Tag: satire

Perspective (An experiment in freestyle autobiographic redundancy)

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picture frame framing gravel

 

A turtle is a lizard with a Winnebago on its back traveling the world like a gypsy stuck in slow motion

To an alligator an armadillo is merely an escargot on the half shell

To a lobster a shipwreck is an all you can eat buffet

Giraffes aren’t humble because it takes all day to swallow their pride

Why isn’t a chicken too chicken to cross the road

Thoughts like these rob me of sleep because of one thing

Perspective

 

Perspective is the way I view my world

My unstable thoughts may not impress

But my words are just a format

So I use them to express

The perspective of mind that’s not quite right

That’s why I write

 

Is poetry or is it prose

Or just gibberish

Who knows

Is it born of consternation

Making you tremble with trepidation

Or is it all just bullshit

Insanity going through gestation

 

 

Shit here he goes again breaking with tradition

No more rhyming no more rhythm this here is beat generation freestyle crap

The speed of dark seems faster than light when the fire goes out

Universal clout

Lightning is just a highly charged game of cosmic whack a mole

Thunder is the growling of a black holes stomach

How often does the periodic table come around anyway

Does the fortune teller see the future or just see your past in reverse

Why oh why do these ridiculous thoughts only come around when I’m trying to sleep

Ya know what kind of shit keeps my eyes open at night

Perspective

 

 

 

I take up space

I have the time

To write a poem

Does it have to rhyme

Sometimes they don’t

Sometimes they do

I don’t really care

Do you

Anyway its my perspective and I’ll cry if I want to

You would cry too if these thoughts were haunting you

Whether late at night or early in the morn

Perspective drives me crazy

Or is that just my norm

 

Here he goes again

Going off the rails on an Ozzie train of thought

Will this segment rhyme this time or will it be for naught

Some of us have known all along that we differ from the crowd

Some of us are brave enough to write it all out loud

Its what we do

 

The five steps of therapeutic grief as a way for us to fit in

We drink in de Nile

Angrily fight in our minds

Bargain with the voices

Cry when they win

Then give up trying to be sane and accept we’re not to blame

Its just a game

Acceptance is all we want anyway

Don’t judge us and we won’t judge you

Keep in mind there is power in numbers and we have secret warriors

You don’t want to mess around with those voices in our heads

So don’t try to burn down our forests or you will feel our wrath

Only you can prevent forest fires

We look at the world through our own prisms of one thing

Our Perspective

Accept it

 

The Day I Met Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn Uncategorized11 Comments

lucy

 

Life in 1966 was so damn Norman Rockwell I feared the entire year would be featured in The Saturday Evening Post. But ‘67 arrived and the cold winter ushered in an ugly escalation in the Vietnam war combined with continued civil rights issues including segregation and more riots. Thankfully ‘67 also ushered in the Summer of Love, a glimmer of hope for humankind through the youthful exuberance of believing life can be great. A time of free love, free thought, and free minds. The long hair freaky hippies had taken hold in Haight-Ashbury and The Greenwich Village scene offered up drugs sex and rock and roll to all who dared to try. Dangling candy in front of so many impressionable naïve children. And I had one Helluva sweet tooth.

 

Having already been introduced to hops and malts and ready something more the promise of mind altering alternatives sounded far too attractive to pass up. “Here man, smoke this. It won’t make your stomach all bloated, no puking in the woods, no head spinning frenzy. Just a nice calm mellow high.” Why not? After all, its all natural. Hey if God didn’t want us smoking the stuff why did he grow it? Funny I thought about God because I would later find out that the summer of love would end my nagging sense of spiritual emptiness. It would fill needs I hadn’t even realized existed. It would also be the summer I met Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.

 

There was a lot of great things about growing up on Long Island but perhaps one of the best and certainly the most game changing was the fact that we could scrape together a few bucks and take the train into New York City. It opened up a whole new world free of judgments where we were actually encouraged to let our “Freak Flags” fly. Turn on and tune in. Timothy Leary, Ken Kesey, Stanly Owsley, and The Grateful Dead. They took over the roles formerly held by Roy Rodgers, Ward Clever, and the Kingston Trio. From Captain Kangaroo to Captain Trips at the roll of a joint. “Hey little man, you think that pot is making you feel good, get ready to grow up and go on a real trip. Just put this little dot on your tongue and let it melt your mind.” Mmm-mmm good!

 

My first venture into the drug netherworld was in Washington Square Park. What a cool place, jam packed with hippies singing songs, doing some sort of floaty dances, or just hanging out and smiling. A lot of smiling. My big brother had gotten us tickets for us to a place called the Bottom Line to see some dude named John Mayall. At the time I didn‘t know much about him other than hearing my brothers bluesy records by The USA Union and The Bluesbreakers. He also bought a tab of LSD for me to try. Even if I thought it was a bad idea, which I didn’t, I would have had to trip just to save face. We were with his three best friends who would be merciless when we got home if I wimped out. But I wasn’t bullied into taking it, I took it willingly. I wanted to see for myself what all the hype about mind bending sugar cubes the hippies were tripping out on. Didn’t realize I would be on a crazy ride without a seatbelt.

The park was a trip in itself. While I waited for the tab to kick in we wandered through the paths. A couple of dudes singing around a few guitar playing longhaired dudes with smiles glued to their faces. Not singing like Cumbaya, more like some folkie shit, some Dylan guy or something. Street actors, comedians, and plain flat out weirdo’s roamed the paths of the park and after about forty five minutes I broke out laughing. “What’s so funny little brother?” What’s so funny? How the hell did I know? What just because I saw some guy walk by carrying his head in his hands? Because the head was laughing even though it wasn’t attached? Well…..yea, so I laughed too. How am I gonna explain that, anyway? Some dude is walking around inside a Dali painting? Besides, when I looked back at the guy he was normal again “Fucking everything man. That dude over there just dropped his head on the ground and the fucking thing bounced back up. That’s what‘s funny!” The four of us started laughing with nary a one of us knowing why. Didn’t matter, the LSD runway was clear and we had taken off. Humor would be the fuel that drove our trip ship.

 

We walked around with what felt like surgically implanted smiles on our faces, so intense were those near creepy smiles that the next day my smiling cheek muscles would ache all day long. We laughed and watched. Peoples faces began melting, tree’s bent over to kiss the horizon and the blowing leaves made weird shapes that took to breathing. It was hard to walk because the ground kept moving. I was watching and laughing when suddenly I felt a hand of on my ass. A tiny little palm giving it a light squeeze. I cocked my head slightly not wanting to seem obvious which must have looked really obvious, but what I saw sent a rush of adrenaline from my toes upward stopping at the groin for a few teasing seconds. The hand belonged to a five foot two smiling young lass about three or four years my senior. That may not seem like very much older now but when your thirteen going on fourteen its an entire era. The amount of cred you got being with a sixteen year old at that age is astronomical. She had very long tightly curled jet black hair and was wearing a sort of gypsy dress. A flood of emotions fluttered through my body, passion, lust, sexual tension and awkward nervousness highlighted by the nagging sense that one false statement or move will reveal my junior status and negate all of those other electric plugged in and turned on sensations. She giggled softly so I looked her right in the eyes, smiled back and whispered into her ear something along the lines of “Gliddy gloop glooppy, nibba nappy noopie la la la low low” Startled she stopped in her tracks, looked up at me for four seconds before breaking out into an uncontrollable laughing jag. At first I was embarrassed, then slightly angered, until I suddenly realized she was tripping too and laughing with me not at me. An instant friendship was born. We were sharing the same bizarre plane in some alternate universe and frankly I forgot about my brother and his friends. I talked to her excitedly about the book “Siddhartha” and she shared the name of a new prophet named Carlos Castaneda. She opened my eyes by opening my mind and over the next year I would study a variety of spiritual alternatives. It was just tangerine trees, marmalade skies, me and the girl with kaleidoscope eyes.

