“We are nothing but animals looking to destroy each other if not use one another to be king of the jungle. So, come with me into Dante’s Inferno where we will sit on the fiery swings and watch our world grow more dark while Pandora throws hope back into the box and locks it tight.
Let’s slide down the slide into Mother Nature’s dead earth because we will live to see the day that she comes after us in all her fury.
Let’s hang upside-down on the molten monkey bars to let our minds slip further into emptiness.
Let’s play until we die, so we may escape this prison.”
“This is the doorway time,
the passage from youth
Where we use words
we almost understand
and display emotions
we don’t quite yet know”
“There’s a river in France called Touch…
I’d hoped to have seen you there with your hands spread
Memories of you & I skipping town, dodging clotheslines with the pant legs
Your hair kept like rose vines with the strands red
The nights we’d toast wine but demand less
Life was so fine. Our souls scribed in the grand nest.”
“The screen is pitch black.
In the moment before Creation we begin to hear a faint, heterophonic melody. It becomes louder and louder, harmonious still, but a violent undercurrent begins. The melody divides in two. They alternate until they transform into a violent polyphonic cacophony.
At the pitch of the battle, a pulsating diminutive DOT OF LIGHT appears in the center of the screen. It grows and shrinks as if pulled by both melodic lines with each alternation. The ball of light is now stable, engulfing almost the whole screen. The music ceases.
Faintly the music resumes. Both polyphonic melodies are now a single, harmonious whole. The ball of light contracts to its original size as the music swells up, the ball expands and finally engulfs the whole screen.
“Long, black wires curled around a slender, thin frame. Hollow beeps were the dim lights shining, looking for sun. An IV dripped, tears no longer left unshed, and fingers reached for the blinds, letting the world spill in. Large, gray windows stretched across the small, four-walled room, and cold, white tile bit into flesh, sending chills up the spine. An empty chair was poised beside the hospital chair, but life would not hold this seat. Instead, death crossed her legs and painted her nails for all the time in the world was hers to give or to take away.”
“After Colton Burpo’s supposed journey into heaven and back, there was a scene with such argument over how the boy could have gone to heaven, if he had never died. So, how did this child see heaven, if he did not die? How could his mind have opened that door, or his soul, if still stuck here? Or is there more at work here than we know of, and we just can’t understand? And we deny his vision, his mysterious knowledge because he did not die, so therefore, he did not see heaven.”
The waiting room was a lie. Colorful, soft chairs. Soft lighting not to blind the eyes. White, tiled floor. Small, brown tables decorated with an assortment of magazines. A flat screen against one wall. A small clock on the other. And a warm, welcoming reception guarded by ugly, plastic windows.
“Please, don’t sit next to me. Please, don’t sit next to me. Please, don’t sit next to me,” and the middle-aged woman guided her elderly mother over to the next row of chairs.
It was a large imposing building; however it was not readily seen by just anyone. Walking down the street, it was as if a huge bubble protected it. Only the dedicated lovers of music of different genres could see it and knew what it concealed within its walls. Inside were the usual tables: two tops, four tops, and booths for larger groups. The bar was a magnificent testament to an incredibly gifted carpenter. The bartender looked incredibly like Pete Seeger. The logo on the front of the shirt he wore was a hammer.
Since I was young, I couldn’t put them down
Another misunderstood kid, another super identity found
Some never played by the rules while other boy scouts really cared
Some nasty villain’s reputation reigned everywhere.
He was no longer the six-foot two-inch stud in high school with the jet-black hair that he combed to imitate the “Fonz”. He walked with a straight back and proud swagger carrying a chip on his shoulder put there by the circumstances of his home life. His reputation, as no one to mess around with, was well earned. He was unafraid to take up for his friends if they were being bullied.