CHIKIN

They sat in the living room of his childhood home.  One little boy sat on French made, albin colored couch with macaw colored ivy waving through the couches fabric.  The couch was stuffed with goose feathers.  It was soft and absorbed the body. He had “passed out” on the couch many times. Every now and again while the boy was sleeping, a quill would poke through the couches fabric sharply jabbing the boy’s body. In front of the boy was a white and grey topped coffee table.  The table had a mahogany base.  The legs were shaped like a pair of base clefs.  The legs of the table gave the appearance of elegance. A long time friend of the boy’s sat to his right in a Hepplewhite arm chair with a parakeet green seat cushion exploding with varying colors like a tornado cutting through the sky. Each boy sat with his adidas covered feet resting on the marble topped coffee table.  Each wore jeans and a college sports tee. The second boys tee was crimson and black and read, “The Hawk will never die!” The first boys shirt, grey with white lettering, read “Integrity First, Service Before Self, Excellence in All We Do.” They passed a joint back and forth each inhaling a hit and watching the smoke slowly meander to the living room ceiling. Then as if the timing were prearranged, they both arose from their seats and exited the living room.  The second boy strode into the kitchen and grabbed two six packs of Budweiser from the refrigerator.  He was broad shouldered, bearded, had a crew cut...

MEANINGS OF JESUS CHRIST

Joseph, husband of Mary, stepfather of Jesus sat on a small handwoven rug in the mud hut he had constructed for the family. He sat with his legs folded in a dirty, yet white prom dress. The family consisted of just the three of them at this time.  Joseph sat deep in thought contemplating the concept of the tripartite God.  He spoke to himself in a barely audible voice, “Okay, the tripartite God consists of God the Father, God the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen. ”  He became angry at this thought.  His veins were red and bulging; he got angrier. Then his red and blue head started inflating like a balloon as if he were the star of a Saturday morning cartoon. He suddenly realized he was a cuckold.  Any wonder the guys were laughing at him behind his back.  He heard their remarks.  He heard the rumors.  It wasn’t funny. Jesus was not his Son.   Jesus was either the Son of God or the Son of Man. He was forced to accept this. Soooooo was Mary sleeping with a deity or Everyman on the street? Joseph’s blood pressure was “through the roof.”  And this Jesus kid: changing a house by pointing his finger, anyone’s house; cooking meals on a stove; constantly feeding the neighborhood; making clothes, washing clothes; sweeping the houses, paving the roads, producing cars, putting up electric street lights, counseling married couples, walking around with some circular light over his head.  He was the most popular guy in the neighborhood. Joseph refused to have his house upgraded.  No “big deal.” No one visited.  Everyone...

MATTERING

Black Lives Matter.  White Female Lives Matter. Hispanic Lives Matter. Policemen’s Lives Matter. Russian Lives Matter. Fundamentalist Arab Lives Matter. Osama Bin Laden’s Life Mattered. Gay People’s Lives matter. Seal Team Six’s Lives Matter. White male lives matter. Transgender lives matter. I believe if we expand the “Black Lives Matter” slogan, we should be able to expand it to mean all lives matter. Osama Bin Laden’s life mattered in terms of existence.  Life is wonderful and simply matters because it is  life.  It’s horrible to take a life. That’s not to say that I wasn’t glad Osama Bid Laden’s life was taken.  I was.  He would take my life first, given the option, so I would like his life to be taken before mine. But now I want to reflect on lives that matter to no one.  I have never heard anyone say, “Tin Man’s life matters; Scare Grows life matters; Cowardly Lion’s life matters; the flying monkeys’ lives matter, the lives of the munchkins matter.  Think about the poor pigs in the sty. Their lives don’t matter, only Dorothy’s life mattered. Actually, throughout the entire movie, everyone caters to the whining, wimpy Dorothy. It can be argued that only Dorothy’s life matters. The Scarecrow would not have been asked to play ball, except for Dorothy and a pair of two-inch red rhinestone heels taken from a cereal box by the Wicked Witch of the East or West.  I’m not sure which witch removes the fake diamond heels from a cereal box, but who cares.  Oh wait, our P. C. society cares, fuck everyone else, but Dorothy’s life matters....