 

Her name wasn’t really Lucy of course, and the Lucy in the Sky was more reference to LSD than anything else but suffice to say both Lucy’s and I had one of the most unforgettable evenings of our lives. Or at least I did. I gave away my ticket and told my brother I would meet him later. Lucy and I found ourselves laughing and crying and in some compromising positions. And smiling. A Lot of smiling. I called her Moss because we rolled around…..I called her Moss and that’s the name I’ll remember her by. It was a once in a lifetime meeting, a two ships in the night beautiful moment meant to share and enjoy before releasing the moment and returning to our previously scheduled lives. I had cancelled my subscription to Saturday Evening Post and graduated to Rolling Stone that night thanks to Moss. I mumbled something stupid like can I see you again but Moss had no intention of remaining in contact, she was just a traveler in time and space, another fucked up teen trying to make sense of a turbulent and confusion world. But I gotta admit, every once in a while I think about the night I met Moss and wonder, for a brief moment, what ever became of Lucy In The Sky.

 

Original Thought, The Prophet II (A Shady Sequel)

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prophet

 

What? Another sequel? Sequels are never as good as the original. Then again what the Hell is ever as good as the original? But wait, is it original? Now there’s a thought. But is it an original thought? Some say there is no such thing as original thought because someone somewhere has more than likely had that same thought before. Come to think about it I think I heard that somewhere before. In a way I guess that’s true of course, Tommy Edison gets credit for the light bulb but others claim it was discovered either simultaneously or perhaps even slightly before by someone else. Either way that light bulb has not only spawned generations of ideas it has become the icon of an idea itself. Why one just went off in a thought cloud above my head. But was it original?

Scientists (or is it romantics?) tell us no two snowflakes are exactly alike but I personally find that impossible to believe. What possible kind of study could possibly encompass every snowflake ever? The friggen things melt before ever being checked and logged into the snowflake database. Or is it a snowflake genetic information storage cloud or frozen genome, its so hard to keep track of all this damn information! Some icy flakes haven’t even been created yet so it’s a bit premature to say no two snowflakes are alike. All things considered I’m confidant at least two of those snowflakes in that Alaskan snow drift must be clones. So I will attempt to put original thought into my warped and frivolous snowflake perspective by doing what any original artist would do. I’ll steal it. Or borrow it at least, so this perspective is brought to you in original conceptual form inspired (and ripped off) of a book by the brilliant Lebanese laureate Kahlil Gibran. The Prophet.

The Un-original But Still New Prophet

And then a musician came to him and said “speak to us of music, how is our music not original?” And he answered “Music invades our sensory organs through repetitive and sometimes annoying arrangements of sound. Because we have only 12 notes in every octave it is extremely difficult to create a melody that hasn’t yet been played either in ones mind or on an instrument. Combine that with the fact most of us have been listening to music since our first lullaby and have no doubt watched enough television to have jingles burned deeply into our psyches that its impossible not to be influenced by tunes we have heard before when we create music. One could pick up a guitar to start playing something perhaps having just heard that “Nationwide is on your side” commercial and unconscientiously letting the tune drift into what one was translating from mind through the guitar strings. That’s not to say that you can’t make an original song, but it must have come to you from somewhere in your past listening.” It’s called inspiration. Perhaps artists should be wondering where they came up with an original before accusing others of stealing their originals. Music is meant to be shared, and if you want to call yourself a musician do so without believing you invented sound itself. (Disclaimer: I do not take legal responsibly if the Nationwide jingle is bouncing around in your head right now)

And then a poet came to him and said “speak to us of poetry, are not poets original?” And he answered, “Poetry is a way of painting words into feelings and emotions. Poets help us to see ourselves in their flowing word canvas. We are all born poets, it’s just that far too many of us forget that once we grow up and allow our creative thoughts to integrate with the clutter of day to day bullshit. Poets observe and report through the eyes of creative pureness. Poems range in style and can be crystal clear to some while totally indiscernible to others. It is meant to be felt and understood not analyzed. Poetry is an expression of the soul often written while at our most naked and vulnerable selves, when we express our innermost thoughts in words. In that respect it is original, but are not words merely combinations of letters? We have only 26 letters from which to choose our order yet somehow we manage to confuse the usage of English language. But their there they’re, everything will be fine. You poets are indeed original human beings with fragile ego’s so for the sake of avoiding another few years of therapy then yes, poetry is indeed original. But remember it’s the receiver of the poet’s message who perceives the originality not the poet.” It’s called inspiration.o

 

 

Next a shady Politian came forward and said to him “Speak to us of politics. Are not all of my political ideas original?” And after regaining his composure from sarcastic laughing the prophet answered, “Politics and political opinions are like unwashed armpits. If you stay at home with them you can handle the stench of your own opinion but if you venture out in public best to deodorize your opinions if you value friendships. Its impossible for one to have their own original political opinion because every controversy known to humanity has been discussed, re-discussed, and-over-discussed a million times without an answer. Whatever stance you choose to take has already been taken. In addition, millions and millions of dollars have been spent to tell you what your opinion on various political topics are either through subliminal ads or motivational scam artists disguised as news agents with television shows who’s sole purpose is to anger you into an opinion based strictly on your religion and/or political party of choice. That is not to say you can’t have an original non political opinion of your own but to do that you would need to research the subject through trustworthy methods of information, then sit alone with only your thoughts and think it through. Devoid of outside influences if you concentrate long enough it is indeed possible to arrive at an original conclusion, but it is extremely difficult with all the information super highways and abundance of social media outlet trolls prowling around in the hopes of forcing their opinion upon you. Otherwise we simply verbally regurgitate someone else’s spoken thoughts.” That would be inspiring. In my opinion of course.

