My journal of life and those lives that surround & influence me, both positively & negatively

Saturday, November 11

Petty Thievery: It’s Everywhere You Go>Act One

Petty thievery; it’s everywhere you go…in the workplace, in the supermarket, on the Internet, at the post office, in the coffeehouse...well everywhere and I mean everywhere!

Stealing is nothing new, but acknowledging that it is happening and what one intends to do about it, instead of harboring these actions, are two different matters altogether.

Believe you-me, I’m no saint, I’m as guilty as the rest of the bunch, but no one it seems wants to own up to their responsibilities or consequences; at least I can admit to it, but I still ask, how many others can?

But it's not pickpocketing, muggings bank heists or jewel theives that I'm speaking of or referring to, rather it's pure and simply put; petty theivery in modern times, mid-to-late 20th Century, early 21st Century style, that is.

In the workplace, people steal all sorts of stuff like pens, pencils and other office supplies, but not necessarily in big globs, but in tiny caches, so no one really notices it gone, just as long as long as it’s being used, is all that really matters.

At the supermarket, it’s a little more complex because it involves unsupervised children that not all parents realize they have and I don’t mean all children, I mean the child who pockets a candy bar or rips open a box of cereal to get that plastic super-duper prize out of the box and just leaves it behind in a mess.

Parents don’t often find out about it until much later and as far as blame goes, whose fault is it, anyway? Certainly not the child, for the child learns from his/her parents who are supposed to teach the child right from wrong, left from right. Yep, but those kind of parents tend to schluff it off and blame it on the media, while in the meantime, the child will have learned a bad habit that will be attached to them for a lifetime.

At the coffeehouse, is a personal favorite; favorite of mine that is, because it’s so easy to walk out of a coffeehouse with extra packets of sugar and honey, as logically the owner will replace it, but keep on doing that and the sugar dispenser will end up on the other side of the counter with the coffee ingredients.

And they do watch you, let me tell you, for in my quest for a little extra sugar one time, I took six extra packets of sugar and was told to put them back or the clerk would have the owner call the police and have me arrested for stealing! So sure enough, I put them back, laughed in the clerk’s face and walked out of there, but it wasn’t a true coffeehouse anyway, it was a 7-11.

Restaurants are far worse, as people steal everything there that isn’t nailed down including; napkins, eating utensils, bread baskets that contain rolls, muffins and bagels, extra pats of butter, jams, jellies, packets of ketchup, mustard, relish, mayonnaise and of course sugar, coffee creamers, salt and pepper.

And believe it or not, that stuff all adds up, though I suspect that stealing condiment packets is far cheaper than buying a bottle of ketchup or mustard in the long run…

Friday, November 10

The Botox Frankenstein Poetry Series>Helping Myself With The Harvest

Well, well, well! Good late sloppy evening to everyone! Ugh! that white stuff has found its way to our fair city, way too early if you ask me, A quick tip of the kippah and yep, it's Friday! Hip-hip hooray! We've made it! And believe you me, I am quite happy it's here! But still I remain just as busy as ever for the end of this second week of November and after a long absence, it's nice to be back here on Friday nights. But you know what? Our good friend, that sweet capper is here to ease us into a gentle weekend! Stay warm (those of you in the Midwest & the East)! And now, yes you guessed it! It's spanking brand-new poem-time! And remember dear readers, please tell someone you love them and always, always enjoy!!!


Helping Myself With The Harvest

The sun makes up poems for me
When I cannot
And lately that’s been a lot
Leaves make poems for me
When I fall silent
And all I can hear is the wind whistle through the trees
The gentle breeze frees my spirit,

but every time I try to record my movements, with a pen and a pad
All I can think about is wanting to be had
Do you think that’s mad?
That’s why I rely on the sun, the trees and the falling leaves to make up poems for me.

because if they couldn’t,
I wouldn’t exist and simply would not get close to the soul who once resembled the man
I set out to be

Wednesday, November 8

The Day After The B-I-G Dem-OOO

So, the day after the B-I-G Dem-OOO, the dust has settled in most local and national races and thankfully, the 2006 midterm general election is over. The Democrats control both the United States Congress, and the United States Senate.

Out go the scandals and the idiots who relied heavily on the commander-in-chief and all his nice wonderful friends to get their seats back.

But, Oh-my! Oh-my! George Bush couldn’t and failed miserably.

Sure, the undefined mission to Iraq and the war on terrorism probably did Bush and his pals in, but Bush didn’t think so and well, now…you, see, when the leader of the greatest nation in the world takes his own armed forces and places them in harm’s way without a back-up plan, well that just seems kind of ridiculous and dangerous, not only to me, but thousands of Americans throughout the USA.

Oh yeah, and by the way Mr. President; where are those WMDs anyway?

So, the Democrats are back in control, eh? Big deal!

Change is imminent of course, but tell me what will they do, since they have regained control? Raise taxes? Make promises they can’t keep? Get embroiled in scandals? Pay people off to keep quiet? Tell bad jokes and not apologize right away? Resign?

Hmm. Well, they might be like the idiots the American people just voted out! Both parties are the same; have the same amount of slick-talkers, bull-shitters, rising, contemporary and fading party stars that of course the press will continue to focus on.

But on the other hand, is there such a thing as a politician who isn’t a former/present banker, lawyer, real estate agent or son of a politician/millionaire that hasn’t had some kind of atrocity in their background?

Makes good profit and ratings for news organizations anyway.

And what about Joe Lieberman? He came back from the political morgue alive and kicking as a winning independent after losing the spring primary in the state of Connecticut as a Democrat! He’s a sorry sad sack of a person if there ever is one. He’s boring and orthodox; a token politician who should have retired long, long ago. So Joe reinvented himself as an independent? Gee Joe, think you’ll run as a socialist if you get your ass voted out of Congress in 2008?

Locally, we seemed to do well, as all the local Democrats won, although two of the candidates I voted for, both Republican by the way; yes I said Republican, didn’t seem to fare all that well. I am for change and not for personal views of a candidate where the personal views don’t apply.

One of those Republicans who I voted for was Cook County Board Commissioner Tony Peraica, who ran against Chicago alderman Todd Stroger, son & heir-apparent to his stroke-retired father, John (Stroger) for Cook County Board President. Hand-picking your own son to take over your corrupt kingdom? Shades of Daley-country USA, shudder to think!

But what Stroger threw at Peraica that angered me so were things like abortion and gay/lesbian issues. What does a Cook County’s Board presidental candidate's personal stance on abortion & gay/lesbian issues have to do with balancing a budget? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! And yet, the heir-apparent-elect pulled these zingers throughout his campaign. Diversion to the real issue at hand; whereas Peraica has true experience and Stroger none, Stroger gets elected.

Reminds me of the corporate working world; when someone is hand-picked by executives, not for their combined skill & talent, rather for their abilities to rubberstamp company policies, swallow company bullshit and above all, suck-up.

So, in reviewing the situation, those damned Democrats and those repugnant Republicans, are just going to have to get along, somehow. I don’t care how they do it, just as long as they smile for the camera on cue, shake hands before they come out swinging and get all pink, naked and dirty.

That is after all, how American politics works.

If there’s any constellation prize or fallout from this election, United States Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld resigned; meaning my personally autographed photo and letter from him when he was CEO of Searle Labs in Skokie, Illinois is going to be worth a pretty penny.

Talk about luck!