MEANINGS OF ROSES, OR NOT

A man wearing out of style cargo shorts carrying wrapping paper and snippers was obliviously casually, searching and strolling through a beautifully manicured battle field of hyacinth, snowdrops, crocus, geraniums and marigolds.  These flowers all framed and protected the Queens of the garden, the aromatic Roses.  It was an ongoing battle of the flowers repelling insects, a living little known blood bath.  If some larger critter, wild or civilized, stomped on the battlefield below, those beautiful roses would slice their hands, arms, legs and mouth with their thorns. Roses appeared to the man as beautiful multi-petaled, multi-colored  flowers with a stunning, shimmering kiss gently exploding from their centers. He understood the thorns but was completely unaware of all the floral protection provided to the roses by the nature of their being so he tramped on the flowers and crushed many. This would make the insects happy if they actually expressed happiness. Roses whisper to people and so they did to this man. They yelled in a whisper, ” Stop smashing our bug repelling flowers, loser.” Then the man realized he had a possible picking opportunity with everyday all day sun, some cool lace and ferns for a nice vase for an apartment and best of all no bug attacks.  It didn’t go unnoticed by the roses that this might be a shorter life, but that quality has its benefits. The reds whispered first about passion, romance, and spoke of love silently breathing ” I love you;”  Whites whispered about purity, innocence, and a fresh start; Lavenders whispered engagingly about “Love at first site;” Oranges whispered about passion, and enthusiasm in...

A STRUGGLING LAWYER

I decided I should visit the office to assist struggling lawyers.  I was taken on a tour of the building which helped me identify histories finest New Jersey lawyers.  I think the purpose of this was to impress me.  I enjoyed the art work but didn’t give a shit about the impressive career lawyers depicted in the art work.  As far as honoring the Presidents of the New Jersey Bar Association, I would never want my name painted in gold on a rotunda wall or any other wall for being the President of any association. I guess I’ve been down on Presidential status since the Sixth Grade elementary school presidency election.  My best school friend voted for himself instead of me.  I lost the presidency by one vote because I voted for him. I admit it was my own fault for choosing to support my best friend. I learned that day that there are no friends in politics, an important lesson in life. In ninth grade, I was elected the class President.  It was a figure head, do nothing job, perfect for me.  On the day the photo was taken for the yearbook, I had bad hair.  I sat next to the secretary or treasurer who was a very pretty and personable ninth grader. I wish I had good hair that day.  I had a crush on her. After that, I don’t think I spoke with her the entire school year.  I think I expected telepathy to do the talking for me. Well, two presidential elections, one a political failure and the second, a figure head do nothing position...

IS THAT ALL THERE IS

Do you have “feelings of despondency and dejection?” Do you, like Sisyphus, feel as though you’re eternally pushing a rock up a hill during the day, only to have it roll back down at night?  Do you, like Tantalus, stand knee deep in water with  beautiful fruit filled branches of a tree over head, and yet,  you cannot eat or drink because whenever you want to drink the water or eat the fruit, the water and fruit back away from you, and are just out of reach? Do you think references to classical Greek mythology are meaningless in our “modern times?” If so, you are depressed, either cursed by the gods or cursed by life itself.  Articles on the internet  will tell you that there are from ten to thirty identifiable symptoms of depression. You can’t sleep; you sleep too much.  You can’t eat; you eat too much. You get fat; you get skinny. You can’t focus; you focus too much. You have too much love; you have unrequited love. You have thoughts about suicide, you worry about the death of others  etc… etc… etc…. The number of identifiable symptoms of depression is mind-boggling.  I’m batting over .500 on the one through ten scale and closer t0 .750 on the one through thirty scale. These are Baseball Hall of Fame numbers. However, I think in reality; the identification of depression is pretty simple. One morning, or middle of the night, or middle of the day, or before you junk food binge, starve yourself, work out excessively, fail to work out at all, feel lonely, feel crowded, go to work...

JOHNNY HOTBOX

Once long ago, I started to write about Johnny Hotbox.  A woman, I knew, who followed my blog, suggested I write about my life and not the life of Johnny Hotbox.  I have come to realize that Johnny Hotbox was and still is a part of my life. I met Johnny Hotbox in the spring 1974 and knew him until fall of 1974. I was married for the first time in the spring of 1974. I needed a job. I got one.  I went to school all day and was at the factory by three p.m. for the 3-11 shift, second shift.  I was a nineteen year old boy not realizing that I was climbing on to the treadmill of life.  I had no conception that at 62 I would still be walking on the treadmill, and beginning to wonder more and more about the purpose of the treadmill. The purpose of the treadmill for me can not realistically and simply be described as similar to the caveman’s struggle for survival. “Me need food.  Me take spear with barely, sharpened rock tied on end and kill wooly mammoth for eat.”  I’m not ashamed to admit it, but I am the “walking dead” in caveman world despite my allegedly better communication skills.  For example,  I can’t grunt and position my friend URG in a good mammoth ambush spot. Caveman eat; Accidental Lawyer die. I prefer to drive my car to the emporium of the already butchered, pre-skinned, packaged, fully cooked, canned and often processed meat. I enjoy picking through the sorted, piles of clean fruit without trees, of vegetables washed and sorted without...

