At Dusk


So very sterile, so very clean as if to smell a clean fragrance. She capitalizes on this, at dusk she smells their blood, and the smell of it drives her wild.  She doesn’t hesitate making her entrance. It’s strange for her, of the different brands of blood, the different types of blood, which she knows are now ever present.

There she was going about her way through the night, a strategy of hers, these were her quick bursts, ‘Quickies’ energy for the hunt. She hurries along as if their blood, each one person calling out to her.

How they turn around so quickly but they cannot communicate, not after seeing her, not thoroughly enough, the sight of her is shocking.

She claims, “I cannot think straight. I smell the blood.”

She wants to suck their blood.


Time Moves On His Story


2016-04-22 15.38.14

Now what he dreams about, still ever dreaming of episodes taking place, for the better or the worse, he wished they would, yet he doesn’t know of any such a course, they were all of his dreams.

He lives in a dreary place not particularly for him though, having been so sheepishly involved, hardly in it at all. Maybe whomever would bring a plate of food, whomever she was.

Although episodes such as these and the other episodes he has imagined, they were all dreams and they weren’t likely to occur. They were just his thoughts. He had nothing but time.

He begun to worry about himself, about remaining here at this place, that clock would be running out soon, so to speak, about his activities, the things he loves to do, he stopped partaking in those activities, the ones he once held dear.

He has begun to worry about his family, but they weren’t around, not so much anymore, so he would wander around the little town, the places where he once lived and played. He was constantly walking around throughout the town, sometimes riding his bicycle, trying to get a grip, to get exercise, to get closure. He sits on his lawn chair he bring along or anything, to be in the public gathering areas, the parks, trying to be available to talk and have conversation. He watches other people, their activities, of their youthfulness. His spirits are high, yet he is confused, he had no life, no one.

Of all the old things around his place, the unkempt, the disarray left as it were. He sees where the landscape and the mechanical aspects if it all have been forgotten.

Once drinking beer because beer tasted good, of a once stable life, an occupation, but there’s no longer an occupation or circulatory motion, there hasn’t been for a while.

“It’s as if I’ve silenced her, by my own insincere pettiness, by my jealousy, because at the time she stood out as a very young and pretty woman. ”

She eventually became his wife. This was a rather special, delightful and warm feeling. Although now he has no one. She has since gone on. He needs to move on.

He Truly Loved Her Yet There He Sat. His story:

So I truly believe, now since I have the time to take a certain path, plus I have a home and a place to fall back to, returning to my home whenever I want. I may move onward and go places, traveling, moving from place to place. In the beginning, as you know this will be uncertain, although it looks most appealing. Here, I will not say goodbye, not so much, because without a doubt I will return and be back soon, once again resuming my path, because I have nothing but time, so I shall be starting again at my original starting place. Although it is here that I wish to leave, wanting to get away from here rather badly.

What a nice day for challenging ourself ‘Myself’ to take a look around me.

…The landscape and the mechanical aspects of it all have been forgotten. Flowers fade as do dreams then one season the flowers, they suddenly reappear, yet he is ruined. The flowers are as beautiful as before, yet nothing awaits him because of a stillness…

…They were afraid yet they had alternatives plans throughout this whole ordeal, of her illness and this is how they felt about their impact on togetherness, their life together for many years…

“I had a dream come to me today and I wasn’t sleeping. I remembered where we were and what we did, we had a good talk, we always had good talks. What a way to start the day!”

“What I gave to you my dear can hardly be noticed now. What I did give to you, if anything, hopefully this gets noticed, if not technically because I was kind to you and also very generous.”

Yes, he hoped so. They lived their life that way, she however has gone on.


The Rural Roads and Byways


I’ve been out riding my motorcycle, now I’m on my way to arrive at my favorite diner for lunch, it’s where I like to go. Afterwards I’ll have dessert somewhere, maybe some ice cream. I have just passed an abandoned old school building. I get a fleeting glance. Oh wow, this looks so spooky, as with everything though, one glance paints a thousand images to one’s imagination. There are numerous horror stories just waiting to be written here.

What do you see riding along these byways, of the many rural roads you take, places you pass riding along the vast countryside on a motorcycle?

There are many sights all of full things. I noticed this abandoned school, a sign that reads, ‘Private Property Keep Out’. It gave me chills and goose bumps in broad daylight!

Amid the delight, learning as children do, playing in the school yard, my imaginations say something terrible has happened here. And this is why it is now abandoned.

Maybe there is a horror story here, like the two students who attended school, they threw eggs at the local skating rink of the time era. This school looked to be active in the 1940’s now it’s abandoned.

I remember the story: A man took his gun and shot at the two fleeing pranksters, who after throwing eggs were trying to make a clean getaway. One was shot dead by the man. The man went to prison where he eventually hung himself. True story!

Going up, I stopped along the way for a break. I was trying to think of how that my dad had once said, “You won’t get vittles this good anywhere.” Maybe he was content with the occasion. I think this had been a family reunion. He was foot soldier in a war I’ll never have to experience. Why would he tell me this story about food here and only to me?

He had said it this way because he would never speak of the atrocities of man or what he had witnessed, ever.

I was quickly brought back to the present when I heard a woman crying out, she was hurrying to leave, she had shouted, “Baby, Baby!”

Had her child been kidnapped? It was the anxiety in her voice, like a scene in a horror story. Yes, this was so scary and too, in broad daylight. This horror story or ‘would be horror story’ played out in my mind.

What would one do if they had witnessed a kidnapping?

Do we have days when we get ran over by nightmarish and hellish thoughts, and why does this happen. It is anyone’s guess.