Tuesday, November 7

A Letter To Miss Firefly

Dear Miss Firefly,

I’m sorry you have a broken heart. Broken hearts as you well know are not easy to fix, but I will do my best to offer you some suggestions. Sure we can rely on our families and friends, for they are easy to lean on in times like these, but getting over a love you feel deeply for, isn’t always the same on the opposite side of the fence and it truly hurts like a kick to the groin and stings like cologne or perfume on cut skin.

I know that pain well. I’ve felt it many, many times before, as the last three summers have been three true heartbreakers and yep, the devils are out there in force enjoying the pleasure of sticking it to me good and hard, because they want to see me suffer, just as I supposedly made them suffer. I call them sick and disturbed and they need hospitalization ASAP!

Everywhere you step there will always be reminders of them of that there is no doubt, so please do yourself a favor and keep busy. Immerse yourself in a myriad of projects; it helps put your mind at ease and takes away the focus of the negative and turns it around to a positive!

Work-out at the gym, listen to music, although be advised to stay away from sentimental love songs and ballads; for they will drive you to tears for certain. If you feel the need to channel your anger, let me show you how to throat-sing; believe me, it works when push comes to shove!

Some years ago when I had a bad luck streak in dating, I adopted a philosophy in which I repeated often both aloud and to myself, “my wife is the universe,” meaning the world she is my sole partner in keeping me in check, teaching me right to left on this treacherous life adventure. As with myself, I am sure that you will find someone better and more in tune with what your soul desires. There is someone out there for you, I know it!

And remember, Miss Firefly; it takes 76 muscles to smile and two to frown.

Sincerely,

The MishegasMaster


Monday, November 6

Truth, Justice And The American Way

Linus Van Pelt to Charlie Brown: “You'd either be the hero, or a goat.” Snoopy to Charlie Brown: “Baaaaaaa!”

Tomorrow dear friends, you can make a difference; the difference of choosing to be a super hero or a super goat, that is, when it comes to voting in tomorrow’s general election.

Goats are a dime-a-dozen, as are average heroes, yet the word hero is an overused, misguided word. Heroes not only fight for freedom and save us from peril, but heroes can be looked up to as role models.

The days of truth, justice and the American way have been horribly distorted by the likes of all major, minor and in-between political parties, special interest groups, minority factions, the press and illegal immigrants.

You name it; there’s been every sort of ram-rod effort to break apart the very strength of that great foundation. that we know and love as truth, justice and the American way. We’ve heard the same noises, barking, lies and shifting movements almost every time there’s an election on the horizon. Too many allegations fly and too many revelations spring suddenly forward within days of the actual general election.

These revelations are always saved for a crucial mind-blowing brain-bomb guaranteed to cause a diversion in the overall political race and guaranteed to swing the outcome of the race toward another outcome.

Politicians hire outside firms and use their friends (besides the press) to do the dastardly deed of digging up dirt on their opponent. So when I see this in every election known to man in America, I have to ask myself one question; where is the truth, justice and the American way in slinging mud and all the negatives all around the neighborhood, when it’s the issues at hand that matter the most?

Yet, politicians rely on these negatives to get themselves elected and re-elected to office, both in local and national elections. Truth, justice and the American way; we as citizens of this sovereign nation should demand that, not this petty bullshit scare tactics and yeah, there ought to a law passed against such negative campaign tactics, as it only creates diversions, confusion, chaos and wasted energy.

So, still want to be a super hero? Want your kids, wife, husband, significant other to worship the ground you tread upon and love you for life? Well, pal, get your tuchas out there and vote! That’s a real hero for you.

And in the eyes of truth, justice and the American way, you’d be a true super hero by stepping up to the plate and doing your part for the team by going out and voting!

Sunday, November 5

Basic Fascism 101: Welcome To The Egress>Act Two

The President of the United States is helping his country straight down the path of righteousness. Yeah right! Straight to hell, rather. I’m not the only person that once sat on the sidelines in the scattered bunches of minorities who have raised their voices loudly, screaming “See? Told you so!” Now, the minorities have grown to thousands, all screaming the same thing, basically for the fascism to stop and let the healing to begin.

And how do you heal? By forgiving, but that doesn’t always work for everybody, myself included. Lately, I’ve been the punching bag for a plethora of idiots who seem to want to blame me for their own sorry lives and their own mess of problems. And it affects me everywhere I go; home, school, work and playtime too.

Sometimes it takes a great incident to get a tiny spark to fly, setting ablaze a bonfire of protest or action to be taken before any results come forth with a solution to a bad situation.

But it’s the very kind of depressive state of being that others try to keep you down with by disassociating with the very idealisms you stand for, by ignoring, banging the telephone down on your ear, slamming the door in your face, name-calling, telling you that you smell bad, that you’re no good and that you’re not like the other good little girls and boys who are trying to step on you in the economical rat race as well and get ahead.

I go through this cycle after a seemingly endless streak of happiness and when the bleak blank blackness of reality washes over me like a bad drink I had in New York City nearly three weeks ago, but I piss it out of my system virtually overnight and then it’s gone, for the moment. I don’t let the negatives get to me; not that much anyway and I salvage what I can of the negatives and recycle them into positives!

A few weeks ago, I received a free local magazine from a female friend with its theme revolving around forgiveness. I put it aside and chuckled to myself and then phoned her up and asked, “Is this a hint or something?”

She mumbled something to the effect that I should forgive someone else for crap that the significant other shat on me some months ago. I shot back, “My life is scot-free of additional bitterness and anger and I should be forgiving? I don’t think so!”

She hung up on me.

Success is an enemy to the losers of the day. When the enemy admits they were wrong to begin with, then maybe I’ll think about being forgiving, but I won’t be waiting for a “sorry” anytime soon. Drama is always distorted to what one wants to hear. It’s always different in the enemy’s eyes. They’re the ones filled with eyes of hate, hearts of jealousies, while committing acts well beyond the sanity boundaries just because they’ve had a bad week and they expect me to be forgiving them?

Let them say sorry first and mean it with compassion.

In the meantime, I look forward to the future. Good stuff is headed my way and no massive flood or blinding blizzard of negativity will hold me back from achieving what journey I’m about to embark upon.

Critics cry on their own blogs with self-inflicted wounds of disdainment and unforgiving words. It is after all part of their fatal cycle that they cannot break.

And for this I smile with a putrid sadness in my eyes.

Saturday, November 4

The MishegasMaster Presents Guest Writer Ifeoma Okoro: The Light In The Tunnel Has Turned Into Darkness

It's not often as I, yours truly, The MishegasMaster gives up this very space to just anyone I created one and a half years ago, but today I do, as I'd like to introduce to you, my audience another great writer within my circle of friends.

I first met Ifeoma Okoro (Favour as I call her and as she likes to be called) nearly a year ago through a penpal service. Little did I know what was in store for me as we began corresponding with each other. As I have discovered over the many months, Favour is a brilliant writer in many aspects, especially in poetry, prose and essay-writing, as well as a loving, warm-hearted soulful woman.

She has authored a couple of books, including a touching book on grief and loss.

We think alike on many levels and I feel very fortunate that we have met. Not only can she write, but she runs her own foundation for widows, (www.widowadvancecare.org) all this at age 23! What a marvel she is! Of course, Favour doesn't live in America, she lives in Nigeria, a country that has been taken as an unwilling hostage by turmoil and unrest. It is number two on the United States' State Department list of places not to travel due to the deterioration of the country itself. Ironically, the government of Nigeria modeled their country's democracy after America's. Nigeria's president (Matthew) Olusegun (Aremu) Obasanjo behaves like a Neanderthal, similar to our fuck-up of a president, George W. Bush, Jr.