Next a scientist came to the Prophet and asked, “Why is there religion when we have science? Is not The Origin Of The Species truly original? I mean it‘s right there in the title” The prophet shook his head. Every species contains originalities specific to that species but humans have an option between science and religion. Both religion and science serve a purpose for humanity. Science it the study of the world around us and religion is the study of ourselves. Science helps us to understand how and why things work but it can’t explain everything. It is based on testing and re-testing data to prove hypothesis and formulate conclusions. Religion attempts to help teach us about who we are, how we should treat one another, and to love all creatures great and small. Science is like a pesky mosquito to religion that becomes more and more difficult to swat. It‘s a clash of philosophies, ideology vrs. Cause and effect”

“The main problem religion faces in this context is most times it’s not a choice, more of a birthright. Often ones religion is determined by their parents or by nature of where they are born and they become defined by their rituals and beliefs. So religion is given, not original beliefs that spontaneously combust. (not counting Moses flaming bush) Religion is philosophical set of tenets based on faith not experimentations as does science. One must have faith that the religion they are following has all the correct answers, and the leaders of that religion who give those answers are interpreting the holy texts correctly. One Bible or Torah or Koran can be interpreted in many different ways which give us a massive variety of religions. We have used religion to explain the unexplainable since the dawn of time, assigning gods to nearly everything in nature. So it is useful in explaining the unexplainable and in teaching people how to act correctly as it applies to living together on earth when done correctly. If your religion includes science and instructs you on how to interact with the world then you are indeed lucky, and may possibly have found a true religion. If on the other hand you have become enlightened and reached a state of living that excludes the need for a conglomerate of teachings and beliefs you are even more lucky, because you can appreciate others beliefs while not allowing them to infect yours.” So religion is helpful in adjusting your soul and science is helpful if adjusting your knowledge. You must strike your own balance, but do us all a favor. Don’t attempt to force either upon the rest of us, let us all find our own way. Since the dawn of organized religion they have been perverted into excuses to create wars. If you take a scientific approach and analyze history as it applies to wars you will find just about every war has a religious contention at it’s core. You can’t kill your way to peace.”

And then a child came to him and asked “Well then Prophet, if musicians, poets, scientists, and theologians all contend they deal in originality and may perhaps be wrong then what exactly is original thought and how do we achieve it? Do we learn it in school?” The profit thought cautiously before he answered “Let us start with what’s not original thought. Original thought is not learned in a school or institution. Education is a great thing and though it may seem empowering it can’t give you original thought it can only prepare you for it . Many of the young hipsters of the day believe that being able to quote famous philosphers or scientists makes them appear smarter than others because they possess the power of original thought but it doesn’t. It only makes them seem arrogant and out of touch. Education only gives us the foundations to develop original thought. The very second we enter the world we are being shaped by those around us. So to begin with we need to discard all the distractions of life. In order to achieve original thought you must put down the books, turn off all your electronic devices, and reach deep inside the self and get in touch with your soul, for it is the soul that is the one true original. Get educated then be your own inspiration. An open mind will show some ignorance but a closed mind will show all of it.” Meditate on that….. PEACE

 

 

 

Vote For Me And I’ll Set You Free

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vote

 

Yea brothers and sisters, The Existential Baker is considering a run for the Whitehouse. I mean why not? I’m all about change and that’s pretty much what we all want isn’t it? We don’t need politicians, entertainers, or CEO’s to tell us the government is broken, we are all intelligent enough to figure that out ourselves. The government cracked the exact same time the Liberty Bell did but its become more of a huge rift than a crack. Look what’s going on today, people are cheering for what may very well become the first Insulter In Chief of the nation. They’re using messages of anger, hate, and name calling to incite us into making ridiculous decisions just because it will be a change. Do you want change only for the sake of change? Fuck it guys, I could be that change just as easily as a reality show host that is based on deception like all reality shows, a doctor, a CEO, or another same old same old Politian. The difference is I’ll be honest because I‘m not backed by any big business. Truth is, no big business in its right mind would give me a second look. One hell of good a credential when you really think about it.

I mean seriously, look at all the presidential contenders. They look, dress, and talk like they are already for their position in Disney’s Hall Of Presidents. Are you telling me the country couldn’t be run by a group of mellow headed people in tee shirts and sandals better than those dressed in the Wall Street Military uniforms of uniformity ? We’re nothing but votes to those freshly dry cleaned suit wearers, they couldn’t care less about our personal struggles unless we might make good sound bites in their State Of The Union addresses. They are all for alternative fuel while accepting campaign contributions from big oil companies. A candidate backed by war profiteers and tax shelter seeking billionaires. No taxing the rich, no giveaways to the poor, no relief for the “working class”. What is the working class anyway? Someone working a minimum wage job to feed their family is still a worker, just not in the same class as those a little better off. Trickle down economics trickles into the banks of the rich and then disappears. All that money spent on elections someone has to be owing someone else an awful lot of favors. But they will reward us by halting immigration. They have plans to stop immigration so long as their families and servants are already legal. They tell you what you want to hear, what you think the solution is and make you think it was their idea to begin with. They will pamper the religious masses just to kiss their asses and get their vote. Once elected they don’t care but I still will. Vote for me AND I’LL set you free!

Hey, heres some good news guys, they all want to make sure that healthcare insurance companies cover Viagra, but God forgive you if you use your savings to buy condoms, they won’t be covered. Neither will birth control pills ladies, put some cheap aspirin between your legs and deal with your hard man the way God intended. On your knee’s. Check it out, its in the bible somewhere. And if it isn’t they’ll find a scripture that can be bent just enough to in sinuate it. So they are happy to get your man hard for you but please don’t come to our healthcare plans for your “lady problems” like unwanted pregnancies or other “crazy women issues.” Just keep your man happy and hard and while your on your knees say a little prayer to God to apologize for being so……slu….Um, Forward.

So you ask why should you vote for me? Aren’t I one of those tree hugging liberal hippies? Your Goddamn right I’m a tree hugger! Those fucking tree’s give us oxygen, give homes to millions of species of birds and other animals, offer fruits and nuts for all to eat, and they go on and on through harsh winters, brutally dry summers, winds, rains, and whatever nature can throw at them and they still stand tall exuding life giving assistance for anything and everything. When the mighty tree’s do die, they take it on themselves to nourish Mother Earth herself. If that doesn’t deserve a hug I don’t know what does! Am I a tree hugger? Hell yes motherfuckers I am a tree hugger, the bigger question is are you, and if not, why not!

So that’s Why I am considering running for president, because I believe Americans deserve better than the crap choices being offered today. Choosing the lesser of two evils is still an evil. Don’t buy their horseshit phony plans of keeping us wealthy and secure, all they are selling is the illusion of wealth and security so we can go about our daily business comforted in the fact that we are safe. You know, like we hear every time violence strikes a community, that kind of thing just never happens here. Of course it does, it happens anywhere and everywhere. Violence has no geographic limitations and not a single one of them can guarantee our safety. Neither can I, but here’s the difference. I won’t lie to you and make you feel all warm and fuzzy, I’ll give it to you straight. Or gay, what difference does it make? Live and let live, stop telling other people how to live their lives. No red or blue states, united states. United! Like everyone get their shit together and worry about their own lives, mind their own business. We are all one single species, human beings. So if I do decide to run I’m asking you to vote for me not because it’s a change, or I’m not a Politian, but because if you vote for me I’ll set you free! Thanx Y’all Peace out!

