In the Toaster

I lost my last bartending job because I was drinking near the end of my shifts sometimes.  Always I worked hard for my guests and team-mates, but I used alcohol to ease my stress, numb my physical pains and to celebrate the everyday completion of a job.

I've been in purgatory working a job that doesn't pay well, but at least they gave me a shot.  As of today, I haven't had a drink in seven months.  I have regained my balance and remembered my priorities.  My wife, kids and home are all that count.

I'm about to start another job that should pay me what I'm worth again.  Maybe I've proven that I'm responsible.  Maybe I'll be released from purgatory.  Does that mean I get to celebrate a little?

I've been thinking about it.

In the Toaster

So long

I've been dry and square

As a slice of toast.

Need a little butter

For smoothness,

Spread some jam

To make me sweet,

But take care

To keep my shape.

Too much jam and butter

Just make a sloppy mess

On my fingers,

Down my shirt,

All over the floor.

Nothing

Feeds the family

Like a wholesome loaf of bread,

But too much time

In the toaster

Makes an ashy crust

Good for nothing

But crumbs.

So I need to spread

A little butter and jam

Sometimes.

In the works is a book of my poems.  Currently I'm calling it "The 86 Collection" but it needs a real title.  Some phrase from one of the poems will distinguish itself.

Secrets for the Man

Things have been going well at The Penalty Flag and Bright Hub Education.  I'm one of TPF's featured writers this month.  Bright Hub is asking me for something about every week.  Come to think of it, the cartful of groceries Jajamilevska, Zero-Eight the Poet, Stomper and I bought yesterday was entirely paid for by freelance writing.  That's something.

I'm still getting to Broken Mic at Neato Burrito, but maybe only once a month.  My two days off fly by so fast, I'd rather be home with my beautiful people.  If I was rolling solo, I could be a brooding, roaming slam poetry rat, sitting in the corner, sipping and looking deep.  Those days are either behind me, ahead of me, or both.

Last time I was there, I put together a piece specifically designed to be read there.  It's been a piece of music bouncing around my head, but finally I got it on paper.  Think anything you like about the religious implications.  I'm not the type to tell people what to believe.

Secrets for the Man

What kind of man

Slides down to Satan with a briefcase in his hand?

Snaps open stainless to flash 500 grand,

Says: “Bub, what you got?

I'm buying secrets for the man.”

What kind of man

Sits sippin' with the spirit:

Shots of whiskey,

Black and tan,

Says: “I'm a ghost, too.

Thanks for the brew

And all the secrets 'bout the man.”

What kind of man

Jaunts off to Jesus,

Says: “Son, I know your plan:

You convinced them all it hurt,

Hid three days in the dirt,

Then got under their skirts

And whispered: “Keep this secret from your man.”

What kind of man

Glides up to God

With a tablet in his hand?

Double-taps the screen to show grift

And greed

And scam

Says: “We got 'em smoked like ham.

What you gimme for these

Gigabytes of secrets for you, man?”

He's a pawn-broker of sin

Who just wants to get in.

He wants to know the price

So he can get the cash to Christ.

When he's dredged up all that stuff

He finds it's not enough.

What kind of man

Steps to Saint Peter with a heater in his hand?

Smirks sarcastic,

Says: “Is this your promised land?

Where the virgins and and lambs?

The angels and the bands?

And please put up your hands.

I'll take all those acres.

I brought some secrets for the man.”

Acres of Diamonds

About a month ago someone I'd just met challenged me to write about Russell Conwell's Acres of Diamonds speech.

I'm working on it.

It's been a busy month, with Bright Hub in particular, and I'm running behind.  But I've read it and it's rattling around in my brain.  Within a few days I'll have some good ideas about it.

Mr. Conwell is a very persuasive orator.  I'm beginning to think I might actually want to be rich.

Blog Flash 2013, March 6: Island

(Eureka!  I've done it!  I crafted a time machine.  I transported you all to the future.  While you write on the date and time you believe to be March 14, 2013, here I am back on present-day March 6.  Shine on, you crazy futuristic time-travelling diamonds.  To all of you who thought a poet would never invent a working time machine, put this in your pipes and smoke it.)

Destroying the world is hard, even fictitiously.  The more my Cathartes Aura series grew from animals in a zoo to human experience in the larger world, the more difficult writing became.  Conceiving of a disaster that removes 99% of the world's population and remains believable is nearly impossible.  Most savvy readers will poke holes in your plot.  "Why aren't they all dying of radiation sickness?"  "How come the aliens destroyed every city on the planet but Moosebutt, Alaska?"

What I love about the post-apocalypse is the character study.  What do you do when you realize the life you had is gone, the world you lived in has changed forever and the people you love are dead?  That's why I write about those situations.  Each one of us will react differently.  Some will come together while others fall apart.  Some will have their most noble traits shine through, while others use their most evil instincts.

An idea that's been brewing in my head and crawling through my notebooks is this: a disaster on a remote island that, for a while, changes life so dramatically it might as well be the end of the world.  I'm building my own fictitious Caribbean island on the map next to the existing ones.  Its history and culture will be a mixture of its neighbors'.  Wickedly, I might put it in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle.  If power and communications are down, if hurricane weather prevents travel by air or water, this island might as well be on Neptune.  How will a few thousand residents react to that, especially if they are reduced to a hundred?

I have a lead character, some supporting cast and an idea of the disasters.  I just need time.  Currently, The Penalty Flag and Bright Hub are keeping me busy freelancing.  Plus my job and the search for more freelance work.

Fortunately, I now have a time machine.

Blog Flash 2013, March 5: Health

Step right up to learn the secret recipe for the salubrious, funk-doobiest, some think dubious but guaranteed falubrious 46 Ounce Vegetable Bomb.  Proven to cure colds, flu, hayfever and any kind of nasal congestion.

I keep the ingredients around all the time in case I need a blast.  Experience has taught me that when you feel that little itch in your throat, when you get a little stuffiness in your head, when everyone around you is getting sick, you need to attack the germs, viruses and other assorted ick while you are still stronger than they are.

My favorite battle in the war on illness: the 46 Ounce Vegetable Bomb.  Simple, inexpensive and proven effective.  A couple months ago every human in my house had the flu.  Near the end of a night of work, I started getting that feeling.  When I got home, I took one of these, went to bed and woke up cured.  I can confidently say I had the flu for about an hour.

Construction:

• Open one 46 ounce can of vegetable juice.  Store brand will do.  You should be able to get one for much less than two bucks.
• Add as much of your favorite hot sauce as you can stand.
• Add some more.
• Pour over ice.
• Consume all at once.
• Don't make any plans.

It will make you feel worse before it gets better.  Your gastrointestinal system will not like it, but your sickness will like it less.  Whatever bugs are in you will shout "this %$^&$%^& is crazy!" and flee the scene.  After a nap or a good night sleep, you will be cured.

I'm not a real doctor, but I think the megadose of fluids, vitamins and spice combine to clean your body.  I'm a big fan of spicy soups to clear congestion.  All that nastiness up in your sinuses is where germs thrive and reproduce.

If you really like the idea of microscopic creatures having a sex party in your head, leave the mucus up there.

Trust me.  It hurts but it works.  I've woken up with a cold, had one of these, and gone to work at 4pm cured.

You should ask my wife about her Czech Garlic Soup.  Also a potent weapon.

I never get sick.  I tell people that, they think I've jinxed myself, and then I never get sick.  Above all, I believe in will power.  I'm never sick, tired or stressed.  That's almost true because of my mind-set.

Think of how tiny those little germs, viruses and bacteria are.  How gigantic and powerful are you in comparison?  Crush them, for they are weak.