Among the many projects Favour works on, including ghostwriting books, she also freelances for newspapers. Last night we had a long talk as we usually do and she told me about an opinion that she submitted to one of the newspapers she writes for, but they said they couldn't print it, due to heavy criticism of the of the Nigerian governmental body and Obasanjo, for fear the newspaper might be shutdown, censored or other governmental interference. It always works that way, doesn't it?

Having been a causality in the battle of censorship over the years, I told Favour that I would be happy to publish her opinion here in my blogger space without worry or fear of those evil censors. As you my readers know, I am a heavy critic of America, the government and Bozo Bushman himself, so I am not worried if someone attempts to "get me" or not, as kooks are everywhere we step, even those in official-looking uniforms.

Feel free to comment. And now, I pleased, honored and thrilled to present to you, dear readers, Ifeoma Okoro...

The light in the tunnel has turned into darkness where the train cannot pass even within our own country. Nigeria the light of our country, is gradually turning into darkness. We all are getting blind. Even the train cannot pass through her tunnel anymore. The air we breath is getting too hot for us and our nose and eyes have been swallowed up to the fact that we cannot see the truth of our predicament.

Oh God! What is future of our young ones if the cloud would not be bright? The cries of the innocent ones have changed the sky into a dull moment. The cloud is very moody, even the birds of heaven feel their pains and hear their cries. The green grasses are scared of what will happen next. Even the iroke trees are scared of what will happen next.

Dear people of Nigeria; a lot has happened in just few months. Our country has lived and is still living through tragic events. The bitterness has been aggravated by the political and economic mistakes of the past, the remedying of which was imperatively demanded by the condition of the country and the general desire of our people.

The grave situation in which we find ourselves is characterized by the fact that various elements are mixed up in it, both the one we know and also the one we do not know about. In just one year, a lot has happened. The sky was cloudy, even the wind was storming. The plane crashed with souls of the innocent citizens of Nigeria. What a great loss we have had. The people that matter in our country are gradually dying out one by one.

Who is behind this tragedy?


In the east, west, north and south, souls were crushed like a peanut. What is happening to our aviation? The most painful one was the events that took place on the September 20 2006, where the souls of our dignified men (General) crashed without a trace of it.

This particular event has never happened in history of the world, where 13 major generals died in a plane crash. Here lies 13 bodies of major Generals side by side, in the chapel of the cemetery. I counted them one by one, and stopped in front of each of them. All of them were prominent people, people who would have impacted knowledge to the young ones growing in the military, as far as I could judge.

The smell of blood mingled with the scent of the flowers, which the population and their relatives had brought and pervaded throughout the cemetery chapel. Here lies 13 martyrs who made one of the most glorious pages of history of military chapter as well as demonstrated the insurrection in one of Nigeria's provincial towns.

To all Nigerians, government, United Nations, delegates of the people! In the coming hours you will decide about the life or the death of this country while some of you, your children are at peace and cultivate happiness. We the citizens of Nigeria, our country is falling under the cruel fire of terrorist bombers. Our country has been attacked from within. We turn to you, who are our last citadel of hope.

Kindly exercise the opportunity, which our country have given you and save our country from destruction and slavery! We are asking for immediate and effective help to save us from further bloodshed and give us back our neutrality.

Let us not be our own enemies. Children are hungry. Clothing and shoes are wearing out, fuel is getting scarce, and kerosene, gas and electricity are nowhere to be found. People are dying everyday, tragic things happen here and there.

What will happen to us, if the country is paralyzed, its economy run down; what will be our fate? We certainly do not want this to happen and we cannot allow this to happen!

Hello people of Nigeria. The future of Nigeria does not only depend on the shoulder of the government, but on every honest worker, every patriotic youth, every communist has a new task before him. Let us join hands together to put an end to this disaster that has befallen our country.

Do all you can to prevent further bloodshed, publicize the amnesty decree and convert those who still hesitate. Every minute is precious; the fatherland needs the life of every worker and all the citizens of Nigeria.

Professor Babaloa Borishade (Nigeria's Minister of Aviation, formerly Nigeria's formerly Minister of Education), we are tired of plane crashes! Our brains and souls are yelling for help. We need more of your effort to help us to produce a good operating environment and incentives should be given to your staff to complement competitive remuneration and training.

And please, we need more of our youth to be trained in order to fill the gap created by aging personnel.

I plead with our government to help the civil aviation authorities to push for an accelerated manpower development program across Nigeria and set a goal on a given number of professionals to train likewise.

Men of honor cannot be found where there is no peace, no love, no transparency in a country that is not united. We need transparency in our country. We need light in the tunnel again.

Thursday, November 2

Post-Partum New York Stories>Act Two: Spot Them! Jew Vs Jew!

1. Find The Jew Who Wears A Wig.
2. Find The Jew Who Spreads Loshon Hora.
3. Find The Jew Who Is Happy With Their Life.
4. Find The Jew Who Is Outed Just For What Their True Beliefs Are.
5. Find The Jew That Doesn't Support Israel's Right To Exist.
6. Find The Jews With Beards.
7. Find The Pretty Jews.
8. Find The Ugly Jews.
9. Find The Jews Who Don't Practice What They Preach.
10. Find The Jew Who Smokes.
11. Find The Jew That Speaks A Foreign Language.
12. Find The Jew That Isn't Afraid To Speak Their Mind, For Fear Their Reputation Will Be Smashed By Some Stranger With Either A Typewriter Or A Keyboard.
13. Find The Jew Who Supports The War In Iraq.
14. Find The Jew Who Hates Those Who Aren't The Same Skin Color As They Are.
15. Find The Jew Who Keeps Kosher.
16. Find The Phony Jew.
17. Find The Sick Jew.
18. Find The Whacko Jew.



Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, well can you find those Jews? Can you? Can you?

Wednesday, November 1

And The Winner Is…Post-Halloween, 2006 Pumpkin Brain Drippings

Every year, Halloween comes and goes. Vibrant energy ebbs and flows within our hearts and souls. People dress in costumes, march in parades in cities, towns & villages, collect candy, compete for prizes in costume contests, have lots of fun and put their costumes away for another year.

Some people dress up in the same costumes as they have done in previous years, while other people change annually like the four seasons of nature. There’s an old observance that suggests that we are those personalities that we dress up in, but that’s a lot of hooey.

Then there are those who don’t dress up and frown upon those of that do. Still, there are others who live vicariously through those of who do dress up, for perhaps a plethora of odd reasons including; afraidiness of the self; afraidiness of their reputation; feelings of being too old to dress up and it’s a devil’s holiday, which is ironic considering the holiday originated in Ireland over 2,000 ago under entirely different circumstances.

In the past few years, I’ve dressed up as a wounded soldier from Iraq, a rock and roll party girl, to varying themes on a cow, but last year, I skipped dressing up, because too many people relied heavily on me to dress up for them. Dress up for others? Sounds silly, huh? Over a dozen people bugged me last year, asking me what I was going dressed as. I told all that ask, I was going as “me,” but no one believed it until October 31 came and sure enough, I was myself.

This year was no different, as I struggled with the dressing up issue, because as I see it, I am already many idolatries to many people; a son to Rex Pater Homo & The Arizona Babe; sibling to Naomi, Louie, Benjy & Joey; friend to many; ex-boyfriend to women who either married or dead or perhaps both and enemy to those who hold grudges against me that are eons too old to remember or recognize.

So acknowledging all of that, I wondered deeply about the implications of dressing up and wondered perhaps if the stakes were pushed a little high & the pressure had been increased in multitudes against me. But am I a role model to those wishy-washy wiggle-worms or just their august clown boy who isn’t afraid to show himself to the world?