 

Understanding Nothing (Transcendental Meditation)

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nothing

 

J. T. Hilltop

Chapter III

I laid there in the sand totally exhausted, happy, and satisfied beyond belief. The smile on my face was so enormous my jawbone ached and my eyes were nearly closed. I had just had the most incredible sex in my life and I couldn’t move. Desiree began to gently shake my shoulder apparently ready to go one more time but I was spent. I looked up saying ”Sorry babe I just couldn‘t….oh, Dr. Kha, its you!” The fog began to clear from my mind, “I see you make visit to paradise JT. Must be careful not to get too wrapped up in desires, make you feel good but also cloud judgment. But she teach you that not me, I teach you everything about nothing. If you want see opposite universe it take much more than acupuncture, incense, and meditation, you need Transcendental Medication. Tomorrow we put you in sensory depravation tank with special punctures dipped in mixture of essences from Belladonna, Angel Trumpet, and Nutmeg Paste. Essence will free mind and allow to see without eyes. Transcendental Medication. Ownry then JT will you see truth, opposite universe, and maybe even understand nothing. Tomorrow is day you begin journey to meet God face to face.”

 

 

Meet God face to face?! Well this is gonna be pretty interesting considering I can barely remember having ever believed in God. Oh I know there was a time but only because it was what my Mom told me to believe and I trusted her implicitly. Why would she lie about God? But around age six or seven my best friend and his family died in a house fire two days after his birthday party. Mom told me my friend was up in heaven now where he’ll be safe. I asked why God wanted the family and why he made their house go on fire and all she could tell me was that God had a plan and we shouldn’t question him, but I wasn’t buying that bullshit. I started having my doubts about this God character and his so called plan so I made up ways for him to prove himself to me. Instead of “now I lay me down to sleep” I engaged in conversations at bedtime with God. Only they weren’t dialogues they were monologues. Night after night. I only asked for small signs, no giant challenges, no plagues or forty day storms or anything like that. Something simple like make my covers fall off or scratch the wall. I never asked him to beat up my older brother or return my best friend and his family back to life or anything profound, just you know like leave a light on, move a book or something. Anything. But night after night, no signs, no answers. Mom took me to church on Sundays and even at that young age I could see it was filled with hypocrites singing and praying. Old man Martin who was perpetually drunk in his backyard all dressed up in suit and tie singing, hands folded. Old lady Brown kneeling on the pew. In whispers the adults called her a Jezebel. I didn’t know what that meant at the time but by the way the adults showed distain I knew it wasn’t a good thing. Years later I learned kneeling was a common occurrence for her but apparently kneeling was okay only if it was on the pews on Sundays. By the time I turned eleven I was already a full fledged atheist but I continued my religious schooling to appease Mom. I was even so fascinated or maybe hopeful I studied other religions as I got older. I learned more about God by more names than I thought possible and became more sure than ever that God doesn’t exist. At least not the God I’d been taught. And now after all that I’m meeting God face to face tomorrow! At least according to Dr. Kha. Well maybe God’ll explain why he never even tapped on my wall.

I was nervously excited as I entered the THC clinic the next morning. A nurse led me down into the basement and laid me down on a cot that was chained to a sort of crane with chains and pulleys. Like a harsh torture hammock. I looked up with a quick glimpse believing the nurse to be Ambrosina. She smiled at me, winked and whispered, “Later JT. I’ll see you later.” Before I could even answer Dr. Kha came in with a small silver table filled with needles and a bowl of syrupy liquid. “Must be excited JT, yes? First I dip pricks in essence, place them at precise point and then close you in tank. No incense, no music today, ownry serenity. When ready we let you free from tank and journey begin. Relax and enjoy enlightenment my son.” I laid there motionless, a combination of anxiety and excitement as Dr. Kha placed the dripping needles about my body like acupunctures. The needles were warm and wet. Six on my forehead, two in each ear, two in my neck, and at least a dozen in each leg. I could feel the essences making they’re way into my blood and it warmed my veins. I instantly relaxed the anxiety faded away leaving only a smile. I felt at comfort with the feeling because it wasn’t foreign, it was like the old days just before the LSD kicked in. I was about to start tripping like I had in my drug experimentation days and it warmed my soul with fond memories.

I was strapped in the hammock and lowered down into a tank of warm water as the lid of the tank closed leaving me in complete darkness. Total darkness with no sound at all. No music, no one near me, it kinda made me feel vulnerable, like a lamb waiting for slaughter. I was feeling a bit claustrophobic. Anxious, confined, alone yet strangely serene. Alone with my own thoughts. As time passed I began to wonder if perhaps this is a big waste of time. I became angry I was allowing this to happen to me. I wanted out. I called to Dr. Kha a number of times but he didn’t respond. I was alone and my anger faded into depression. I remembered the five stages of grief and realized I had just denied TM, then bargained to get out, got angry and finally depressed. I was now finally at acceptance. Total darkness. Alone with nothing but an irritating voice in my head insisting I was missing some major point about nothingness. My head was swirling with thoughts or maybe dreams of all sorts of shit, memories from way long ago, places I have been to, totally random things. I think I had some very bizarre dreams. I’m not even sure what’s a dream or what is a thought? From surreal to harsh reality it was one episode after another. The dream or thoughts seemed to float, moving as though filled with helium, the further they went away the calmer I got. After about…wait, that’s odd. I have no idea how long it’s been. I have no idea what time it was or how long I’d even been alone here in the dark. Had I fallen asleep? Has time stopped for me? As I pondered again the readmitted claustrophobia and panic subsided, sliding me into complete acceptance. Everything is serene, calm, and quiet. Existence is not as special or amazing as I thought. Oh I’ll give you the complexity of being a living breathing thing is quite extraordinary, what with networks of communication inside me traveling at mind bending speed, blood, oxygen, even the way I need to eat and void unnecessary remnants from food is amazing. And evolution, well what is evolution other than strategy of survival? But the FACT that I or anything exists here, right here right now on this seemingly huge planet is so remarkably insignificant when I think about it in Universal terms.

Super Nova’s, Black Holes, Quasars, and galaxies, those are amazing. Time and space being curved or the possibility of alternate universes, that’s amazing. I’m nothing, just a teeny weenie blip of nothingness in time and space. I giggled as I watched that thought float away when I thought I heard a voice. “Now you are understanding nothing JT. You are ready to see alternate reality.” It was Dr. Kha’s voice but how? Must be a camera or some sort of electronic monitoring he used. “No use camera, no use device JT, ownry listen to you.” Wait! What did he say? Listening to me? But I’m not talking I’m only thinking. “Not thinking JT, talking. Not words out loud but still talking. And we hear you. You are ready to come out now.”

