The Literary World of Tom Raimbault

Terror at the Public Storage Facility

2012-02-10T02:55:00.000-06:00

Hello All:

The complexities behind non-ordinary reality are fascinating.It seems for many hours or some days it is very possible to coexist in someparallel, alternate reality in which you can literally extract a living energyfrom. Then seemingly out of nowhere, it vanishes! It’s like riding an extended,orgasmic wave that after some moments of its subsidence, you find yourselfasking, “What was that all about? Did that just really happen?” The recalled momentis so unreal, soon unbelievable. It’s similar to awakening in the morning aftera powerful dream and watching some fantastic item vanish from your hands.

I’ve witnessed this phenomenon for many years (I think)since my early twenties. Naturally it’s been a quest throughout much of myadult life to tap into these alternate realities. Surely there must be some wayto trigger them at will. Maybe it requires toning and accumulating metaphysicalenergy, then to invoke some element of nature such as Air, Fire, Water orEarth. But I’m afraid these techniques can only take us so far. There aregoverning forces throughout the universe. Day turns into night, ocean tidesrise and fall, seasons change; and that sandcastle on the beach or speciallandscape in the forest is soon gone.

It’s best to leave it be and not further chase it down. It onlyleads to frustration and a certain imbalance of internal energy. I experiencedthis unpleasant state this morning while getting ready for work. Everything wasnormal and boring. And for some reason, time was moving much quicker than Iwished so that I left the house late. No problem; I would simply jump on thetoll road to make up for the time lost. But for some reason, every motorist onthe neighborhood streets and side roads was in no hurry to get to work as they droveat least 5MPH below the speed limit!

“Come-on! What are you sleeping behind the wheel? Move!”

There was something wrong with me. I kept reminding myselfthat it was no one else’s fault that I left the house late. But relaxing onlyreminded me that there was a sticky build-up stale energy left in me. Feelingdisorganized with many things on my mind, I was just seconds from falling intoa bad mood. And author Tom Raimbault cannot afford to be in a bad mood!

The answer to my prayer was offered in the most peculiarway. When finally reaching the entrance ramp to the toll road, there appearedto be a back-up. “Now what? Come-on, I don’t want to be late!”

Two semi trucks blocked both lanes of the automated tollbooths. Further examining the situation, I could see there was some guy walkingaround the area as-if he were fixing something. Cars stacked up for a about aminute. And I wasn’t the only person getting impatient! People began to angrilyhonk their horns.

The guy walked around the semi truck parked in front of meand I could see he had money in his hands and was walking over to the semitruck in the other toll booth. He was actually the trucker who parked his semiat the right-side booth and needed to get change from the trucker on theleft-hand-side.

That’s when I became nearly outraged. “You’ve got to bekidding me!” Had it been me, I would have just driven through. It’s not myfault the State of Illinoisis so stupid to make people pay tolls and not have a way to collect dollarbills from motorists. I would have driven off, “Screw them!”

The truck in front of me pulled away, and the trucker withmoney in his hands remained in between the two booths to collect change frommotorists! As mentioned before, he needed change to pay the automated toll. Themachine would not take dollar bills.

In that split second of approaching, I could almost read thepersonality of the Hispanic trucker who was so morally conscious that he wouldn’tdare drive through a toll without paying. He was faced with a dilemma andreally needed help. A little voice in my head reminded me that I had quartersin my pocket, and that this was my chance to help someone. I’ve been meaning tomake more of an effort to help those in need.

While pulling up to the toll booth, the trucker saw me reachin my pocket. He knew I was offering change. I rolled down the window and gavehim all my quarters, but wouldn’t dare take the dollar bill. “Here you go,Buddy… No, keep the dollar!”

Interesting thing: from that moment on, I was no longerfeeling off balance and approaching a bad mood. I could actually feel all thatstale energy and sticky residue within me all go away. The lesson learned: whenthings seem not to be going right and you feel off-center, reach out and helpsomeone. It’s amazing how powerful this can be.

Of course being stuck at the toll both and surrounded bycars caused me a brief moment of paranoia. What if there was a mugging going onat the booth and there was no way to escape? It made me think of my story,Terror at the Public Storage Facility.

Everyone have a great weekend, and look for someone to helpwho might be in need.

