Making Widows Wince

--> “I went home with a waitress, The way I always do How was I to know She was with the Russians too.” W. Zevon There are places in my head that are greyed out now – like real city places where things have happened, and talks have talked – all things that should be memories but are not. When I try to pin these things down with words, they escape and bounce away as if greased pigs fleeing the horror of a wayward children’s zoo. They are things just outside of sight, outside of the patterns of my mind --they are places that I’ve been or are going to, or maybe omens and portents – it’s hard to say, but like the auras that precede a seizure, this where the road to nowhere begins for me. These are the dreams I fall into shortly before I lose it. The fact that they are too vaporous to describe with words concerns me, but it seems important to try because flashes of them happen to me many times a day now. At work, they come when sitting at my desk looking...

How I died in a Honda and woke up with a pacemaker "Give yourself this gift as your day of death approaches: let your faults die before you." - Seneca, Letters 27.2 Sitting outside my office with few minutes to kill, (I usually got to work an hour early to beat the traffic), I start drifting a bit. My eyes lost a bit of vision at the edges and my head nodded, weak and in poor control. I found myself in a blue vault, medieval blue, with images of old timey people pasted in lifelike ways to the walls. None of this had any depth – it was Greek Orthodox in manner – Icons of symbols for the most part, all recognizable from before the Renaissance, or the time of any movement at all for that matter. Timeless, except the stars blinked off and on and there was a slow kaleidoscope of lateral movement as I watched. I’m wasn’t there either, just the history of me killing time in a waiting room. I might have been smoking, it’s tough to remember. I jerked and though...

“No, I’m romantic—a sentimental person thinks things will last—a romantic person hopes against hope that they won’t.” F. Scott Fitzgerald So OK, I quit. I know this surprises no one, what coming from the pie hole of a member of our most disappointing generation -- but trust me, this needs to be said – because this raw, stuffed naked and in your face kind of quitting is necessary, and because I’ve been way too nice about it up to now. It’s become clear to me that all has been written in the big book of what must be and it’s time for me to accept and let go. Free will is a sucker bet for dreamers and the uninformed -- it's just for the hoi polloi on stage, reading lines in clothed flesh, to an audience that wrote the book they are reading from, and doesn’t even like them anyway. What if Trump and his supporters are right? Have you ever even thought of the possibility that the little shit head of a person is right? That maybe Trump is the man for ...