BUCKET LISTS

I admit I had dropped a lot of acid, and that’s why I was standing in a big red barn before the advent of mechanical milking machines.  A caricature of a farmer stood in that barn.  He was wearing  the classic blue overalls with silver buckles located about an inch or two above the nipples on his chest. His thumbs were behind each buckle pushing them out from his chest, but not past his Santa Claus belly.  He was the classic pear shape. His shoes were really a pair of of brown boots which stopped right above his ankles and two inches below his overall bottoms. The farmer casually strolled over to a goat which was tethered to a wooden knobby tree pole made from a local tree of the past, not like dinosaur past, I’m talking before modern pre-earth contamination past.  The farmer gazed at me thoughtfully, so I believed. He slowly opened his mouth to speak.  I waited. I thought he was going to spout some down to Earth farm wisdom.  He said, “Son, have you ever sucked a goat’s teat? Goats milk is quite a tasty treat.  Nothing like being suckled by a goat. When we were horny boys, we called it foreplay.  They’s good for lots of thangs, those goats.”  I was stunned.  He smiled a toothy smile and laughed at  me. I had never seen a farmer dress like this, except on TV, and as far as goat/human sex goes; I saw it in a porno film once and so was a little familiar with the concept.  I, however, reached the conclusion, after some thought, that...

BIG AND STRONG?

My daughter Bella, now a legal adult, was writing a paper for a college class.  She sat on the upstairs couch, legs crossed as if she were sitting around a campfire at summer camp.  She wore a a long, comfortable T-shirt,  I had purchased for her at one of her many favorite Broadway shows.  She loves Broadway, and this shirt was purchased at the show “Les Miserables.” Victor Hugo, a nineteenth century French novelist, wrote a work of  what we now label historical fiction entitled, “Les Miserables.”  “Les Mis,” as the show is commonly known, is set  in Paris in the early 1830’s  after the French Revolution.  The show basically presents the interactions between various archetypes of people and their survival in Paris after the Revolution. One of a number of themes concerns a “criminal,” Jean Valjean.  Valjean spent time in the French penal colonies for stealing a loaf of bread to feed his family. His nemesis is Javert.  Javert is the Law.  Through the years and aging process, Javert chases Valjean and eventually,  encounters him in the midst of their physical aging processes. In other words,  they are both getting old. Valjean and Javert have a brawl in the hospitawl, a stumble into a rumble, a thrilla with out a pilla, shit talk with an onslaught.  The entire time they’re punching each other with bare knuckles and whacking each other with belts and chains, they sing.  Valjean specifically sings the following lines: “I am warning you Javert I’m a stronger man by far There is power in me yet My race is not yet run” One might think that...

HARVEST, HONEY, GARLIC, WOLVES AND EAGLES

I was wandering through the Harvest, Honey & Garlic Festival in Sussex County, New Jersey.  The Festival was set in three green long barn style buildings. The buildings, in which the Festival was held, were the buildings that housed the livestock on display at the New Jersey State Fair and the Sussex County Farm and Horse Show in August of every year; however, today the buildings served as the home for the Harvest, Honey & Garlic Festival. As I wandered through the Festival studying displays of the honey sellers (I can’t really call the sellers the producers of the honey, since the bees actually produce the honey), garlic growers, local photographs of the area and its wild life taken by local photographers, one local talented artist, Wolf Visions (a pro-wolf group) and a food stand, it became obvious to me that I was the only single person present and the youngest person without a parent present. Attending events, such as this single, has its pros and cons.  Some of the pros are that I can focus on what I am interested for as long as I want, converse about it with others who are interested, eat what I want, when I want and come and go as I please. Some of the cons are that I share the experience, laugh, joke, observe, chat, discuss and hold hands with no one. For some events, I prefer the pros and for some the cons. I suppose these types of thoughts and feelings are the same for everyone. The artist was an attractive, interesting young woman.  When I first walked by the young artist, I...