The pulley’s lifted the makeshift cot upwards as the top opened brining me not into an office but in a clearing in a mountain wilderness blistering with life and color. Oh my God the colors were so deep and rich, so real. I was inside a melting crayola colored landscape beside a stream. Dr, Kha was there along with two strangers. “Come sit down with us JT, we share herb of life… You come to me asking why there is something instead of nothing, yes? I ask you now, why it cannot be something and nothing?” I asked him who the two men were and he told me they would lead me to God after I finished my lessons. He handed me a long pipe which I took readily inhaling almost instantly. The smoke had a minty smoke flavor and was not in the smallest way irritating. I held it in like it was pot until it exploded inside my head. Actually exploded. My head must have grown ten inches. Images where fractured as if they were photos layered on top of each other and superimposed. I tried to stand up but instead floated, or better hovered effortlessly as the three men laughed. “I don’t see what’s so funny, everything is out of focus. Motion, Time, sound, even life is out of focus.” The men continued laughing until Dr. Kha pointed to me, “Seem you forget pants JT. You come ownry in underwear. You are right everything out of focus. That how world really is. You see on quantum level now, you move with quantum motion and see with quantum eyes. You think unreal but exact opposite. Everything around you in constant motion JT, but your non quantum eyes cannot perceive. That why most people can never see God. I believe if most people really were able to see God they be scared, not elated. You see realities now JT, in your normal world nothing really what it seem to be. You are going on journey most people cannot handle, that what Transcendental Medication do my son, it open your mind and eyes to realities clouded by limitation of human perceptions. Dreams are real perceptions JT, ownry seem too abstract to you to be real. You not have pants on because it dream that haunt you as child. That’s from the drugs. The medication will help you confront many uncomfortable dreams you have had but also some very good dreams. And dreams you have not had yet. A new era of perceptions waits for you JT, you were chosen for this journey. Your two guides are messengers of God and I am your handler. The three of us will lead you on journey of everything , something, nothing, and true God after you visit Ambrosina for lesson on desire and power. Go to her, she waits for you and you must first understand yourself before you can know nothing.” Dr. Kha smiled at me like a teacher, or a father maybe, “Take your boat.” I looked at the stream which had my little row boat from my previous visit tied to a tree. “Just get in boat JT, and follow river. You will know when to…. get off…Ha ha ha. Then when you come back we discuss your perceptions” What an odd sense of humor, an old man like Kha using a sexual double entendre about “getting off” I thought to myself as I got in the boat. Dr. Kha untied the rowboat setting me free, “Not as old as you think, but much older as well JT.” I heard all three men laughing as the boat headed to wherever the current took it. How the fuck could he hear my thoughts? I’d better be careful what I think.

The ride didn’t take very long because I could see a woman in the distance waiting on shore. I wished the boat over to her and it went of its own accord. When I got out I was back in the island paradise where Ambrosina had so totally controlled and dominated me bringing me to the most incredible orgasm of my life. I got off the boat with profound anticipation and walked up to the woman waiting. I knew I was looking at Ambrosina but she appeared so different. Her hair tied in a ponytail wearing very little make up. She was dressed casual yet somehow stern. A beige corduroy button down dress with matching skirt. In place of the sexy shoes were low heeled casual loafers. Sensible shoes! She appeared demure and intimidated as she walked up to me, placed her mouth right at my ear an whispered, “If you want me you have to take me tonight. You have to want me bad enough to force me.” As she walked away I watched her ass bounce lightly back and forth giving me a semi erection. Despite the changes I wanted her in the worst way. The lust built up inside my loins and I knew I would do whatever I had to in order to make love to Ambrosina again. But how to start, I’ve never forced anyone before, that’s rape! Ambrosina turned around looked at me with her incredible sensuous eyes. I glanced down at her lips as she mouthed, “I’m ready JT, come take me. I’m here to service you. I give consent but I want it hard!” I knew I had the power to ravage her and it felt invigorating. I had this tingling feeling I was really gonna dig being Transcendentally Medicated and my now full on erection nodded in agreement.

TBC

 

 

 

 

 

Dying To Find Out (The story of JT’s Afterlife)

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after

 

Like many people I’ve often pondered what will happen to me after I die. Once we pass our expiration date do we get recycled, start again as someone new? Are we limited to the option of floating on clouds with wings and a harp or burning forever with the evilest most vile horned creature from under our childhood beds? Is it another step toward reaching our Nirvana? Or do we just cease existing altogether? Well this is the story of the very day I found my answer. This is the story of my afterlife experience…….

 

 

 

I

“Sir do you want fries with that?” Mmmm, fries. “Why yes indeed my young friend, supersize me with an extra large, I deserve a break today.” Of course I wanted a break it was on of those time I felt an need, no an entitlement to splurge a little and pay my homage to the demons of poor life choices. A really rough week was how I justified having that humongous cholesterol popping double bacon cheeseburger and free fatty acid dripping fries laden with sodium on that one fateful night. What the Hell, I’m all for freeing fatty acids and cheeseburgers come in second only to double cheese and pepperoni covered pizza. Holy guacamole what a tasty burger, better than a Kahuna burger although honestly I never really had one of those. I was having a bacon burger Royall that just begged for a can of Fosters. A jumbo half pound of grease splattering all meat hamburger topped with six slices of sodium laced fat filled hickory smoked bacon and four slices of lactose laden sharp cheddar cheese. All on this delicious sesame seed bun with “secret sauce”. It was the cholesterol lovers special, a sacrificial lamb to the great prophet Angina, patron saint of clogged arteries. It was oh so delicious going down and man oh man it just melted away the stress giving me that all warm and fuzzy feeling in my stomach.. The grease spots on my bag of extra large fries advertised an accompaniment of deep fried deliciousness. This meal was an orgasm and a half for my taste buds who were merrily dancing with reckless abandon all over my mouth. I’m telling you brothers and sisters, when you have the three B’s, life is good. Beer, bacon, and burgers. Collectively they make everything feel all tingly and giddy but as I would soon find out this particular evening that tingling was much more than the usual comfort food rumblings. All that warm and fuzzy tingling on the inside was actually a war erupting deep in my entrails and not a jovial taste bud enlightenment producing the happy tango in my belly

Unbeknownst to yours truly there was an acidic uprising throughout my gastric battlefields. The war of the small and large intestines was fully engaged and acids were bouncing and flying around everywhere. An all out acid attack was underway which was bad enough, but even worse, in cardiac central a shock and awe campaign was in full flight. While the intestines battled it out they sent waves of nausea up through the esophagus in a campaign to create a reflux warning. Tossing and turning, tumbling and churning, the gastro intestinal system did its best to raise the threat level to red and wake me up. But the eight or so beers and the large glass of boxed wine had seen to it that nothing short of an absolute hydrogen explosion or an atomic uprising would wake me from my comatose sleep. The battle ensued and intensified through the evening as much of the fat from the bacon, cheese, and hamburger had forced their way past the intestine walls and into the already wreaked liver. There it jumped on the hemoglobin transport and took the main artery directly to first coronary quadrant. The transport emptied exactly where the cholesterol had been preparing for its moment. The bad cholesterol, the axis of digestive tract evil had been planning for this event over the years, setting up roadblocks all along the arteries to prevent supplies from passing through to reach the life center. If it can cut off all paths to the heart an prevent the flow of life giving liquids to blood pumping center the evil cholesterol will be declared the winner! The blood supply line was doing its best to bring humanitarian supplies to the heart, but this huge bacon cheeseburger gave cholesterol just the advantage it needed to create a proper blockage. Now it can shut down its opponent forever. Without blood flow its just a matter of time. My time had run out, sad to say not a victim of a heinous crime, not dead from a car accident, not an overdose of illicit joy enhancers, not even a natural disaster for me to blame for my demise. Only person to blame was the man in the mirror, the man who knew damn well that all those poor choices would one day take their toll an this was the day. In the end I guess I’m glad I was asleep at the time because I never saw it coming, but stay tuned because what follows death is the issue at hand.

