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Below you will find a mixture of prose, poetry, random thoughts and a variety of images including some of my favorite music videos. The icons above will take you to my other social media pages. Click the blue button on the right to subscribe to this blog and receive posts in your reader.

But most of all enjoy your time here ūüôā


Now It’s Official (?)

When you get paid for your writing that makes you an official author, right?
Thank you one and all for buying my books or just reading the scribbles I post here on WordPress. It means a lot to me.

The Hourglass at Dusk

Luck. Randomness. Chaos.

The academic would discard those kinds of conjecture. Then‚ÄĒ

‚ÄúYou‚Äôre chasing the past,‚ÄĚ he learned, ‚Äúand we cannot run in that direction.‚ÄĚ

All those stones I endeavored to skip across the river for the most part just plunged right into the water. Yet I envied their defiance against buoyancy. And their skin . . .

‚ÄúDon‚Äôt abandon yourself either.‚ÄĚ That voice came late. It‚Äôs my regrets that washed out into time‚Äôs unfathomable ocean.

I cannot break the surface of the water. My breath, my atmosphere is that very liquid. You become who you are despite every loving instinct.

Post-9/11 Seinfeld

(Author’s note: I wrote this after the phony ground- zero mosque controversy back in 2010. I still think it is one of the funniest things I’ve ever written. Enjoy.)
Bassline and mouth noises.
Jerry’s apartment. Jerry is in the kitchen
eating cereal. George is on the couch reading
a newspaper. Kramer enters with a flourish.

¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†Jerry, you won’t believe what I just saw.
     A Muslim woman, downstairs, on the third
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†floor. She’s moving into the building. What
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†are we gonna do, Jer’?
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†Is that so? How do you know she’s a
     Muslim? She could be a lot of things.
     I could tell she was Muslim. It was obvious.
     Why was it so obvious?
     Well, she was wearing a burqa.
     A burqa? Are you sure?
     Are you sure you even know what a burqa
     looks like?
     Of course I know what a burqa looks like.
     It looks like a bathrobe.
     A bathrobe?
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†A burqa doesn’t look like a bathrobe. No
     one would walk around outside wearing
     anything like a bathrobe.
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†But it’s not a bathrobe. It’s like a bathrobe.
     Only for walking around in.
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†It’s not a bathrobe for walking around in!
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†You wouldn’t walk around in a bathrobe.
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†You’re missing the point, Jer’. It’s like a
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†leisure suit. You wear it casual. It’s a
     casual bathrobe.
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†A bathrobe is casual! There aren’t any
     formal bathrobes.
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†I’ve never heard of a formal bathrobe.
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†That’s what royalty wore.
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†No they didn’t!

Elaine comes out of the bathroom wearing a
black, velvety bathrobe.

     So, guys, what do you think?

Kramer freaks out.

¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†Now, she’s wearing a burqa! What do
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†we do, Jer’?
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†This isn’t a burqa. It’s the bathrobe I just
     He thinks a burqa is a bathrobe.
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†I don’t. But it’s like a bathrobe.
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†It’s not like a bathrobe. It’s a burqa!
     Why does everyone keep saying burqa?
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†Are you sure that’s a bathrobe? Where
     did you get it?
     I got it at Bed, Bath, and Beyond.
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†Are you sure you didn’t get it at a mosque?
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†A mosque? No, it wasn’t a mosque.
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†You can’t shop at a mosque.
     Maybe they built a mosque inside the Bed,
     Bath and Beyond.
     A mosque is a building.
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†Right. And they could’ve built one inside
     the Bed, Bath and Beyond to sell burqas.
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†You can’t build a building inside another
     building! And even if you could, you
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†wouldn’t build a mosque inside a Bed,
     Bath and Beyond to sell burqas!
     Why not? They already sell bathrobes
     A burqa is not a bathrobe!
¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†No, but it’s like . . .

George abruptly breaks down.

¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†I need a job! It’s been three years since
     they laid me off, and I need a job. All you
     guys can talk about is burqas, and I need
     a job!

Awkward pause.

     Hey, I have an idea for a make-your-
     own pizza place.
     We already did that!
      [expletive deleted.]

Bassline and mouth noises.
Fade out.


All I Can Do is Try

. . . boxes filled with books.
Empty rooms.

In the yard tree branches
move with no mutual rhythm.

The sun denies half of its own

My toes brush across the cream
-colored fibers, unmarred by
the impressions of furniture
and dark, odorous blots.

The windows shut tight
hold no secrets or lies.

A blackbird banks and dives
into a moment of despair.

Deep sky of hooked stars.
. . . the vast unknown.

Nothing Happens Twice

I emerged from the blankness of my depression as a man of less than average height began a futile attempt to reach a book upon a high shelf. I suppose my intentional, wordless gaze fell upon him for too long. When he did look in my direction, I lowered my eye level but didn’t turn away, a motion that implied guilt. Yet he seemed to miss my onus entirely.

HIM: “Do you mind lending me a hand? I can’t quite reach it.”

ME: “Sure. I can, sure.”

My words carried me up out of the plush chair I’d slunk into and away from the news magazine that heralded all the ill-fated people and places of recent weeks. I went to this stranger’s aid at only his simple request. He indicated the object of his frustration and I plucked it for him with ease.

HIM: “Thank you, sir. I don’t know why they make these stacks so tall. Shrink them a couple of inches, and I’d have no problem, you know?”

ME: “I know. They’re probably much taller than they need to be.”

That library in particular was spare in its selection. Most of its shelves held less than half their capacity. Why use the top shelves at all? A man of less than average height perhaps required this variety of assistance often. I felt obligated to provide such aid.

HIM: “Thank you again, sir. I do appreciate it.”

ME: “Absolutely. You’re quite welcome.”

He smiled, and I reciprocated as much pleasantness as my mood allowed. After he was gone, my eyes returned to the voids amongst the shelves. It flashed into my mind that movies, TV shows, and other media depicted libraries with books filling the premises almost to their limitations. Reality, of course, demands excess capacity, an open home for everything wandering to return to.

ME: What a strange place to be thinking about nothing.

These last words I murmured to myself, still on my feet, my eyes fixed on the heart of the quiet buzz of activity all around me, any desire for re-engaging that aforementioned periodical gone. Yes. Strange indeed.
(Note: The title of this piece is a reference to the Samuel Beckett play Waiting for Godot.)

Life Spiral

There are times that I wish
I could tell every person
Who has left me lonely

“I hope your joy justifies
 My suffering.”

I regret every shard of pain
That I have inflicted.

Perhaps that is why happiness
Has so often alluded me.

The heart cannot stand still.
It expands and contracts
As needed.