Travelogue

Recently yahoo posted a rare piece of footage on it's news platform. It was film from the mid 20's and in it there was a woman who appeared to be talking on a cell phone. It was called "Time Traveler Caught on Film" and it was interesting to say the least. And so since this whole time travel thing seems to be coming unraveled I have a slight confession to make.

Not long ago I was doing some reading, and decided something had to be done. So I borrowed a reinforced Chevy blazer, and several AKs and Mac 10s from a friend. I filled her up with gas and ammo. I picked up my pals Bill Murgan, Jerry Ford, Bill Baker, and ironically Jim Hoffman, our high school drama coach. We all loaded into the Blazer and we were off. We found a nearby time space/continuum wormhole and we drove into it. I was at the wheel and it was hard to concentrate with Hoffman constantly asking where Scott Morey and Bob Jackson were.

We got to the other side and my calculations were correct. We parked up in some trees far above Cemetery Ridge in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. It was July 3rd, 1863. We spent about 45 minutes up in the trees with our long range superior weapons and none were the wiser. Let's just say we made the little "Pickett's Charge" thing go away.

We got back into the Blazer and drove in silence all the way home. That is, except for Hoffman chattering on and on about "Barefoot in the Park"... sheesh he can be annoying. We all arrived safely back about an hour after we left and history was altered forever.

Not that we're looking for anything special, but next time you see Bill, Jerry, Bill, and Jim, or me... hey, buy us lunch, or at least a drink. Dang, we preserved the union after all. Is a drink really to much to ask?

Trying to call the USA from Paris.....

I was in Paris and frantically trying to call home to wish my brother a happy birthday. "USA si vous plait" wasn't working with the operator. I gave it up. Instead was invited across the hall to the room of an Australian family. We we all staying at a quaint but inexpensive hotel in the Latin Quarter. I think about that whenever I hear the Tom Waits song "Phone call from Istanbul".

I dreamed I died and went to Heaven. I was sitting in a club and I was at a table with Jack Kerouac, Charles Butkowski, Allen Ginsberg, and the apostle Paul. Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, and John Coltrane were on the bandstand. Paul kept yelling "blow that thing, man!" I kept wanting to talk to Kerouac, but Sam Kinison kept coming over to our table monopolizing all of his time between songs. Finally I just went over to the bar and sat with George Harrison, Miles Davis, and Willie Shakespeare. I paid for a round of Diet Mountain Dew. There is no alcohol there.....

That Kinison is getting annoying.

coffee time

Last night I was sitting on the moon looking down and the Earth, and it looked windy. All of the clouds around the planet were swirling as they do in Van Gogh paintings. My legs were dangling and I was afraid to lean forward much for fear of slipping off the curvature and falling. I hate the idea of falling, but in space, I guess it would be more of a drift. I could do "drift", I guess.

My coffee maker is struggling and in the mornings it moans as it goes to work. Building up all that white calcium is hard work I suppose. It creates this calcium that is like the glare off fluorescent light, the stain of a concrete skyline, the look of a widow's face. I swirl my creamer into the aromatic eddy and ponder the state of my guts. Is it stress? Am I dying?

I'm older. But am I wiser?

Proper Residence

A While back I noted that Allen Ginsberg should have lived in Howell.

That made me realize that:

James Brown should have lived in Seoul.

Ray Kroc should have lived in Hamburg.

A young Earl Anthony should have lived in Bowling Green.

Rudy Vallee should have lived in Charleston.

Oscar Meyer should have lived in Frankfurt.

And of course, obviously, Thomas Crapper should have lived in Flushing.

Thank you for your kind attention.

The Earth's Most Beautiful Arc

She trembles from the cold
it is chilly
and we're not wearing shirts.
I slide my left hand under her neck
as my right goes around her waist
and I pull her close to me.
As she snuggles in;
we share a moment, and then another
and then more and more
until we are flooded with moments
and we become warm to each other.
Dreams come;
sleep comes, a sweet sleep.
My right hand moves up to her hip
and then slides back to her waist
following the Earth's most beautiful arc
and then moves up searching for
a handful of breast;
and I assume the position
that I would love to be in
when death's cold kiss finds me.

Red

Your lips were red
I watched them as you smiled
and talked of this and that.
You smiled a red lined smile.

Your coat was red;
red as a flurry of rose petals.
The red accented your eyes.
Your eyes want to be blue
but they are a teal of honesty
you are a woman of mystery and honesty.

Your scarf was red.
It wound around you and held you,
furling in the wind like the cue of your name,
and the surrounding flair entwined
and covered your heart.
There was red in your cheeks from the cold outside.

Your dreams are dreamt in ruby hues.
In your dreams you live all the books you've ever read
and that I've read.
You are always the damsel
that the heroes want to save.
But you save them.
And I save you.
We save each, one unto another.

As the sun readies, it climbs into its Heavenly perch.
You don't need rose colored glasses
to ask what you saw in me.
I don't know what you saw.
I am strong, but I am weary.
I want to rest with you.
You have read my heart.

Finally. Win-Win.

Having recently, twice in the last two weeks actually, received awards from police officers for handling my vehicle so well at high rates of speed, (at least they called them citations), I think I have come up with a workable solution that keeps the public safe, and that will allow me -and you - to drive reasonably. I thought of it a few years ago when I was watching my then young sons "drive" in this large video game at the bowling alley.
Anyway, here's my idea: When you go to the Secretary of State's Office to renew your license, you have to get into one of those driving video games. Then you are allowed to drive as fast as you can. As soon as you crash, it's over. The computer then calculates at what speed you were still handling the vehicle well and proficiently. That speed is then generated on a sticker that is placed on the back of your license. At your own expense, you may also elect to put a numerical decal over your license plate. The idea is that you are legally allowed to travel at the rate of speed on your license sticker. Yours may be 87 miles per hour. Then when the officer pulls you over for doing 60 in a 25, you show your license, and he looks at the 87 on the back, smiles and tells you to have a nice day. Or he sees the 87 on the back of your car, and doesn't even bother to pull you over.

The technology is there, and in the last two weeks, I have spent enough money on these tickets to purchase the video device for our local Secretary of State's office.

So there you go. I'm an idea guy.