It’s 4a.m. on a Monday.

The roads are quiet, nothing is on.

Been staring at the broken line.

Where the past is never gone.

And you know it’s not too pleasant.

And that’s where my head goes.

But I never stay too long.

A rolling stone where no moss grows.

There is caffeine in the café.

The cat still has a purr.

The kid she sleeps so peacefully.

And at daybreak, all will stir.

The future holds all meaning.

Don’t know which way it will go.

But if I have learned anything.

It’s best that you don’t know.

The walkie-talkie radios squak and break the monotonous silence on most nights. Voices expressing something unnecessary or an attempt at humor; usually by those who can’t stand the silence of their own thoughts…

Morley Ferguson is a large no-nonsense generator operator, and we rarely hear his voice on the transportation channel.

“Jack… we are out of power in stage 3. Bring the 5 ton generator over right away, please.”

Jack is the swamper and grunted something unintelligible. However, 5 minutes later, Morleys voice rang through loud and clear.

“Where is my generator, Jack!?”

Jack mumbled something not coherent, which indicated that the request had not been received with the urgency intended.

Morley answered the mumble.

“When I ask for a generator, it means you drop what the fuck you’re doing, and bring me a generator. Is this your first day on the job?”

The radio went silent again. A few minutes later, I drove by stage 3 and saw the generator and Morley berating Jack.

Hours later, after peace and harmony were restored, a voice came over the walkie-talkie…

“Has anyone seen Morley the genny-op?”

Jack’s voice answered loud and clear…

“He was last seen in the parking lot taking the air out of the blow-up doll…”

That is when the troubles began for Swamper Jack.

My frothy emotional reaction drew a look of askance from their eyes. They didn’t approve of me or anyone wearing their hearts on their sleeves. They swallowed theirs. Hard. Bitter. Final.

I was in the wrong village, at the wrong time. Really, there was no right time. They were all the same. Fathers. Grandparents. All of them… They all preached honesty and swallowed the truth like candy. I don’t know why I let it out like that; I just did. Fuck it!

It was Eve Of New Years 23.

I hadn’t made it out of bed.

All attention on the internet.

Reveiwing “Things I Wish I Said.”

In hindsight sometimes, I remember.

All those things I wrote.

There are dozens must be thousands.

Searching for that tattoo guote.

Many ways to tell a story.

Some good and some are not.

Things are not as they appear.

Is the only worthy plot.

Kindness is a confusing trait, especially coming from large, capable men. Being a skinny kid without a father, I learned kindness as a necessary survival tool: which worked brilliantly; except for the psychopaths and bully’s who were drawn to kindness like moths to flame.

Later, to dumb for words and having grown physically into one of those large capable men, I still carried my kindness survival kit with me. Which often caused confusion with those who had a difficult childhood and the psychopaths.

Once, with someone who had a difficult childhood and probably psychopathic, and whom I let get close, she said: “You are the kindest most generous man I have ever known.” When I asked her why she spread lies about me and said that I’m abusive, she answered. “Your kindness and generosity prove your abusiveness… nobody could be that kind.”

Which is a very enlightening sentence! I feel quite honored to receive such an education.

In conclusion, I have decided to remain kind to those I have known previously and have been able to fool successfully. The rest of you can go fuck yourselves!

Happy New Years MoFu’s!

Remember things you knew nothing about? Didn’t stop you from asking why?

And they told you that you were childish. Remember? You held back the need to cry.

You sucked it up, and you held it down. Because you get tougher as you go.

Well, here we are once again. Remember. You are always going to wanna know.

Let it be. Let them play. Let them be what they want to do.

It doesn’t hurt. They just flirt. It’s got nothing about me and you.

You just be never, never mind. Your business has gone cold.

You be lucky when you find. Left you breathing like you’re old.

Things they changed. Rearranged. And they’ll come back again.

You don’t know. You let that go. You are nothing but vanilla plain.

Vanilla plain was popular. I still give it a good go.

You don’t be asking for permission. It’s best that they don’t know.

3 years ago… I had just told her that I was no longer the most beautiful man in the world. That I had transcended beyond beauty.

Dennis Mantin

T’was the night before Christmas.

And all through the land.

Was Netflix, Nintendo.

No gatherings were planned.

We stayed in our houses.

Under blankets and quilt.

And ordered distractions.

That helps with the guilt.

The snow will bring Santa.

All gifts we do pray.

No mention of Jesus.

Has God gone away?

I am reading again… Savage Art, a biography about Jim Thompson, the author of The Killer Inside Me & The Grifters.

Here’s a quote:

“There are 32 ways to tell a story, and I’ve used them all. There’s only one plot. Things are not as they seem.”

Brilliant Mr Thompson!