I’ve always been alone and I will always be alone. I came into this world and fell straight onto the cold steel floor. I shivered and for the first time I knew I was alive. Don’t try to take that away from me…that feeling. Stay away. Stay far away…

I saw

The pain in my head is abating…sort of. Once like ivy on a brick wall it clung to the front of my brain but now it has receded into the fissures of the gray matter. Gone back to the cartoon projector from which it came. That’s all folks…

I saw An Inconvenient Truth last night. You can hate Al Gore but you shouldn’t deny the message of his movie. We’re destroying the world and the United States is by far the largest contributor to greenhouse gas emissions. I’ve already been planning to get rid of my SUV and have been taking other measures around my house to conserve energy.

I want the world to be around for my niece (age 2). Unfortunately, nothing major will be done until disaster strikes. Millions of people will be affected; killed, displaced, starved. It’s not a fairy tale as the Bush administration wants you to believe so they can push more oil on us.

Just think if the rightful winner of the 2000 presidential election had taken the oval office. I doubt there would be a war in Iraq. The major greenhouse gas producers that were supposed to be fined and clean up their acts would have been forced to do so. The pharmaceutical companies wouldn’t have been able to screw seniors. There would be hope.

What trumps everything in the Bush administration? Profit. As I keep saying, you can’t spend money in an atmosphere that doesn’t exist. If another Republican is elected we might as well kiss the earth good-bye because they won’t do anything to clean up the environment. Everything is wilting under their watch…

The Finale

While gathering momentum for the grand finale it is of the utmost importance to let loose with a few profanities (yes cocksucker is a fine choice), to once in a while drink the sweetest wine from the dirtiest cup, to every now and again throw the punch everyone is expecting, to kick in the front of the Pepsi machine and take back a can of your sweat. I’m not advocating complete anarchy but rather a controlled effort to fuck with the establishment, to spice up the hum drum, to let the elite fucks know that good people will do bad things when pushed. You want a piece of me, corporate fat ass? No, then pay your fucking taxes and stop pillaging. Because when the fat lady sings this time she’ll be in your box seats standing on your head….

Foul Ball

I was sitting down the first base line about four rows back. During the course of the game several foul balls came in the vicinity of our seats but nothing particularly close. It dawned on me that I’ve never caught a foul ball at a game and this started to weigh heavily on my mind. What were the chances that I would never catch a foul ball at all the baseball games I had been to? I immediately considered myself unlucky, burdened with a lack of juju, stuffed to the gills with bad luck.

“Hit one over here you cocksucker,” I yelled.

Now, this is going to be hard to believe but on the very next pitch a lefthander pulled one down the first base side into the bleachers. Yes, the ball was coming right at me. I had only a split second to make my move on the ball and you would think I would have jumped out of my seat right? Wrong. In my catching hand I was holding two plastic FREE BEER coins. Good for two 16 ounce beers at any concession stand. As the ball drew closer my mind volleyed back and forth between the possibilities. Should I drop the coins and go after the ball? What if I couldn't find the coins? Was the ball worth $9.00 worth of beer? What would I do with the ball if I did catch it? I knew exactly what I would do with the beer. Of course I would drink it. I couldn’t drink the ball. It would just sit on a shelf and collect dust…

I watched as the ball sailed over my head. The guy next to me had dumped his French fry bucket and snagged the ball with it. Well, almost, the ball popped out the other side and he picked it up off the ground. He had knocked his full beer down in the process.

I squeezed my plastic coins and laughed. The sucker next to me was up one ball but down a beer. I was up three beers and down one ball. I could live with that.

The Storm

Last night I was working on my pitch shots at the driving range when the wind began to pick up speed. I don’t get to practice golf as much now so I decided to stay. Soon many clouds rolled in and they had the same mean disposition as my fifth grade teacher--they burped and growled and were all colors of purple just like his face when he yelled at me (for no good reason). Still, I refused to leave the driving range. I watched as others fled to their cars. I reasoned they were amateurs, not suited for a game that required skill under pressure in any weather (cowards all of them). I turned up my Ipod—the new Chili Peppers loud in my ears. The wind blew my golf bag over but still I carried on. I swung and the ball landed on the practice green and rolled towards the hole. “Aha,” I cried (quite madly I might add). Not one to be left out during a storm lightening next made an appearance, leaving a jagged, momentary, crack in the sky. I swung again, raising my club in the air. There was more lightening…I awoke some time later smelling of burned hotdogs…

Beer is good for the nerves

“I’m getting nervous. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

His hands were shaking as he tried to tighten the nut on the bolt but I knew he wasn’t nervous. It was old age, maybe Parkinsons or maybe the nerve endings shorting, the brain not cooperating with the spine, the electric impulses grounded in the grayness of time.

“Here let me try that,” I said.

He handed me the nut and I looked at his arms; dark splotches, white patches, bumps and wrinkles.

I easily tightened the bolt and stood up from the lawnmower. I looked into his bloodshot eyes and saw something like realization there. Maybe it was finally occurring to him that there wasn’t much time left, maybe he was deep inside talking to his hands telling them to stop the fucking shaking, maybe he was going over his will—cutting me out for showing him up.

“That was hard to tighten,” I said.

“It was wasn’t it?” he said, as if reassuring himself.

“Let’s get a beer.”

“Yeah, that will help my nerves. Beer is good for the nerves.”

They’ll take what matters, leave you sitting in the middle of a highway on the yellow line. You will look up and see the grill of a Mac truck bearing down on you. You will smile within because you won’t have to deal with any of THEM anymore. You brace yourself for the impact but it never comes. The Mac truck drives straight through you…

My dear

First off you must loose the wings, cut the things off they are freaking me out. Secondly I don’t like the harp. It has to be the most annoying musical instrument ever invented. Why don’t you pick up the electric guitar, form a little band? Third and most important lose the head gear. When we’re doing it that thing glints in my eyes and I lose my concentration and then my hard on. If you can come down to earth, lose the holier than thou attitude then maybe, just maybe we can be together again. If you chose not to abide to my wishes then well, we will have to part ways. So get your head out of the clouds or else...