Friday, November 25, 2005

Points south and east

She was leaving in the morning, doing a long drive to Florida, taking her mom to her snowbird nest. She realized that her blog would be neglected, and that there was little reason for any sentient to want to visit Florida.
But she would be back in a week and a half. She thought she would be, anyway.........

Virus writers

Ray-man was a nightcrawler, a lover of darkness who preferred the company of his online world and his souped up laptop over ordinary humanity. A grad student killing time on a boring internship project, he spent his nights tending the server farm and wondering how all his tenured professors could stand the tedium of government work.
His shift at the SETI lab was a half hour from done, and he craved a glazed raised, a few hours playing role playing games on his computer and a solid sleep. The sheer tedium of tending a bunch of computers to look for alien transmissions was driving him to a restless state of irritated distraction he was ill suited for.
He shift was almost over when he realized something truly odd was going on. All the com lines in the lab were jammed, but with outgoing transmissions only, and the temperature in the server room had jumped twenty degrees in the last half hour.
Something was pushing information out fast enough to keep a T-3 line jammed, and to drive every one of the servers to near melting point.
He logged into the system with his own laptop. None of the lab machines would let him into the system. He looked at the odd code scrolling by, finally getting excited by something at work. One of his sneaky hobbies was writing viruses, and he knew what almost all the good ones looked like. This one was amazing, and unlike anything he'd seen before. But how the hell did it get into and now out of the system?
As his system crashed, he realized how it got in, and realized that there was life out there in space. And that it too got bored, and wrote code for fun. And this one was going to take down every computer on earth with a connection.

"At the moment of commitment, the universe conspires to assist you."
Johann Goethe

Monday, November 21, 2005

New Tattoo

The new tattoo looked great, although it was still oozing a little, and the salve made it look sort of greasy. It was her fourth one this year, and she was ready to take a break.
She checked her Mohawk in the mirror, trying to decide if she should dye it blue again. She ran a razor down each side, then blasted the center with some seriously heavy duty hairspray to make it stand up and fly right.
She slipped her rather large and pendulous boobs into a sheer bra, taking time to make sure she did't snag the nylon with her piercings, and leveraged them into a seriously deep cleavage.
The fishnet stockings, black underbust corset and the leather boots and skirt finished out the outfit. She took a long look at herself in the mirror, and got ready to go down to the party in the big ballroom in the basement, thinking about that new bulldyke that had moved in down the hall a few weeks earlier.
She was hoping for some serious horizontal action, the kind that lasted all weekend and gave you carpal tunnel from all the handwork and lots of sloppy kissing.
Damn, she thought, she was really liking this new nursing home, and the money her assclown husband had left her. It was making up for 40 years of his stupid macho attitude.

Saturday, November 19, 2005


He woke up in a dull haze of pain, groggy and feeling a seriously disturbing throbbing coming from his crotch.
The hotel room showed signs of every wierd night people had spent there, from the peeling faded red velvet wallpaper to the dog chewed Gideon's bible.
He staggered to his feet, slid into the bathroom and relieved himself under the ugly, flickering flourescent light.
He was unerved by the size of his bandages and swelling, more than a little worried about what had been done to him, hoping that he'd be able to make the long ride home without being sick.
As he fell back onto the bed, he noticed the bible, and picked it up and flipped through till he came the book of Dueteronomy. It had been years since the book his parents shoved down his throat had even crossed his mind, but bits of that old hellfire and brimstone crap still lingered somewhere in the back of his brain.
Would his vasectomy reversal keep him out of the old testament hell? Or was he damned for having one in the first place?
He'd have lots of time to think about that as the beer and oxycontin kicked in. That 400 pound blanket of narcotic love beat the old testament any day in his book.

Deuteronomy 23:1
He that is wounded in the stones, or hath his privy member cut off, shall not enter into the congregation of the LORD.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Thunder Road

Thirty years ago I found Born to Run in the record store.
Thanks, Bruce.