Last weekend, when I was doing my usual errand-running in and around town, I stopped into a Halloween shop and looked at all of the costumes and didn’t see anything I really liked, until one costume stopped me dead in my tracks, but due to its high price, made me pass it up. I told myself, that if the costume was still there on the following Monday, October 30, The Arizona Babe’s birthday coincidently, I’d buy it.

Monday evening fast approached as I went to the shop and of course the costume was still there, so I bought it with a couple of other separate accessories that seemed to fit with the costume itself.

Tuesday morning arrived and I awoke early. Dressed in a basic under-lining of underclothes and drove to work. Changed into the costume in the parking lot. Had to have a co-worker help lead me into the office, as vision in a mask can sometimes be difficult.

The workday went well; many interruptions as usual. Fellow co-workers dressed in costume wanted to take videos and photos of me; deflected two disparaging remarks and then of course there was the costume contest in mid-afternoon, where I was deemed by the company president as “a demented gorilla.”

When I went out for lunch later in the afternoon, I was helped across the street by a male crossing guard, whom crossed two streets himself and nearly was run over in oncoming traffic; two cars bumped each other when one driver saw a gorilla in a tutu walking down the sidewalk and didn’t bother to look at the traffic behind him; received candy; spoke to a toddler and his nanny about his frog costume; had photos taken of me with a young girl dressed as a princess and I spoke to a group of smoking workers from a neighboring company from ours and wandered back to my office.

After work, I went to see my mentor Miss Firefly, whom I looked forward to seeing all day. The building I waited in, is shared by a clinic, so as I was waiting for her, a young couple passed me by and the man looked at me and said, “Hmm. You should really ask for your money back. I can see that treatment is really not working for you,” while the woman, presumably his wife laughed.

As I saw Miss Firefly walk out of the elevator, her face appeared more solemn and stoic than her usual pleasant demeanor. I knew right away something was wrong, but didn’t mention anything to her until later in our session.

To put a smile on her face was my main objective, so I looked at her and said through my mask something like, “C’mon, let’s go!” Miss Firefly then realized it was me and lit up like a glowing candle in a vastly dark room.

I took third place in that costume contest, beaten out only by a witch, who ironically, looked like my second-to-last ex-girlfriend and a leatherized Catwoman.

Happy All Saints Day, everybody!

Monday, October 30

Post-Partum New York Stories> Act One: Sid Yiddish Visits Mykel Board






Every once in a while you take a vacation that is so fun, so exciting and so memorable that it stays with you long after the reality of the world kicks in. I had one of those a few weeks ago, in New York City. What I hope to present to you from now until the end of the photos I will share with you, 441 in all, some of the more outstanding highlights and lowlights.

I'd been planning this trip for over a year. I was originally scheduled to go last fall. I had been previously scouted by poet & venue host Roxanne Hoffman at a previous poetry event at The Bowery Poetry Club in New York City April, 2005, but the surgery and extraction of three wisdom teeth drained me of my trip funds so I had to postpone it until the following year when I knew I would be on solid financial ground.

This trip was a two-fold purpose; to perform at a few nightclubs and to have fun, the latter of which I did everyday. New York City despite all its criticism by those who either used to live there or those who disdain it otherwise, is a very vibrant, beautiful city. Sure it's had its share of misfortunes like 911 and losing baseball teams, but there is no place on earth like it. Other cities pale in comparison to it and that's no lie.

I left the morning of Saturday, October 7, just excited to be going there once more. For a long time I hated New York City and for the life of me, I cannot remember why now. Well, it doesn't matter. What matters is that I love it now.

I stayed with my good friend Mykel Board. Like me, there are many sides to him, most notably author and columnist for Maximum Rocknroll. He's a good guy, no-nonsense and everytime I see him, he teaches me a new trick or two.

But I had two requirements; get him a bottle of Everclear and don't be a pest. Being a pest I did my best not to be. The Everclear was another story, as my friend Pierre who owns a liquor store in the town I live in, didn't want to sell me a bottle as I told him I was transporting it in my checked luggage.

"I don't want you to be arrested, man! That stuff is 120 percent proof," he exclaimed
. Mykel suggested that I put it beneath my clothes which I did. I also snuck my screwdriver set and my Furbies inside. Just imagine all the possibilities you can have with a bottle of Everclear, a six-piece screwdriver set and two Furbies all stowed away beneath a jetliner carrying tons of fuel! Think of all the terroist possibilities! Well, I solved the problem. I bought a couple of ice-like holders for the Everclear, kept them inside my freezer, while I kept the Everclear in the fridge until the morning I left town.

But where to put the car? Seems the city I live in has a some sort of obscure law, that says you cannot leave your car on the street for more than seven days undriven! Stupid law, considering the last few places I've lived I never had a problem leaving it on the street when I went on vacation. So, only having lived here for less than a month, I found a friend who knew someone who let me put my car in her garage during the week I was gone. I hate stupid laws, not laws in general, but stupid ones!

Mykel Board's apartment is like a living inside a museum or a thrift store! Every possible little trinket or book you might imagine is there, plus a lot of Yankees memorabilia. Naturally, he's a Yankees fan, but I still don't know why.

He also collects Negroes. Yes, you heard me right, Mykel Board collects Negroes. Not the human kind, but the trinket kind as you see by some of the photos here. In this first act, besides photos of yours truly, you get a mini-photo tour of the inside of Mykel Board's apartment& his trinkets.
Enjoy!

Thursday, October 26

The Obscure Derelict Diversion: An Occupational Hazard>Act 31

Disclaimer: Obscurity brings safety. The street to obscurity is paved with athletes who can perform great feats before friendly crowds. The obscure only exists that it may cease to exist. In it lies the opportunity of all victory and all progress. Whether it call itself fatality, death, night, or matter, it is the pedestal of life, of light, of liberty and the spirit. For it represents resistance, that is to say, the fulcrum of all activity, the occasion for its development and its triumph. What is grand is necessarily obscure to weak men. That which can be made explicit to the idiot is not worth my care. Everybody is so talented nowadays that the only people I care to honor as deserving real distinction are those who remain in obscurity. Fiction can be that way sometimes. Any similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental & should not be taken or misconstrued as such. Anyone who thinks otherwise probably believes that obscurantism is the academic theorist's revenge on society for having consigned him or her to relative obscurity a way of proclaiming one's superiority in the face of one's diminished influence, more so that darkness is to space what silence is to sound and obscurity is the realm of error.

Well, it is said that lately in and around the great prison walls of Devil’s Island, prison guards have been harassing prisoners at breakneck speed. Often the harassment stems from personal vendettas, jealousies and Acts of God. Some of these actions are leading prisoners to commit great acts of obscurity, including their own untimely deaths, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

It is a common practice for prison guards here on Devil’s Island to let certain prisoners slip by with violations a-plenty and a smile, while other prisoners are ordered to follow obscure rules simply because they were not smiled upon.

It’s called the obscure derelict diversion and it separates the men from the boys; the women from the girls; the phonies from the honest, the good from the evil and the saps from the lackeys. The prison guards have been doing strange things to amuse themselves lately and that includes accidental and untimely prisoner deaths, but after all, what’s another prisoner death on Devil’s Island anyway?

It apparently stems from a trickle-down document that surfaced recently during a locked-door meeting held by prisoner guards, which of course Broadcast Betty had privy to be invited to. After all, good misinformation scares Devil’s Island prisoners. The meeting primarily focused on old and often overlooked obscure prison procedures to more speedily execute longtime prisoners taking up good cell-space on Devil’s Island.

