, he crossed the sea.

 

There he swore, on that foreign shore,

to serve his lords, and ladies no more.

As he stood, Green eyes in the wood -

 

They watched him.

They watched him.

 

Our hero then, he took an ax,

and filled the air with heavy cracks.

All around, up came the town.

As word got round’ -

 

They watched him.

They watched him.

 

He sang a challenge to the wild.

Twas the noble savage,

In every child.

 

“I am king, king of this rock.

Deer and Bison, my livestock!

Red man with, the feathered head,

fear my god, or I’ll make you dead!”

 

He found a wife and soon got wed,

to a fine, young lass, who made his bed.

Fields of grain, grew by the mile,

and all the while -

 

They watched him.

They watched him.

 

He went out one night, to slay a ram,

but someone stole, his feast of lamb.

Growling softly from the wood -

 

They watched him.

They watched him.

 

He vowed to tame, both beast and tree,

for in his mind, only one, should be free.

As time on wore,

he began to see,

the scratch marks on his door.

 

In God’s own name, he vowed on Sunday,

“I’ll purge these woods, of their wolves by Monday!”

 

but the years, went racing by,

and in despair, he began to cry.

Wild eyes,

so fierce and wise,

 

They watched him.

They watched him.

 

Then the scratch marks, on his face.

his tired heart, began to race,

and limping he, began to hide,

behind the strong sons of his bride.

 

They sent for a doctor, who did place,

him in a locked room, wet cloth on his face.

 

“Your father he, will never survive,

a day out of doors, so keep him inside.

So there we have our hero now,

at the feet of every hen and cow,

that stocked his table in the past.

The hammer is ready he will be the last.

 

but wait,

weeks roll by, and it seems of late,

the land lord, will escape his fate,

for in the woods, his foe’s stand freezin’,

hunting has been poor this season.

Yet still, with fading hopes, they scratch,

at the windows weathered thatch,

with haggard, cold, and hungry eyes -

 

They watch him

They watch him.

 

His daughters keep the shutters tight,

to beat back the cold winds, that blow in the night,

but without the clean air, smoke fills the cabin,

dead air from the fire, blankets his lungs.

He dreams of the wild, the wild he hated,

a force he abated,

but secretly loved.

 

Quickly a gale, rattles the gutters,

rips through the shutters,

as in peers a family, fierce as his own.

On this day having cornered their prey,

we find them weak, and unable to leap,

through one Low window.

 

They cry in despair,

their cubs have collapsed

they must leave them there.

 

With one last breath they turn -

To watch him.

To watch him.

 

Then a whisper, by his ear,

“In trying to escape your fear,

you’ve found a truth far worse,

lie forever in bed, or escape the curse.

 

Strength I give you, one last chance,

a single breath, for a single dance.

leave the sterile treeless hell.”

 

In this hour of fate, all fences fell.

He saw the buzzards souring high,

heard the crys of their chicks,

for something to die,

saw flies born of the recent dead,

stocking a fresh filled spider web.

 

Thus the circle did he see,

an endless feast,

for all.

 

Without a thought,

outside he walked,

and sang up to the sky.

“If I must live on sterile sheets

then with you my friend I’ll die!”

 

Upon him they fell,

and he gave a yell,

as everything he’d done,

was purged from his mind

in equal kind,

as man and beast were one.

 

As his flesh was torn free,

fat pups he did see,

as strange beings carried him off.

 

We are sorry to say,

in that world he wont stay,

to this day he roams in the wood.

Off goes an owl,

at the sound of his howl,

when all the pack is at hand,

‘round a solid,

granite grey wolf,

a wolf with eyes of a man.

 

They watch him.

They watch him.

 

 

Have a very Bohemian Christmas.

        No, you haven’t had too much eggnog. That tree really is upside down. Are Satanists anticipating the coming of the antichrist by celebrating their own Anti Christmas? Or is this another attempt to confuse Santa – possibly causing him to mistakenly leave behind real presents when only coal is deserved?

Ho ho ho it’s Christmas, but I see it’s also opposite day. That means naughty is nice and nice is naughty!

      Hopefully, that shiny new game system can be safely pried off the ceiling come Christmas morning, granted the glue holds. Don’t blame Old Saint Nick he’s not used to this, hell, he already had to climb a latter to reach his cookies, what more do you want?

      This insidious travesty started out as an innocent idea for economizing space in department stores. Certain people, who shall remain nameless saw the evergreen stalactites and thought, “As a devout fundamentalist Christian, I can not, in good conscience allow a heathenized artifact into my home, but this shall enable me and my family to enjoy all the merits of a pagan tradition while still allowing us to express our disapproval of it.” Other people who shall also remain nameless had similar ideas.

    Feelings range from “Christmas is lame – I mean, can anything be more mainstream? – NOW THAT IS A TREE!” to “Uh . . . I just wanted to do something different this year .” to “Hey everybody look at me!” The trees certainly are not for everyone but recommended if you;

- are a bat.

- think your funny.

- have to stand out in the crowd.

- like doing things the hard way.

- like being slapped in the face by overhanging angels or stars.

- are trying to make some kind of “statement”.

- are a rebel.

- are a surrealist.

- are a Zen Buddhist.

 - are trying to one up the Joneses.

- are Avant-garde and Artsy Fartsy.

- like going against the grain.

- or just plain being an ass.

Once you’ve decided to turn Christmas upside down, the old question arises. Natural, or artificial?

     Seeing as what your doing is already pretty unnatural, why not go all out and use a plastic tree? Artificial, inverted tannenbaums are made with one purpose in mind. That is, laughing in the face of all that is holy.

   Their stands and support systems are often installed at the small end, so that crowning angel will have to take on the role of Atlas as she struggels to steady this top heavy anomaly, and should you favor a star, all I’m saying is it better be a red giant.

   Yet for some, there is no forsaking the fresh sent of a slain plant’s bodily fluids. Going all natural means you’ll have to actually suspend your kill from the ceiling as fur trees lack the physical ability to do hand stands. A complex apparatus is needed that may draw awkward questions the rest of year, so perhaps it’s best to go artificial and use a convenient spray to apply that holiday funk.

   Hopefully, this trend will remain a cult phenomenon, least it spread to other holiday traditions, making them even less practical then before. I hate to think what the world would be like if anti-Semitic (and leaky) menorahs graced Jewish celebrations along with awkward, difficult to spin, dreidels. This could happen but not before incontinent Easter baskets and stockings that can not hold their loot plague more secular traditions in the U.S and elsewhere, turning everything we hold dear, literally, upside down.

     But yet another thought occurs. Perhaps it is we, who are upside down. After all, this is a round planet and such things are relative to one’s location. An American stuck in China for the holidays may see fit to erect a tree that would be right side up in his homeland, and vice versa. Perhaps, this truly is an appropriate rite for the jet setting modern man.