Now back to the fateful event. I’m not exactly sure how to put it into words but I was feeling lethargic, which isn’t completely unusual at this time of night given my hard job and party lifestyle. Still there seemed something a bit more strange to it that night. I mean sure the beer made me woozy and sleepy, and the work its gonna take to digest that huge bacon cheeseburger is taking a lot out of me, but still an unusual amount of lethargy. An almost sinister lethargy was settling over me. A few Zantac washed down with a tall cup of wine should take the edge off and then I could enjoy a serious chillax on the couch. I mumbled, “never again!” How many times have I said that? Ell this time my dear friends I meant it. This was my final dance, my last call.

The Zantac and wine combo platter successfully masked the sensation but not the reality. Having finished the mind numbing exercise of staring at the glowing colored pixels flowing out from the TV screen to process a multitude of worthless information it was time to turn in. I’m just flat out tired as shit and went to bed unaware it would be my last sleep. TBC

 

JT’s Story Of Life

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everything

 

 

 

 

 

A Fairly Accurate Fairy Tale Selection by JT Hilltop

Intro:

We can’t wait until our babies can talk until they can talk. That’s because once they start communicating the first thing they learn is how to ask questions. Not a question here and there but a barrage of never ending questions. “What’s sex Mom, what’s the finger mean Dad.” They wanna know everything about everything and the questions don’t stop, “Mommy, where do babies come from? Daddy, why were you moving furniture around last night?” Its just in the very fabric of our being to be inquisitive because even those unable to speak are curious. Inquiring mimes want to know.

Back when I was just a mere tadpole burning questions festered in my head as well. I drove my Mom and Dad crazy with an overwhelming curiosity. “Why do I have to eat spinach? Why do I have to put the seat up after I pee?” And so forth. Unfortunately the answers I usually got to real questions was go ask your mother or go ask your father but still I trusted that the two of them had the answers. Then one day I had an epiphany of sorts. If they give me the answers then who gives them the answers? Who the heck is explaining everything to them? Grandpa talks nonsense and Grandma just repeats herself so it can’t be them. Where the heck are Mom and Dad getting all the answers they give me? So I did what any curious young word detective would do, I launched my own investigation

. It seems they got their answers from some house like building they called church. Apparently this church place is only open on Sundays and in order to get in everyone had to be dressed up real nice. So I guessed that everyone who went to church got the answers to life if they got all dressed up. It’s some dude who wears a robe with a funny necktie thing they saw only once a week on Sunday that has the answers. He seems to be everyone’s father. The father stands up in front of everyone and talks, sometimes even scolds everyone. Then after yelling at them in an apparent attempt to make the parents feel better he makes us sing songs and repeat phrases like “amen” “and with you“ and the like. They pass around some baskets and people apparently either write their questions down in an envelope or they have to pay money to get answers. Mom even gave me a quarter to put in the basket so I assumed I had to save up enough money to get my answers from this father dude. After he finishes all his jabbering and singing he waits by the door to talk to everyone on the way out. I guessed he then gave them the answers to everything. But I had my doubts. I mean like why does this dude who dresses so damn strange seem to know everything? But this is the guy who gave my parents all the answers to all the questions of the world. This is the dude who told Mom where I came from, and told Dad how to make babies. But how does he know so much? I needed to find out. Another investigation.

I watched closer to see how it all works. First we all go into this huge room. A gigantic room actually, and this all knowing dude stands up on a kind of stage he calls the alter all lit up with candles. He stands at a podium and lectures everyone in the room, all of whom are sitting on these hard wooden bench like things. I don’t believe the designer gave any thought whatsoever about how peoples asses would feel just 5 minutes after sitting. I could see all of the kids and half of the Dads squirming around trying to find a position that doesn’t leave bruises on the cheek. That must be what they mean when they say turn the other cheek. Anyway this funny looking dude stands up there and tells stories about a long long time ago, tells us to open our song books and makes us sing songs. Then he gets mad and tells the adults how to live, which for us kids is the best part because its Mom and Dad getting some of the shit they give us constantly. But still, its boring as hell, which apparently is a word I can’t say even though its in that book the dude reads from. Is that where he gets all his info?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As it turns out he does know everything because it tells him in that special black book. it’s the Big Black Book of Everything he calls “The Bible” and it is considered by just about everyone to be the end all and be all of answers. Some people call it the holy bible. Funny word, if I heard a story with lots of holes in it I would think it’s a lie. Yet people put their hand on this book and swear to things and everyone else accepts that as absolute truth. It made me wonder what could make one book so damn powerful. If this book has the answers to everything and I read it myself I’ll know everything too. So I took a copy, which didn’t seem like a bad thing to me until Dad screamed when I got home and he saw it. Now I know what stealing is and that its wrong to steal. For one thing stealing results in an ass whooping, so you see, that book taught me something right from the start. I was learning already

I finally did read this Bible when I got older though, and what I did read absolutely amazed me. This book, this holy bible is filled with some very strange stories, even stranger than green eggs and ham. It was quite hard to read because even though the words were English words many of them made no sense. Like what is a begat? And why are so many people doing it? So I read it over and over until I could finally understand it. It was loaded with all kinds of rock throwing, sword fighting, and stories about whales and endless rains, and fights with whole buildings falling down and blood. Holy (there’s that funny word again) shite there’s a lot of blood. I wondered who wrote this Bible and why so I asked the Sunday dude with the funny collar how and when it was written. I have to tell you I was quite shocked when I found out. This shit was written thousands of years ago, and it is a kind of history book written by god. The story of Everything by God. Well he didn’t actually write it himself but it was his book, or as the father dude said his “word.” I think he had some holy ghost writers pen it for him but the first five books were written by this like four thousand year old bearded guy named “Mosey”. Not only did he write it, but he had a starring role in the second through fifth chapters. The rest was written by some out of work history teachers called scribes. That is until this Spanish guy named Jesus comes along, then all the different religions have different history books. But my interest was in the beginning, the first five books that seem to tell the story of everything. In the beginning when man created god in his own image. Or do I have that backwards? Maybe this Mosey dude was dyslexic. Somebody needs to spin these fantastic fables out.

So now that I’m fully grown and have an understanding of how all this church and Bible stuff work I decided I would spin this story with my own biblical proportions. I started thinking back to the time when my Mom and Dad would read me stories. All these wild fairy tales of ladies with hair so strong and long that a man could climb up her hair and save her, or a little girl that ventured into the house of a family of bears. Bears who ate porridge and slept in beds. There was a cross dressing wolf dressed as a grandma, houses made of candy, and even three little pigs who each made their houses from different things, one straw, one wood, and one was apparently a freemason who built his with bricks. All the stories were quite harmless really, and very entertaining to a young child. And I had no clue at the time, but these stories had more than just entertainment values they taught me something. They taught me about what my parents called morals. The moral of this story is don’t steal, or the moral of that story is to be considerate of others and be good, be home by midnight or whatever. The point is the purpose of those stories was to teach me what’s right and what’s wrong in a way my young mind could comprehend. As I got older of course I realized that pigs can’t talk let alone build brick houses, and bears live in caves and shit in the woods, and they don’t even like porridge. I learned things from these stories even though they were completely made up. It was just a way to get me to understand right from wrong in a way I could understand at the time. But now that I’m grown up they still expect me to believe in a garden with the first two people ever and some evil talking snake., a man building an ocean liner called an ark and grabbing two of each animal, insects, birds, all of them, and gave them their own rooms. Some kind of floating creature hotel filled with honeymoon suites. It floated around with them for forty days and forty nights while it rained continuously. Somehow they all ate, but not each other. The lions played with the lambs and the crickets and the birds and none of them gave into the temptation for forty days. It got me thinking about these bible stories. What if the funny collar dude was making up stories like The Brothers Grimm did? What if it is just stories written by his mom and dad to help teach him right from wrong? I mean it makes sense, right? Just like Rapunzle, or Rumplestiltskin, or Goldilocks. Maybe these stories of Adam, and Eve, and Noah, and Cain and Able were just fairytales to teach him morals.. What if they are really made up stories written to explain to the children of thousands of years ago how to behave and how to treat each other? And of course how everything came to be?