Take Trixie Pixie for example; always attentive to every prisoner’s needs; always the one to go above and beyond the call of what skill required within the Devil’s Island prisoner labor camp; always a shining asset to Upper Prison Brass, yet some unknown obscure law caught her full of too much juice one day and due to an extremely obscure prison procedure, she was executed.

Then there was The Anglican Choir Boy, who was recaptured after many months of being on the lam. Once he was placed back into the system, they brainwashed him into thinking everything was okay, but of course it wasn’t, as one day a trigger-happy prison guard “accidentally” shot The Anglican Choir Boy in the back, similar in style to the coward who shot famous outlaw Jesse James in the late 1800s. No one ever made mention of the “accidental” incident ever again and the trigger-happy guard was rewarded with his own watch office.

And then of course there was the unfortunate death of Mother Hen Martha that broke up the infamous choking-smoking, wheezing-sneezing OCTOBER Sisters, based on a pressurized psychological noose that prison guards kept tightening around her neck. It went on for weeks, until one day without warning, Mother Hen Martha swung herself hard off a chair and the rest as they say, is history.

Often times I find myself in their rifle scope between their well-placed obscure procedures and boundaries of falsehoods. But where is truth on Devil’s Island? Is there such a movement as truth? Be it so done my friends, that there’s enough obscurity to be placed upon the entire prison population here on Devil’s Island, including the self-appointed and anointed prison guards.

Be it so said that some might try to decipher or decode what is written here. Let them. Beware however, of the felled obscurity that will boomerang back into their spineless bodies, thereby giving birth to the affliction commonly known as the great obscurity dereliction fruition that infects only those who set foot onto Devil’s Island!

Monday, September 11

Five Years And Counting: Where The Fuck Is Osama Bin Laden!!!

"More than a third of the American public suspects that federal officials assisted in the 9/11 terrorist attacks or took no action to stop them so the United States could go to war in the Middle East. The national survey of 1,010 adults also found that anger against the federal government is at record levels, with 54 percent saying they "personally are more angry" at the government than they used to be. Widespread resentment and alienation toward the national government appears to be fueling a growing acceptance of conspiracy theories about the 2001 attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Suspicions that the 9/11 attacks were "an inside job" _ the common phrase used by conspiracy theorists on the Internet _ quickly have become nearly as popular as decades-old conspiracy theories that the federal government was responsible for President John F. Kennedy's assassination and that it has covered up proof of space aliens..." Scripps Howard/Ohio University poll.
Today, as our nation observes a horrific anniversary puppeteered and masterminded by the United States Government and all their foreign hot-tub buddies (911), there are still three questions that permeate the stench around Ground Zero and my brain; number one: WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! Okay, got it now? Good!


Secondly; when will the truth surrounding 911 come out? This is perhaps one of the greatest most single tragic events in my lifetime (besides the assassination of President Kennedy & John Lennon 17 years later). The trouble with 911 however, is that it’s a lot like the Kennedy assassination, in which a nation divided will have to come to its own conclusions individually and that’s the sad part really and as church bells rang out this morning in memoriam for the 2,973 who perished and the those 2,973 names were read at Ground Zero where the World Trade Towers once stood in the heart of the financial district in New York City and the sales rang briskly of “God Bless America These Colors Don’t Run Etc.” paraphernalia by the shitload and the mainstream press continues to rehash the same old sound bites of that terrible day, the other question is; Did an airplane really hit The Pentagon that day as the U.S. government wants its citizens to believe or was it smacked hard by a missile?

Did the 911 Commission really tell us anything new about stories that were already available in some way, shape or form available elsewhere? That elsewhere of course being the Internet and if you really wanted to know whether or not how The Pentagon was hit, all you need to do is Google the words “Pentagon” & “missile” and click on the word Images and you’ll receive back at least four pages of photos that clearly show a missile hitting The Pentagon and not an airplane.

Funny how that is, really; just hours after The Pentagon was struck, The FBI promptly snatched nearly video surveillance camera tapes from hotels and other businesses within the area in the name of “national security” and only recently released tapes that shows an explosion, but there’s no visible sign of an airplane. Could The Pentagon airstrike be a Roswell waiting in disguise? So! Where is the airplane! There is none! Or was there? We'll just never know for certain, that's all!

As I write this essay, some of my friends worry that I can be arrested for writing such ideas or views and so I say this onto them and others; whatever happened to the 4th Amendment, you know; freedom of speech? It’s still there. Until the day arrives that I am physically arrested and stand before a magistrate with a good lawyer by my side, I will continue to write such essays.

There are people in these United States, good, close friends of mine who used to be so radical and tough, but not anymore, since the government began whittling away their rights to the point where they have them stopped dead in the tracks.

So I write for them, as I write for myself!

Fuck the U.S. Government and their false sense of patriotism! Fuck George Bush! I didn’t vote for this clown! It's easy to blame Bill Clinton for not catching him to begin with, as it takes the burden off of Bush, our fuck-up of a president, but he don’t mean shit in my book! Woulda, shoulda, coulda and all those what if questions don't matter at this point.

All I care about is him finding Osama Bin Laden and bringing him to justice, so as I stated much earlier…WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN! WHERE THE FUCK IS OSAMA BIN LADEN!

Okay, got it this time, Georgie? Good!

Friday, September 8

The Botox Frankenstein Poetry Series>Jesus Had Loads Of Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks!

Good warm evening to everyone! A quick tip of the slightly sweaty kippah and yes, it's Friday! And believe you me, I am quite happy to see it after a long senseless and torturous week! But still I remain just as busy as ever for the end of this second week of September and you know what? Our good friend, that beautiful gentle sweet capper is here to ease us into a restful weekend! And now, yes you guessed it! It's spanking brand-new poem-time! And remember dear readers, please tell someone you love them, be sure to check on them if you live in a region of the world that is soaked in blazing, roaring heat and always enjoy!


Jesus Had Loads of Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks!

Madness is gladness is sadness, still Jesus had loads of Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks!Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks ! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks!Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks ! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks ! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks!Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks ! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks ! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks!Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks ! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks ! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks!Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks ! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks!

in finality too

Friday, September 1

The Botox Frankenstein Poetry Series>Nuts Don't Just Fall Off Trees

Good cool evening to you one and all, my dear friends! A quick tip of the kippah and hip-hip hurrah! It's Friday! The beginning of a long weekend and the beginning of the end and the start of many new beginnings for me. It's a new month; can you believe it's September already? My how times fly when you're busy, busy, busy! And just like every week, our friend is here, our delightful loving sweet capper is here to ease us into a fantastically fun weekend!. And now, yes you guessed it! It's spanking brand-new poem-time! And remember dear readers, please tell someone you love them, be sure to check on them if you live in a region of the world that is soaked in blazing, roaring heat and always-always-always enjoy!

Nuts Don't Just Fall Off Trees

I know.
I have always known.
Yes, I know.
I have known all along
Nuts don't just fall off the trees

For the Thin Men squeal loudly
Even without gonads
And I'd be the first in line to give those gonads a kick
But the Thin Men have none
They've never had any

Those with gonads
Speak their mind and stick with it
Those without, hide behind
Whatever they can find and see their shallow reflections
In the cowardice pools of circumspections
I am not afraid of what the Thin Men have to say
This display of discolored direction
Plays downward like a spinning detection
It's only a matter of time...