Thunder Road

The screen door slams
Mary's dress waves
Like a vision she dances across the porch
As the radio plays
Roy Orbison singing for the lonely
Hey that's me and I want you only
Don't turn me home again
I just can't face myself alone again
Don't run back inside
darling you know just what I'm here for
So you're scared and you're thinking
That maybe we ain't that young anymore
Show a little faith, there's magic in the night
You ain't a beauty, but hey you're alright
Oh and that's alright with me
You can hide 'neath your covers
And study your pain
Make crosses from your lovers
Throw roses in the rain
Waste your summer praying in vain
For a savior to rise from these streets
Well now I'm no hero
That's understood
All the redemption I can offer, girl
Is beneath this dirty hood
With a chance to make it good somehow
Hey what else can we do now
Except roll down the window
And let the wind blow back your hair
Well the night's busting open
These two lanes will take us anywhere
We got one last chance to make it real
To trade in these wings on some wheels
Climb in back
Heaven's waiting on down the tracks
Oh oh come take my hand
Riding out tonight to case the promised land
Oh oh Thunder Road, oh Thunder Road
oh Thunder Road
Lying out there like a killer in the sun
Hey I know it's late we can make it if we run
Oh Thunder Road, sit tight take hold
Thunder Road
Well I got this guitar
And I learned how to make it talk
And my car's out back
If you're ready to take that long walk
>From your front porch to my front seat
The door's open but the ride it ain't free
And I know you're lonely
For words that I ain't spoken
But tonight we'll be free
All the promises'll be broken
There were ghosts in the eyes
Of all the boys you sent away
They haunt this dusty beach road
In the skeleton frames of burned out Chevrolets
They scream your name at night in the street
Your graduation gown lies in rags at their feet
And in the lonely cool before dawn
You hear their engines roaring on
But when you get to the porch they're gone
On the wind, so Mary climb in
It's a town full of losers
And I'm pulling out of here to win.

Thursday, November 17, 2005


Spin like a dervish
buzz like a bee
there's lots of ways
to find one's center you see
some slow it down
bring it to the ground
some sit and contemplate
in quiet solitiude
they find things great
with a placid attitude
me I like noise
and musical toys
cranking a musical prayer wheel
on the edge of unstable
grabbing ahold of the cosmic cable
hang on as long as I'm able
someday I'll be dead
have worms in my head
maybe be baked in an oven
no more koriana lovin'
so don't tell me to go
so damn slow
I'd rather die dancing
don 't ya know?
Old platitudes are fine
when they're in your mind
but as for me I leave them behind
gonna shake my booty and my mind
till time leaves me far behind

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

more fall hacku

Waterfall roar
Cool mist drifts over
ok, now pie and coffee!

Big merc drifts along
the miles home fly by
oops, that's my driveway!

mud on my feet
leaves in my hair
I return recharged

Saturday, November 12, 2005

under my skin

I nod in morphine dreams
somewhere not here
Slipping in that needle like
it was a stainless steel lover
humming like Cole Porter
I've got you under my skin
you want a Hollywood ending
to walk away from the crash
without a scratch
a hero to swoop in and save
you in the last reel
Not too smart on your part
but I see the appeal

Friday, November 11, 2005


The planet was crowded, getting short on resources and people were actively changing the ecosystems. Global warming was screwing up coastlines, changing weather patterns and it was time to speak up.
So a group of concerned people formed a group to spread the message, far and wide just how fragile our planet was. Backed by a big liberal groups with money, the started a campaign to educate people, one that included massive broadcasts, both radio and television, to get the message out how little it would take to push things over the edge, how few reserves humans actually had.
Of course, once those broadcasts reached far enough, the message did get received, loud and clear.
Nobody expected just how easy things would come apart after the Aliens got here, nor how easy it would be to knock over human civilization and make slaves of mankind.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Fish Dinner

There's a stiff wind today
a bright sun
a chill in the air and leaves too
fall days and the smell
of wet leaves
cotton gloves
chainsaw gas and oil
bring back a flood o memory
and a tear or two
it's been 21 years since you left
I still see your sneaky grin
your angry temper
your warped sense of humor
twenty one years since had you
burned to ash
and we fed your ashes
to the fish
like you asked
I miss you
and your temper
and your quick laugh
you were a good teacher
a strange friend
and a father who taught me how to work
and how to be a strong smartass myself

Janie and the tree

The tree creaked and stretched, warm sunshine drying the dew off it's leaves. The summer had been warm, with heavy rains, and new growth had made it bigger everywhere, including it's girth. It almost looked like it was getting a pot belly.
The creaking sounded like singing, both rythmic and soothing, as though it was singing a lullabye.
Janie stretched out under it, sprawled on her mother's favorite blanket, thinking back on how she'd seen her mother slowly fade away, worn down by a lifetime of babies and distant men and children who left early and came back late, late enough to see her last days.
She'd understood, not many people wanted to stay in Grand Marais, but it had been home to both Janie and her Mom for both of their lives.
As she leaned up against the tree trunk, she felt some part of her mother drifiting out of it, oddly comforting. She and her sisters had spent a lot of money having this tree injected with her mother's DNA, and maybe someday somebody would do the same for her. It was the kind of afterlife she'd enjoy, being a tree.

Human DNA/tree research is real:
"In an artistic response to the advancement of biotech, Biopresence has become its own godlike entity. Biopresence is an art venture currently based in the UK, which, in short, aims to preserve human genetic material by inserting it into living trees. The trees thus become "living memorials" or "transgenic tombstones" for the humans whose DNA they contain. This may top cryogenics for unusual final resting options."


Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Deep Spacer

She had spent the better part of the last decade on full burn, putting 100 years worth of earth radio and TV transmissions behind her.
It had taken every credit she could lay hands on, and the hyperdrive fuel alone had wiped out her cash reserves.
She'd bet it all, and now, as she recorded the last of the old style analog radio shows and TV programs that she wanted, she headed back home to repackage and sell them back to a public hungry for novelty and nostalgia.
Thanks to the solar storm of 2204 wiping out all recordings and archives, and her own desire for status and cash, she was going to be wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice.
As she punched out of hyperdrive to hit earth orbit, she realized she was in deep shit, or more correctly a thick asteroid belt.
Where was Earth? And what was that small moon over there?
As the tractor beams locked on, she realized, that was no moon. That was a space station.


Once you see that everything is unreal, you can't see why you should bother to prove it.

E. M. Cioran

Monday, November 07, 2005

Weak Moments

He slid in the back door of the strip club with a sideways glance and the scuttling motions you'd expect from a sick crab or someone feeling guitly as hell.
Once inside, he made his way quickly to the door he spent nights dreaming of walking through, and pulled out his bundle of quarters and started dropping them into the slot.
The shutter came up, and there she was, dressed in her school girl outfit, 19 going on 13, underfed and waifish. He pulled his zipper down, started the urgent and very unsatisfying process of getting himself off. It took longer and longer each time, and by the time he did reach some relief, it was a thin, pallid moment, gone too quickly. He felt dirty, spent and even more frustrated.
He had the sinking feeling that this was a monster he would never get around, his attraction to little girls.
The following Sunday, his whole parish just couldn't get over how much energy he put into his sermon against the dangers of the gay community.
All the while clutching his secretary's daughter's dirty underwear in his left pocket.

Sunday, November 06, 2005


The days crawl by
like the whole damn sky
is holding it's breath
waiting for the other shoe to drop
waiting for the big change to come
that isn't as big
from the back
as it looks now from the front
why are the longest now moments
always the bad ones
and the fine moments
of nirvana
barely long enough
to get you through having
to mow the lawn
or do the laundry?
someday I'm gonna make god answer this one
or I'll have to kick her ass
but only
if I can keep the devil too scared of me
to come get me.

Saturday, November 05, 2005


The crunching noises were irritating, but the constant beeping of the back up alarms, the way the rude and rough men yelled at each other and the stinky aroma of diesel and rank sweat were the worst to her.
Every day, they kept the machinery roaring, tearing up more of the park and doing oddly rushed things with rope and string and levels and GPS boxes, making grids and sifting sand and dirt.
With the window closed, she could see their rippled back muscles and, almost hear the shouting, and even see some of the arm waving and frantic calling on cell phones.
She finished filing her nails as they finished dragging the lake. All that effort, she thought.
Not that it would do them any good to keep looking in the wrong places. He was still in the freezer, and she was really good at making sausage.

Friday, November 04, 2005

Deep space tourists

They traveled the dark mystery between the stars, spreading out over thousands of years, learning the myriad ways life could invent itself.
From sentient gas clouds to methane eating bacteria, from the multi pod sensualists of Haa'ralaxu Prime to the lava men of Terra's interior, they plumbed the depths of time and the universe, sampling the beauty of the creation, all spawned by the big bang and the big mystery behind what made that great explosion.
But the Human Earthlings were the first ones to assume that they came across the vast universe to kidnap them to explore and probe their alimentary canals, to insert alien metallic devices into the stinky mystery of the human colon.
Sushi with the dolphins was nice, though.

Death will tremble

For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those of us who can't readily accept the God formula, the big answers don't remain stone-written. We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. We are pliable. Love need not be a command or faith a dictum. I am my own God. We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.

Charles Bukowski

fall hacku, a bad version of Haiku

Cool nights arrive
Sleep becomes blissfull
need to order propane soon!

The dehumidifier roar
can sometimes stop now
fall is here

Leaves start falling
the woods tug on my desire
leave the repairs till monday

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

The Athlete

Everybody said he looked great. The trim figure, the sharp haircut, all those hours in the gym had paid off. He'd been sure it would, enforcing a regimen of free weights, diet, running and supplements. All done without hormones or steroids, just sheer hard work. He'd turned himself into a tanned, fit god with hair to die for, a washboard gut and every muscle defined enough to make him look like a movie star.
He even had makeup on, although it wasn't much. Just enough to give him a healthy glow.
All his Aunts and his Grandmother flocked around him, asking people to take photos and remarking on his fine appearance. They were the old fashioned type, caked with powder and cheap perfume, the last of their kind. You could tell. Only old people take pictures of their relatives in a casket.

"The abdomen is the reason why man does not easily take himself for a god." Friedrich Nietzsche

"Sometimes a scream is better than a thesis." Ralph Waldo Emerson