the necromancer

do not be afraid of your dreams baby girl . the necromancer comes . i will join you and keep you safe . there are many wondrous things to explore . places and times you can only visit in your dreams . nonetheless, they are real . " now take my hand and hold it tight . i will not fail you here tonight . for failing you , i fail myself . and place my soul upon a shelf . in hells library , without light . i will not fail you here tonight . { the book of counted sorrows }

bind her feet

you know. were stronger and they depend on us. never mind their wisdom and capacity for giving. we can do it. so lets. make them bind their feet. the result being they cant run no matter how we treat them. after all, the power is ours. doesnt might make right? what do you mean? respect their souls, their spirits, their humanity? i say we make them paint their faces too. make them wear clothes pleasing to us. well even allow our daughters to be treated in this fashion. we are men! they are here solely for our pleasure! why do i feel vaguely ashamed?

snake

HOLY S..T!!!! THERES A SNAKE IN THE ROAD!!!!!! occasionally, when i wore a younger mans clothes {billy joel-"piano man"} i would get restless and bored, grab a small pack and my sleeping bag, walk to the highway and stick my thumb out, and say "you and me lord" and proceed to have an adventure or two. hitchhiking thru west texas in the dark is an interesting experience. if you are impatient like me and must walk when not ridingyou must be careful of the snakes who crawl onto the edge of the roadway to take advantage of the heat stored up in the asphalt during the day. when a vehicle passes, its headlights show a portion of the road ahead. look carefully and walk to the edge of your visibility. its slower than striding confidently forward, but i suspect a serpent, finding himself being trod upon, may be inclined to turn around and BICHU!!!

a memory

this pen is a memory of a restaurant. across the street from a by-the-week motel on the edge of the desert in new mexico where i once passed some time. a knock on the door one night . a pretty young lady who smiled an invitation at me and asked if i had the time. i told her the time and softly closed the door in her face. i wish i had said "of course i do. lets pass this lonely night together. and talk and laugh and eat and drink and celebrate life as men and women have done for millenia as the sun rises over this barren desert". this pen is a memory i did not make. i miss her still.

the hat

my father died in the viet-nam conflict as it was called . i personally believe that anytime a countrys sons are dying in the service of that country its a war . i never got to know him . i was just a baby when he was killed . when i asked my mother about him she always assigned to him the finest attributes of a man . bravery , courage , selflessness , with a heart that bled for people whom the world had treated maybe less than fairly . there was a box in the attic which contained some of his letters to my mother , his medals and letters of commendation , and a faded camouflaged "bush hat" with salt stains from his sweat and dirt i always imagined was foreign soil from the place where he shed his blood . i used to put that hat on from time to time and see my father in my minds eye . doing heroic things . charging bravely into battle against impossible odds . rescuing the helpless and hapless. i grew up , saw combat myself , and came to realize that war is never a good thing . the lessons i brought back and hold dear are lessons of friendship and brotherhood and sacrifice . im a cop in my small town now and have been for a number of years . i do my best to live up to the ideals ive cultivated and the memory of my father. the hat sits on my mantel under a picture of my father in a dress uniform . such a young , handsome man . other boys had their father to help teach them valuable lessons of life . i had my imagination and the hat .