Yes, I know.
I have always known.
I have known all along
Nuts don't just fall off trees

Saturday, August 12

Life Has Its Natural Rewards

The photograph I've used today is of Washington state resident Marian Hauge accepting an award pin (that's her in the purple cloth) for having given $5,000 of her own money to a Pacific Northwest Jewish National Fund for one of their pet projects. I have to ask myself, why in the world is she being rewarded for donating money?

Public television & radio offer similar deals when an individual donates money or becomes a “subscriber” to the broadcast facility. They rely heavily on that practice and the rewards for donations or premiums as the industry calls it are plentiful and consist of DVDs, CDs, autographed books, posters, tickets and other fancy trinkets.

Car companies, banks, credit card corporations, gymnasiums and department stores all offer incentives to individuals who use that particular company’s charge card or membership or buying their products and offer freebees such as ball caps, jackets, plastic mugs, pens, pencils, key chains and tee shirts with their logos emblazoned on it as they sign on the dotted line.

Individuals and organizations donate to social causes all of the time, including for profit, not-for-profit and political campaigns.

For these folks, their rewards are having a dinner thrown in honor of their donations, meeting a candidate or elected official at a cocktail party, reception or a high society affair and having their smiling mugs photographed with the high and mighty and getting it published in either an artsy-fartsy magazine or newspaper.

It’s a confusing message to send to our children.

13 years ago when I was a cub reporter for The Des Plaines Journal, I helped the city of Des Plaines’ consumer affairs division, break-up a fly-by-night boiler room operation for a phony charity based in Lincoln, Nebraska that preyed on senior citizens by offering them a prize if they donated a certain amount of money to their charity, which I believe was called “Save Our Children,” as opposed to the legal and above-board charity “Save The Children.”

An individual man who I spoke with at the time had already donated $3,000, yet had not received a “prize.” That’s when I intervened and helped the city department, along with the help of the local FBI office in Lincoln, Nebraska crack the case.

In turn, the City of Des Plaines Department of Consumer Affairs’ spokesman Robert Hinde cited me for my ability to crack a case that no one else had been able to do previously and thankfully brought this problem to a close.

But you know what? I didn’t expect anything because I was just doing my job. And that’s how I’ve always felt about awards and rewards. When I do something that is heartfelt, I don’t expect anything in return.

We as individuals have become accustomed to receiving trinkets and accolades for doing what we’re supposed to be doing, whether it’s keeping people entertained, safe on city streets or the Internet, giving us a warm, happy and healthy glow.

Be it as it may or whatever we do as humans, we make impact and impressions upon others and we shouldn’t have the need to receive or expect awards or little tokenism trinkets, for isn’t giving something away on your own set of values, reward enough?

I believe in a simple philosophy; expect the unexpected; the rewards will be reaped plentiful and tenfold when you follow this simple approach and apply it to your life.

Just ask The Arizona Babe, Blog-19 or any number of individuals that I know of, including yours truly, The MishegasMaster, who know that when the rewards come, they are both mighty and satisfying.

Smiles, hugs and handshakes are all we really need.

Don’t you believe more of us humans should go for the old (old-fashioned values) as opposed to the gold (trinkets)?

Yes! It’s about time we should!

Friday, August 11

The Botox Frankenstein Poetry Series>She's Moody

Good cool evening to you one and all, my friends! A quick tip of the kippah and hip-hip hooray! It's Friday! It is here finally and let me tell you how happy I am! It's the second week of August and it feels good and feeling good reminds me that our good friend, our sweet capper is waiting for us once again to take us into a lovely weekend. Please continue to keep Israel in your thoughts. And now, yes you guessed it! It's poem-time! Remember dear readers, please tell someone you love them, be sure to check on them if you live in a region of the world that is soaked in blazing, roaring heat and always-always-always enjoy!


She’s Moody

Elevation odometer
Measures
The space of determination
She’s
Unable
To breathe

Thursday, August 10

Terrorism Is A Panic Sale Unveiled Before Our Very Eyes

The terrorists are winning. But not just any old terrorists and I certainly don’t mean the real ones with the ample supply of guns, explosives and other weapons that are meant to maim, hurt, kill and otherwise destroy human life as we know it now or in the future.

No my friends, I’m talking about those in authority position; those that rule you and I in one way or another…I’m talking about The Big Business Monkey.

They have us right where they want us and behaving exactly the way they want us to. Scared. Panicked. Paranoid. Afraid to boycott or promote any anti-business climate, for fear of repercussions in the form of business terrorism.

The United States as I see it has become a business dictatorship; a ruined democracy puppeteered, bought, signed, sold, sealed and delivered to greater powers beyond our own doing. It at last has come to everything I used to say when I was a teenager; a business within a business, within a business, within a business.

But this latest terrorist plot foiled in London, England today, has nothing to do with terrorists, oh no. This has to do with world manipulation and controlled atmospheric conditions by The Big Business Monkey.

It's no big secret that both the United States & England’s economies are suffering greatly due to the great terrorist war-scare and the siphoning of jobs to cheap labor countries such as India, Mexico, China & Malaysia.

So, The Big Business Monkey steps in and invents a prefabricated terrorist plot designed to spike the economy and put impulse buying residuals straight into their pockets, just like snake-oilmen.

Shopping is patriotic. So why not celebrate patriotism by buying more liquids? Sure you can hide or pack your shampoo, hand creams, perfumes, colognes and liquor into your checked baggage at the airport, but today’s little terrorism exercise handed The Big Business Monkey a total net profit in the tens of millions of dollars easily.

Today’s supposed foiled terrorism plot was truly manipulated by mass media; government & The Big Business Monkey all working together for a change. It all comes down to two main factors; your money and mind control.

Don’t think for a minute that The Big Business Monkey doesn’t smell or see a good opportunity like this! P.T. Barnum of Ringling Bros. Barnum & Bailey Circus knew a good panic ploy sales pitch when he saw it and seized the moment to his advantage.

Terrorism is a panic sale; we already see such sales occur on a regular basis, like half-off sales, liquidation sales and lost-our-lease/closing the door forever sales.

The panic reoccurs again and again when the same like-minded businesses open up new stores under creative names and use the same panic factors to entice you and manipulate your pocketbook all over again.

The Big Business Monkey has created far too many gazelles and if you don’t believe me, look all around you; from the office water cooler, to the barroom to the coffeehouses to virtual Internet chat-rooms; they hang in packs, all agreeing and too afraid to stick their toe into the water for fear it’s just too darned cold.

If they do stick their necks out or let their voices be heard, they are likely to be called names or threatened idly with violence and are targeted as loners or totally nuts. They are immediately pointed out by the scared gazelles and everyone attacks them.

The Big Business Monkey knows exactly what it is doing and frankly, it’s frightening, as it swings from mood to mood, all in the frantic pursuit of your personal well-being and your pocketbook.

But gazelles are gazelles are gazelles.

And they don’t really care. It just makes The Big Business Monkey very, very, very rich and prosperous.

And that’s sad.

Truly sad.

Wednesday, August 9

Angels & Devils On A Moonlit Night

Everything that happens to me happens for a reason and each time something strange happens, the law of unusual averages comes rearing its ugly head every single time. This is a true story about angels and devils and how angels and devils work together despite their agendas and beliefs.The story takes place one evening ago...

I get an offer for a futon & frame, plus a few pillows and a bed cover from a friend’s friend at work. “She’ll call you,” says my friend Tina.

Sure enough, Tina’s friend calls me and offers me a futon with a frame and asks me if I want it? I often wonder where the word idiot comes from and well, now I know.

She tells me she can transport it to my place when she calls, but as it stood right then and there I was apartment hunting and I wouldn’t be home all that often, but I would make some time for her. But of course, that time frame never materializes, plus when I do reach her, the crew and truck that she had mysteriously disappeared; it was all borrowed, she says.