It brought me to an internal understanding. This bible, this holy book, is nothing more than the history of humans as told by the people who first learned to write. Most of these biblical tales are merely a recounting of stories that were told around campfires or homes around an area of land we call the fertile crescent. Now I need to rewrite these first five stories in the bible in way we can all relate to in more modern times. I need to write my own big black book, JT’s Story Of Everything. Bring it on!

TBC

I Was A Fly On Nixon’s Wall

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fly

The short lifespan of a fly doesn’t have much in the way of excitement so when I woke up in the oval office of The White House I knew I had a good story to tell my grand-flies. You know it must have been quite a ride landing me here in DC with Richard Milhous and his cronies but more on that later. First a little background about the life and times of us pesky flies.
All in all it’s a boring life. Oh sure if we find some dead body its like an all you can eat buffet for the entire family but that’s just a night out to binge and purge. There’s not a whole lot of exciting occurrences for a fly. Avoid that sticky gooey tape thing, play dive bomb at people heads while they try and swat us, and wait around to find some tasty shit. Literally. We live short simple lives and have very few needs. Air traffic patterns to confuse predators, anti-web maneuvers which, by the way seldom work, friggen spider bitches, and some good rotting flesh or defecation. Basically we eat puke, and eat again. Then we rub our hands together to make humans think we’re hatching diabolical plans and then just head out to look for some excitement.
Oh yea, about that fly paper. That’s my pet peeve man its a real bitch because we think we’re gonna get laid and then all of a sudden glop! Bastard humans make those sticky tapes smell just like lady fly fluids and I’ve witnessed many a friend die thinking he was gonna do some mid-air muff diving only to find himself trapped dangling in a gluey mess with a dozen other would be amorous fly boys. But I don’t want to bore you with the details of the danger of life as a fly I came here to share the interesting conversations I was privy to while I was hanging out in the oval office here in the Whitehouse during the days of what humans call the Watergate scandal. From my vantage point on the wall I was able to hear quite a tale with a cast of characters that, well lets just say for them to call our larvae maggots is extremely hypocritical. They think their fecal matter isn’t odiferous but any fly worth its proboscis can smell a politician miles from the beltway. But how did I get here? C’mon, I’ll walk you through it.
Okay the last thing I remember last night was falling asleep all snug in the hidden hair region of a women that I picked up bar. I had just flown in from Boston and man were my wings tired. It was pouring rain so I found this cozy little bar in Washington DC looking for a safe place to rest when I saw Destiny. Destiny was her name and my destiny was to find a comfy place to sleep in her warm pubic bed which is exactly what I did.
Destiny was at the bar drinking and when some dude started hitting on her it woke me up. “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing alone in a bar like this?” Phhhhtt. Real original! I started dozing back off because I had a feeling this clown wasn’t getting anywhere near my curly hair snuggle mattress. Not with an opening line like that.
But the dude was persistent so I couldn’t fall asleep. He told my ride his name was George and he claimed he was some powerful man in DC. Oh yea, and a Scorpio. Small talk? That was microscopic talk, this dude was going nowhere. I fell asleep when he started asking Destiny what her sign was assuming Georgie boy wasn’t getting any honey tonight, at least not from Destiny. I got the feeling the asshole was married and Destiny would no doubt pick up on that too so I felt safe and sound curled up in her warm curlies. But great God Brundle-fly was I ever wrong.
I woke up and found myself not in a soft perfumed curly muff hair mattress but in a dark coarse long brittle hair bed that smelled of cheap scotch and stale cigarettes. I found myself sleeping in the thick ugly mustache of none other than G. Gordon Liddy. Seems somehow Georgie Porgie got lucky at some point last night and I was given a transfer to Liddy Lip Central which brought here to the oval office of the White House.
Now G. Gordon was a real son of a bitch even by fly standards. Let me just say that I had no trouble throwing up on his smelly-ass lip rug to dissolve some of Destiny’s leftover love juice for my breakfast. He makes puking easy. Apparently he was some kind of bigwig in the FBI and has been screwing people over for a living for some time. He was a personal friend of the other asshole in the office, Richard Nixon. Think I’m bullshitting? Well I shit you not my friends because Tricky Dicky here taped the whole thing to validate my tale s listen to my story as I play the taped conversation and you’ll get what I mean.
TBC