“Good Afternoon. l will have my dessert now, a Pecan Pie, and this will be out from one of those cellophane packets you know, the ones you buy at the convenience stores. I’ll get mine from a gas station, eating it while standing up beside my motorcycle parked outside thank you.”


Listening To The Old Man


Yeah, I think to go by the old man’s house at around lunch time today but when I do, I think to take his watered down version,  of his frivolities (of his bullshit), I mean, just put it aside. It’s just oh, what stories he could tell you?  Yes, I get that, I really do!

There’s plenty to do down there below the surfaces, of the hush hush involved and he’s just the person do to this with. It’s just that he’s ‘The Man’ that’s for sure, the one person a fellow can trust and talk to, about anything!

He’s a dirty old man alright, and he just likes to talk about dirty stuff. It’s fantastic even-fully, but still, different strokes for different folks, and we know we learn things from the old man, and oh, how we’re learning alight.

Now he’s a lonely old man so what the heck, it wouldn’t hurt a damn thing to go visit him.

I like to put myself at risk revealing some of my own experiences and these are my little stories of what I did and shit, and I have asked him what the hell he would have done, so that the next time I will remember.

And what did I let fly. Shall we begin.

This is what I told the Old Man:

They were hippies back in the day, it was of my opinion, and her, I’ve started seeing both of them, because she is one of my Facebook friends. She is, but he is not.

He is one of my life long friends, I’ve known him for a while.

It’s a strange case you know, because many there are who are leery of today’s technology, of gadgets and computers and of the internet, he is one of them.

Sometimes she stays away from the stark realities, when I visit with them (her), and when I go to her online profile, I hear her comments. Yeah, these are referred to as fear mongering and sarcasm, which are along the lines of hate and disdain, perhaps despair. I wonder if she represses these thoughts. You know, everywhere you look there are smudges of dirt in our daily lives, it’s just the way things are. And don’t get me started because I could forever dig up sarcasm, it’s scary and undisciplined, perhaps it’s where insanity begins.

Outwardly, she adopts a more supple approach in her profile, obviously it’s this way to all of her Facebook friends, no doubt she obviously appears to be filtering herself, she posts concerns about stuff and life and she concurs to be very comfortable with her husband’s government job, his salary, even though he’s dying of the cause, of the hazards involved.

Please contain me here, perhaps she doesn’t know what the facts are or has out weighed the odds. Help! Who is to trust anymore. As for myself, I’d get the hell out of that situation so fast it’d make your head spin. He hazards himself knowingly? I know this because I know him personally and I’ve gone over to their home on a few occasions. I’ve know him for what seems a lifetime.

It has to be the Church, the services they regularly attend, which by the way, curtails our little friendship. I can’t seem to get him out of going to church, not even for one Sunday, to go for a ride on our motorcycles, it’s not happening. It seems weekends are perfect for riding and Sundays are no different. She would never let him forego going to their little church on Sunday mornings, eventually we would never go riding on Sundays.

She seeks closer friends of her liking, as she’s stated, “Sundays are for going to church and resting.” I think she has a real big crush on the pulpit minister, that’s what I think. I have to believe that she sits close to the front row towards the center aisle in order for him to have a better look at her and for him to notice her. It’s a small chapel.

Well, that’s a bit old fashion isn’t it?  Go eat a big Sunday dinner after attending morning worship all morning long, yes, I’d be wore out with it, that’s for sure. Now after all this, read the newspapers and eventually fall asleep, no way, I can’t stand to do such as that.

I can’t seem to get him to go the distances either, between her and him, there’s just no way. I remembered one year it was our last hurrah together, one last ride of the season where we waved goodbye on that last turn, on the fly we make our ending this way every time. This was in October, shall we begin… Now, in December of that same year we receive a Christmas card from them, this was her doings. Oh, it was their usual Yuletide blessings. Can you imagine, in her own writing she wrote, “See you all next Spring!” Hello, we just live across town from each other!

The couple live way out in the country and near a tributary, a creek. We spoke one time and I’ve talked to him about the idea of me riding my bicycle out there near where he lives. There is a rather large tributary I’d like to see out near their home, it’s near the county line. There is the creek I want to go exploring, possibly canoeing and getting there by bicycle is a good way to do this. You just park your bicycle somewhere and hike to get to the creek. I will be accessing the creek along the railroad tracks.

On one occasion we carried a jon boat out to the creek from the road. This was with a friend of mine, we were exploring the creek. This is a remote area. We use paddles to move along the creek in a small jon boat . That was so cool.

Now I think to ask my friend if it would be alright to park my vehicle at his home, that I would bring my bicycle along with me and park my vehicle in his driveway. They live not too far from the tributary. This was okay because he recognized it would be too dangerous to ride my bicycle all the way out there with little or no shoulder on the sides of the road.

They must have had deep aspirations I guess, when they were younger and when they married shortly after high school. Together they found some land and moved a little ways out into the countryside. Okay, this was their dream, to live five miles from the little community out on some curvy road, what the hell good is that?

So, I guess the food the locals grow is all good for them while, they may know no otherwise. I mean, there’s a great big world out there in which we live nowadays. They on the other hand have lived here all of their lives. Oh, but someone’s brought the fear of God upon them, that’s for sure. She made him do all of this, she’s so weird!

I haven’t done this yet to go ride my bicycle out their way but I still might one day and I’m thinking I’ll be going alone out there to their home, and I know he’ll be at work.

We haven’t ridden our bicycles together since we were teenagers.

And while she may either be there or not, either way if she engages herself to come along with me, just her and me, what will I let fly? Oh, Plenty!