Another week passes by and I call her up, telling her I still want the bed and though she says she’ll get back to me, she doesn’t and tells me the following Monday that she was too busy on the weekend to give me a call back.

She tells me she’s storing the futon & frame in the garage of her building and her landlord doesn’t want it there much longer. Why it’s in her garage to begin with I don’t know, since she previously told me she had a storage space.

I tell her I can get a van and get it out of there by Thursday, but she stiffly and flat out rejects that notion by saying “No.”

“It needs to be out by Tuesday night or it gets wheeled over to The Salvation Army,” she says firmly.

I hate being threatened by someone I don’t know and it almost feels like a surreal virtual situation inside an Internet chat-room. Tuesday night rolls around and I’ve asked my good pal The Baseball Kid to come and help me out with moving the futon frame.

I meet him at his work place, he punches out and he follows me back in his car to the place where we need to pick it up. The Baseball Kid and I finally arrive to this woman’s place. I call her up and tell her I’ve arrived and she says she’ll be right over. We meet her for a few brief moments and she explains to us that futon is blocking parking spaces in the garage, but as we all see, it’s tucked off into a corner, so I don’t know why she's fibbing.

She's flippant in her remarks as she says goodbye to us in an odd way, leaving myself and The Baseball Kid to figure out things for ourselves.

As we are in the garage trying to get the frame and futon in our respective cars, we are honked at by other residents, who tell us that we are blocking their parking spaces.

So we back out and as I back out, I cannot see in the back as I have the futon in the back seat, thereby blocking my view and I hit a fence. We are still blocking an SUV’s driveway as a big large man tells us and so we move further down the alleyway.

After some more finagling with the futon frame, The Baseball Kid decides it will just not fit in his trunk, due to length and instead takes the futon into his car from my car and follows me to my new studio, where I park my car and drop the futon off. He then drops me back at the woman’s building, the garage still open and leaves me to my only other alternative, which is to push the futon frame 10 blocks.

I have no choice, so I decide to do it. Luckily, I tell myself, the frame has wheels, so it should be fairly easy to push it. What an understatement!

It’s 9:30 in the evening as I begin pushing the futon frame forward through the first alleyway. I fly through a second alleyway with ease, then turn left and wait for traffic to pass before crossing the main thoroughfare and head north until I make a left and begin heading west with the futon frame.

As I am pushing the futon frame through evening negroesque streets, drivers of cars, SUVs, taxis and vans all slow down to take a long and hard look at me, yet none offer to help me. They only stare.

As I cross the sixth block in my 10-block sojourn, the left front wheel falls off! Shit, I think, now what am I going to do?

I pick up the connecting piece and the wheel and move forward. My back and feet are starting to hurt. As I enter the seventh block, to my right I see a young-blond haired woman on a bicycle with two blond-haired young men.

“Excuse me,” I say to them, “Could one of you help me push this frame? I don’t have too far to go and I don’t bite.” All three of them laugh and one of the men initially offers his help.

Eventually the other man offers to push, while their friend follows us on her bicycle. We turn the corner at the 10th block, going slightly north and pop the frame up the curb and into the front doorway.

After 10 minutes of struggling and moving the futon frame around, we realize it won’t fit in the front door, so we move it around to the back and finally like a key into the door lock it fits and we move it straight in.

I thank the two gentlemen with gratitude and they say no problem and disappear into the moonlit night with the woman on the bicycle. It’s now 10:30.

Fast forward to an afterthought this night; angels are every where you go. Just ask for them and they will appear in your most needed hour. Devils some say are angels in disguise, but that’s an outright lie as angels are beautiful and honest.

Devils are deviant and ugly. In the last month, I’ve encountered more devils than normal. Devils are low-down bastards who can be bitter and full of hate, though they may not realize what they are doing or saying at the time.

Angels don’t assume. They just grant your wishes if you wish hard enough.

Devils belong in the dust bin and should be kicked to the curb, the moment you encounter one.

Devil spelled backward is lived. Bitterness and anger tell a lot about a soul that has formerly lived and therefore transformed into a devil.

And I pity them.

Sometimes.

Friday, August 4

The Botox Frankenstein Poetry Series>C-h-em---isss---tree (Chemistry)

Good summer evening to you one and all, my friends! A quick tip of the sweaty kippah and although it's warm today, it's not as bad as it was earlier in the week! But, Friday! Big yahoos for Friday! It is at last here and let me tell you how happy I am to see it! It's a brand new month already! Time flies when you live, doesn't it? And as we live, here he is our living, breathing pal, our sweet capper is here to greet us once again to bring us into a peaceful weekend. Please continue to keep Israel in your thoughts. And now, yes you guessed it! It's absolutely brand-spanking new poem-time! Remember dear readers, please tell someone you love them, be sure to check on them if you live in a region of the world that is soaked in blazing, roaring heat and always-always-always enjoy!

C-h-em---isss---tree (Chemistry)


C-h-em---isss---tree


The boy looks into the mirror, repeating the phrase fine-tuning, working it like a good sales pitch down to the bone

C-h-em---isss---tree


It’s like rehearsal for death
He mumbles to himself
Do you love me?
He asks aloud



C-h-em---isss---tree


The email is returned
A lesson goes unheard
He doesn’t care



C-h-em---isss---tree


Just isn’t fair

Wednesday, August 2

When Friendship Gets Ugly

It’s terribly bad to say this, despite what this particular cliché offers, yet sometimes you just don’t know who your friends are until the crucial moment arrives and the actions are laid bare for the entire world to see.

It’s no secret that for the last several weeks I’ve been fighting on and off with Catfish Jeff, over mostly frivolous and often stupid reasons.

I always thought friends were friends and stayed tactful, even in the most crucial times of disagreement, but no! Catfish Jeff openly criticized me about everything, when it came to becoming his potential roommate.

What follows is a transcribed conversation I had with Catfish Jeff on the subject. This is sadly real. What will follow after his initial comments & my reactions will be my after-thoughts, if any are appropriate. I have changed the names to avoid scandal...kind of. But as openly harsh as Catfish Jeff is toward my blog and what I choose to post, secretly he does read it and thinks about it. Perhaps he'll write a rebuttal. He has already sent me spewing hateful email. Ah, stichomythia...

Sid Yiddish: Ummm, did your landlord ask you about me when I left?

Catfish Jeff: No I left when you were there why? You did tell him about all your stuff?

Sid Yiddish: Yep, I told him.

Catfish Jeff: And what did he say?

Sid Yiddish: He said the boxes below could be rearranged.

Catfish Jeff: But does he know just how much you have? And don’t say it’s as much as mine Cause it’s a lot more.

Sid Yiddish: LOL (laughing out loud) no, I told him I have a lot.

Catfish Jeff: I mean a lot more up to the ceiling more.


(That's a slight exaggeration)

Sid Yiddish: I mentioned all the furniture pieces and have you looked at your boxes lately? A lot of them are empty so? I don’t follow.

Catfish Jeff: At some point you probably need to let go of some stuff I know that’s hard for you, but you cant hold on to everything, unless you want to drag it all around till you die , I mean do you even know the sum total of all your stuff?


(Funny, that's what my second-to-last crazy landlady told me right before she forgot to take her medication and left for vacation in Brazil)

Sid Yiddish: I’m not going to get into a point-counterpoint with you

Catfish Jeff: and I put stuff in them when I move.


(Okay, I see. You carry emtpy boxes around with you and you react like a child when someone else actually needs the space)

Sid Yiddish: But they're empty.