Anno Domini /from Cosmo and His Garden Earth

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It’s well documented the way Judas betrayed Jesus just before their big dinner but there are a few undocumented occurrences that were left out. To begin with it wasn’t supposed to be ‘The Last Supper’ because it was an awards dinner where Jesus was gonna give props to his twelve disciple pals. Before the dinner began Judas came up to Jesus all doped up on his favorite drug opium. His cognitive abilities challenged he attempted to lay a sloppy French tongue slurping kiss on Jesus while at the same time reaching down to comfort his rod and staff. The J-man became alarmed when his man meat began to respond a bit too eagerly so he pushed Judas away. “Judas please! We’ve been through this before, not in front of the guys. It’s my reputation I want to keep up not my dinghy! They can see my semi right through this thin robe.” Judas feeling spurned (and stoned) began yelling “Cut out the dramatics you know very well you like when I comfort you. Now you cast me like a first stone? That father of yours dammit! Now I’m glad I told that fucking Lucifer where he can find you.” A deathly silence filled the room speaking stereophonic volumes. Judas had thrown the son of god under the chariot bus and the shit was about to hit the windmill. Tears welled up in Jesus’ eyes, “Judas…..must you betray me…. with a kiss?” Jesus was hurt but he also knew this was the plan from his old man so he walked into the Garden of Gethsemane with his head and dinghy hanging down. The rest as they say is scripture. As for Judas he was stoned and remorseful so he went back to Lucifer for something stronger to dull his heartache. Lucifer needing to rid himself of the bastard betrayer gave him a dosage way too strong and Judas OD’ed. Judas was found dead in the mud with a contoured confused look on his dead face. By the time Cosmo and Mary Anne returned from the District their son Jesus was dead on a cross.
The sight of the young man nailed to a wooden cross filled Cosmo to the brim with shock. Shock and anger. His beloved youmans had not only lost their way, they had killed the only son. What was even worse for the mourning couple was how violently they killed him. The thought of his son tortured, thorns stuck in his head, nails hammered into his hands and feet, left in the hot sun was too much to bear. Jesus was left to die all alone. Angered Cosmo turned his back on his youmans and headed back to the District with Mary Anne to be with fake Jesus, the child who had become Jesus’ body double. There they would remain for eighteen hundred and twenty three years. It took them that long to reach the final stage of their grieving process. One morning they just agreed it was time to go back to check out garden earth. Cosmo had been gone far too long. They returned just in time to see some dude named Louis Pasteur had figured out the world of tiny little organisms he called germs. Puzzled at these germs Cosmo spoke gently to Mary Anne, “Pius defecation, what the fornication has been going on here?” He needed to review what had been going on in his garden during his absence so they went straight to the surveillance videotapes.
Sans popcorn or any mood enhancing Cosmo and Mary Anne viewed the video on the giant abstract flat screen. They watched the various stages of growth the garden had undergone since their son was killed. Some of it was appalling and some of it endearing. Overall Cosmo was filled with more disappointment than pride. “Look at all this Mary, all the wars, famines, and diseases on Earth! What the burning underworld could they be fighting over?” Mary Anne had majored in Modern Galactic Sociology and was able to grasp the situations well. “Cosmo, these battles they have been waging seem to have two things in common. Arbitrary lines of land ownership and the belief in different gods. They believe they can own part of the garden all for themselves and created lines which they kill to protect. They have formed religions and each religion believes it has all the answers and they are willing to kill any who disagree. Me thinks they have been killing each other for so long half the times they’ve forgotten why. Look at all these atrocities Babe, wars fought in Rome and France between protestants and Catholics, Sudanese war between Christians and Arabs, The Crusades, The Inquisition, not to mention something they call world wars. My sweet nebula what have they done to the memory of our son?” Mary Anne was on the money. The youmans believed it to be garden youman not garden earth. They lock up animals, experiment on animals, why some were even using animals as entertainment, either killing or being killed for youmans pleasure. Cosmo threw up a little in his mouth, “It’s true my love, they have blighted the memory of our son and used Jesus as an excuse to kill and maim. Its deplorable. And these germ things have caused deadly plagues, measles, anthrax, rabies, typhus, small pox, and the bubonic plague. The Black Death. The Bubonic plague that spread everywhere and claimed over 75 million lives. How could those micro-organisms possibly have gotten in my garden?” Mary Anne thought carefully before giving her opinion. The persons name she was about to use was a source of discomfort in their relationship. Not sure why because Cosmo did after all know what kind of work Mary Anne did before they became a cosmic power couple so he knew she had been with others. Even so Cosmo is a god and gods have major ego’s and relationship issues. Of course he had godpenis envy so he was not happy that Mary Anne had sexual history with Mychrighton. “I’m not sure I should mention this or not babe but Mychrighton is pretty well known for his experiments in micro-organism in the Andromeda Strain Galaxy.” Too upset to allow jealousy to sneak into his thought pattern without a hint of injured pride he mulled over her statement. In fact it was an a-ha moment for Cosmo. “Of course, the pathogen killer. Mychreigton had used satellites to destroy his own creations with micro-organism warfare. He would have destroyed them completely if not for the brilliant Lucille of the Babaloo galaxy.” Lucille developed and introduced the Kalocin antidote into the Andromeda Strain. Her brilliant work became a universal antidote which is still used today. “I have to figure out a way to introduce Kalocin in the garden. Maybe we can get this Pasteur guy to think he discovered it.” If Cosmo had dropped Lucille’s name on purpose to counter the subconscious feeling of jealousy it worked. Mary Anne’s face reddened ever so slightly and she angrily reminded herself of the once hot and heavy relationship that was all the rage in the District gossip papers. She thought about firing back with another comment about Mychrighton but took the high road because of the important work ahead.
The two agreed to forge a plan to save the garden and figure out a trap to ensnare the demon seed that was planting demon seeds. Part one was to get the youmans to discover ways to combat the deadly pathogens and hopefully lead up at one point to Kalocin. They believed if they could show the youmans that if they continue on this path of making weapons so destructive it would threaten the existence of the garden it would stop wars. As for the god thing, they hoped that by educating the youmans more about the universe that they would all agree on one theory of how life began and stop killing people who threaten their god or gods. They noted how the youmans had already made giant strides in knowledge. The youmans had figured out mathematics and use abstract thinking and reasoning to solve problems. It’s helped them have a better understanding of their world and introduced the concept of shared education, especially science. Between the various fields of study they were certain the youmans would come to the conclusion that the universe was not created by God and therefore would stop warring. In theory anyway. From simple abacus to Fibonacci and his brilliant scale great minds have developed on earth. “Mary honey, look at some of the intelligent youmans that were in the garden. We had Aristotle, Socrates, Plato, Copernicus, and Galileo to mention a few.” Mary loved to play and said loudly, “What about Marco?” Cosmo chuckled and responded with a quick “Polo!” But Cosmo had more to say. “Yes and not just them, men like Columbus, Magellan, Isaac Newton, they have made tremendous contributions and created things meant for the progress of their species.” Mary Anne had her favorites as well. “Don’t forget Sam an his Morse code, or Jethro Tull and his seed drill. Not to mention Joan of Arc.” The playful jab did not go unnoticed but Cosmo was already thinking ahead. ”Uh huh, many people have had many contributions and with a little nudging we can get the youmans going in the right direction. But we do have to deal with old Mikey boy first. What to do about him?”
What indeed. A very touchy situation especially considering what happened in the past. But this is a different day and a different situation. Cosmo had to come up with a plan to prove that Mychrighton was behind the dabcle sneaking his destructive microscopic killers onto his garden. Up until now the germs an pathogens in his garden were all beneficial. First step was to make sure it wasn’t a natural mutation of the beneficial microbes. Cosmo had to isolate some of the killer disease carriers. He needed to employ the help of a friend. Who can he trust? Not Lucy, that would be a bit too awkward, and James, well James has enough issues with the return of the Klingon wars. The best person for this job is the always Jovial Frodo. Road trip to The Shire!
TBC

How Does Your Garden Grow

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

garden

G.
Adam my son with your choices I grapple
I offer you melons yet you chose the apple
Now here we are in the Garden Of Eden
I offer you Eve but you’ve chosen Steven

I know I’ve preached love all through the week
But this ain’t what I meant by turning the cheek
The sanctimonious amongst us need to understand
How a marriage Can be between a man and a man

I don’t mean to be peeking inside of your bed
But I expect fornication not just getting head
How will I sanctify your living together
With you boys going out to play all clad in leather

A.
I pray to you father don’t harbor such vex
Love is much more than us just having sex
Why must they define the way we show our love
Is not everyone equal in your heaven above

If divorce and adultery is considered unfair
Sanctimonians you speak of own more than their share
They revel in their sins cause they get washed away
By sitting on benches in church on Sunday

While parentless children suffer unbearable trauma
Steven and I will raise our kids free of bad Karma
I know this might not be what your original plan had
But you created love without condition and everyone’s glad

G.
I created this world in a mere seven days
But I’m not here just tom garner your praise
I created sun and then water I created all life
I created this woman to be your wedded wife

A.
So much you created to make us all happy
But why is there hatred to make us feel crappy
The most beautiful thing any one of us heard of
Two people living life married….and living in love

PEACE