Catfish Jeff: I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to move here I don’t want to hurt your feelings but the energies can clash at times I may be a slob, but you...

Sid Yiddish: Well, that's what I asked you before. And if you're planning on insulting me, save it.


Catfish Jeff: I don’t leave food around all over the place.

(What does that have to do with anything?)

Sid Yiddish: you know, when I lived with roommates I was pretty clean, my own room was my room if you're going to insult me, don't and you believe I’m terrible, there are far worse people than me.

Catfish Jeff: I’m not I’m just saying it might not be a good idea for you to move here it's just an observation I’m trying not to make it a personal thing, I’m just saying you have your way of doing things and I have my way and they clash and you don’t have to get so defensive, that’s what I’m talking about.


(Okay, I've asked him over and over not to insult me, but he just doesn't bother to listen and does whatever he chooses to do and wonders why I get so defensive? Sheesh!)

Sid Yiddish: Hey, you get defensive on certain issues when I try to drive the point home, what's the difference? I know what space means.

Catfish Jeff: I’m just saying you have your ways of doing things and I have my ways and I don’t think they mix and I don’t think you want to listen to anything I'd have to say about it you think you know what’s best, but the best way friends can start to hate each other is if they move in together.


(Is this a domination factor? Are you telling me that you have to have a need to control me and the situation because I might be stronger than you, so in order for you to win, you have to tear me down?)

Sid Yiddish: Well, you're my friend not my parents. When I ask for an opinion, I’ll let you give it. I lived with friends for four and half years we made it thru and strangely enough...I hear otherwise.

Catfish Jeff: but you have to consider other peoples feelings you cant just do what you want you lived with others that were like you and they probably didn’t mind it , but I don't know. Like did you ever consider why you have mice? And they didn’t just "come" with the building.”


(Oh! The mice issue! Everyone loves to pick on me with that! I wonder if he forgot that when he helped me move boxes down to the storage space, those gigantic holes that were in a closet, making it easier for mice to get into? It's not me who is leading the mice here; it's my neighbors across the way, they love feeding stray animals and despite calling the city of Skokie on them several times, they still do it. So go on, blame me. It makes you feel good, doesn't it!)

Sid Yiddish: Wrong! They came to this building before I was here.

Catfish Jeff: My ex-girlfriend had roaches wherever she went, she blamed it on the buildings, but she left food and garbage all over the apartment it was disgusting.


(I bet you'll tell that story to your grandkids someday...)

Sid Yiddish: If your idea is to insult me, I suggest you quit while you're ahead, I know you're trying to tear me down and you enjoy doing that to me...I know my faults and I own up to them. What’s your excuse...and you've told me that story over and over and over and over again...I hear you, I hear you.

Catfish Jeff: Again you live the way you do and I live the way I do and I don’t think they work well together. I’m just saying it as I see it if you want to get all defensive that’s how it is I’m just saying it would be better for both of us if you didn’t do this.


(I see, so in order to get your point across, you have to insult me...)

Sid Yiddish: This is all about space. you think I’m encroaching on your territory. I didn't have this problem in the previous space. I live as I live: and you knock me every which way you can because you believe you have a point to make...Mona, a roommate of long ago did the same fucking thing to me and I lived with her, because we all have our quirks.

Catfish Jeff: No, actually I don’t want a bunch of smelly mouse encrusted furniture in the house and I don’t want to be around your weird energy. Frankly, I've told you this before, but you don’t want to hear me, you smell like mouse poop from living around it all this time , now I’m sorry to have to say that to you, but it's true.


(Funny, no one else ever tells me I smell like mouse poop. What have you been smoking?)

Sid Yiddish: My weird energy? Well, you don't have to smell me.

Catfish Jeff: I think you have a lot of great qualities, but, frankly, you have a lot of anger and energy that goes all over the place. Sometimes it's just exhausting to be with you. I don't know if I could live with that and again I don’t want some mouse funk in this house it's a lot easier to have a roommate that you don’t have to invest so much energy in it’s a hygiene issue; you wanna talk about it or you just want to be hurt?


(Okay, just going for the kill, aren't you? Well, whatever floats your boat. Weird energy? Perhaps you're mistaking intense personality for anger and agression. It wouldn't be the first time and it certainly won't be the last time either.)

Sid Yiddish: What the heck do you want from me?

Catfish Jeff: I just want you to reconsider moving here. Again you don’t have to get all defensive. You just want it, cause it’s cool.


(No, I wanted to move in because it's cheaper and we're friends and some friends can live together. Funny; you can be with me for several hours and you don't complain and you don't mind the rides in my car, so what's the problem? You never tell me what my weird energy is unless you're summing up situations that have nothing to do with anything. Afraid of closeness?)

Sid Yiddish: I think you should reconsider everything you just said.

Catfish Jeff: Why? Cause you'll get mad and walk away? Okay, if that's where you are.

Sid Yiddish: You have far more problems than me

Catfish Jeff: Always blaming others. Hey let your stuff go! I don’t live in a rummage sale and perhaps I do have problems and I d like to work on them, but I don’t think you being here will help. Frankly, a lot of times I want to leave here, but I don’t know where to go and the only reason I'm staying here is for the air conditioning right now.


(What a shallow soul you are! Did you ever stop and wonder that it's you who blames others for your own wicked mistakes? I didn't ask for all the troubles you have. Do you enjoy twisting the knife harder and deeper every chance you get? That remark about living in a rummage sale cracks me up! Yes, I have accumulated items over the years; that's what happens when you move from place to place to place and your parents move out-of-state. And that remark about me being here, is truly funny! You had your basket of problems long before you met me and you'll have them long after my demise. So, having said that, what the fuck are you talking about?)

Sid Yiddish: Frankly, you enjoy being bitter and twisted and painting other lives but you cant focus on anything else...you're a cruel man and I want you to apologize.

Catfish Jeff: Could be that’s why you don’t want to move here. I probably am but I don’t want to be really and enjoying misery is not something I do. I just don’t know how else to be really anything else? Cause I’m going to go what? What else do you wanna say? For what I told you how is I feel and if it hurts your feelings, I’m sorry, but that’s how I feel I didn’t hold back I’m not going to pretend that everything is ok why should I? I don’t want to lie in your filth...

Sid Yiddish: You're cruel and a true asshole...but that's okay, karma has a way of swinging itself back around when the one swinging the bat forgets to duck...you'll get yours...


What I find interesting in all of this is the criticism Catfish Jeff dishes out, but cannot swallow despite his own words. People with control issues and agendas are often frightening because they don’t have a grip of what reality is, so they have to create their own worlds, their own environments and when push comes to shove and they feel like shit, they will do their best to make everyone else in their party feel the same and then the next day, pretend like nothing ever happened, standing next to you all happy, shiny and smiling.

I call that Jekyll-Hyde persona. Folks like Catfish Jeff don’t know much about reality and act out a personality so severe, so destructive, it’s a wonder they can function properly and hold down real responsibilities, which include household chores and a full-time job.

They often criticize others & their lifestyle choices and will place their own fears upon them and twist it in their backs with a knife. They will take advantage of the weak and punish the strong and call them names, for it makes them feel secure and powerful, while personally attacking those they don’t agree with and outright deny any previous action they might have taken because they always have to be right and have to be in control 365 days of the year.

Medication, hospitalization and institutionalization is useless, for they all go back to their previous behavior patterns once they are released into society when pronounced “cured.”

For all the good they possess, the Jekyll-Hyde persona is anything but safe and with folks like Catfish Jeff, who needs enemas?