Terror at the Public Storage Facility
It was just what newly weds, Andy and Trish, needed who moved to the beautiful and semi-rural town that seemed so isolated from the hustle and bustle. Andy had accepted a promotion which resulted in transferring out of state. In the new environment, Andy's work was now 45 minutes from the country-like setting, making it nice to come home to tranquility and after a stressful day. The only problem was the builders had yet to complete their new home! There was about a month left to go which forced Andy and Trish to live out of a hotel. Good thing the company covered job transfer expenses.
Despite the fact they were living out of a hotel, it felt as though they were on vacation. Dining out every night and attending the various sources of entertainment in town, Andy and Trish took full advantage of their 100% covered living expenses while waiting for the home to finish. They simply kept all their furniture and other belongings at a public storage facility located on the outskirts of town. But this did present a small problem because they were inconvenienced with the need to get something at the garage from time-to-time.
And this is what led to their suspenseful moments late one Friday afternoon at the public storage facility. It was a strange place for a business to be located; making it necessary for Andy and Trish to drive about 15 minutes in wide, open, cornfield highway.
Suddenly it’s there, out in the middle of the open. The business was a state-of-the-art facility as it offered keyless entry, environmentally controlled garages and security cameras—not to mention the fact that everything was brand-new and well maintained.

Andy was a bit annoyed that he had to rush out to pick up a few odds and ends with his wife after a long day of work. "You couldn't drive out here today and pick this stuff up?"

But Trish was not easy with going alone. “Andy, I told you I'm not comfortable with these places, not after what happened to Lori years ago."
When Trish was younger, her best friend had been abducted. Her body was found with many others in a garage at a public storage facility. The tragic event caused Trish to pay attention to the many crimes that took place at remote businesses, and she learned to never trust them.
Andy sighed and maintained his patience. “Alright, fine; the house is almost done and soon we won't have to come here.” He realized it was a small inconvenience to put up with, and his wife's safety should have been a concern. Besides, the possibility remained that someone could, in fact, find his wife alone as a perfect opportunity to attack Trish.
“Awe jeez… I’m almost out of gas!” As they finally pulled in to the parking lot, Andy looked at his gas gauge which was pretty close to empty. The next opportunity to fuel up was 10 minutes away, leaving no possible opportunity to wait until close to the hotel.
"Why don't you get yourself something more economical? You drive 45 minutes to work each day and you do it in an oversized, gas-guzzling pickup truck!"
There wasn’t a soul in sight. The only thing that could be heard was the gentle wind blowing through the cornfield next door as they got their needed items from the rented storage garage. Andy locked up and made his way for the exit. But what they saw next was a bit alarming.
There was a very, large, dark SUV blocking the exit gate and parked at a diagonal as if not to let someone in or out of the gated premise. As Andy and Trish examined the situation more, they realized that the only way out was through the electronically, controlled gate which was now blocked by the large SUV. It was easy to conclude that whoever parked the truck there was making sure no one could escape.
"I thought they allow 24 hour access here?" Andy was searching for a rational explanation as to why the entrance was blocked.
Trish remained motionless with fear.
Soon a rugged man who wore nothing more than suspendered-coveralls approached their pickup truck. He was nearly bald with a dirty, messy, red beard. We are often instructed in life not to judge a book by its cover; but in an isolated situation like this, Andy and Trish felt obligated to be fearful and mistrusting.
Andy’s wife finally exploded in terror, "Andy, get away! Get away!"
Andy immediately put the pickup truck in reverse, and backed through the alley of storage garages until able to turn 180 degrees and go forward. “Call the Police!” He shouted at his wife as he realized this was a seriously, dangerous situation. He didn't care what explanation there was to block the entrance; this guy had no business locking them in the gated facility.
Andy made it to the main roadway of the property and could see the diagonally parked SUV at the entrance about a 1/4 block away. They were now as deep into the facility as one could go. Imagine pulling through the gated entrance and driving until reaching the other end of the property. This is where Andy and Trish sat parked, and the only thing behind them was a fence. For some reason Andy felt safe being able to see everything as his wife tried to call the police.
Trish began to cry. "Andy... there is no service out here! I can't get a signal!"
He yanked his own cell phone out and gave it to Trish. "What do you mean no signal? Try mine; not that piece of crap you own! We have to get the police here!" Andy was too busy to worry about silly, technical glitches as he needed to watch for their captor.
Trish grew increasingly hysterical with uncontrollable crying. “Yours doesn’t work, either! No Signal!”
He yanked the phone from his delirious wife who was obviously unable to work it properly. Those years of fear towards isolated businesses were having a serious impact on Trish. It was best that Andy remove her from the current situation as quickly as possible. But then Andy verified for himself that his own cell phone did not work, finally concluding they were in an area with no signal. He looked up and saw the creepy guy in suspendered-coveralls running up to them.

"Alright, we need to let this guy know we mean business." Andy floored the pickup truck and headed towards their captor, showing intent to run him over.

The man simply ducked in one of the walkways to avoid getting hit.
Andy hoped that the frightening-looking man received the message, and would move his SUV. He drove around the garages until back where he started, keeping watchful eye on the entire roadway and SUV blocking the entrance.
But moments later, the man in suspendered-coveralls emerged with a brick in one hand and a baseball bat in another. Andy had no items that could be used as a weapon in the truck, and his pickup truck was seriously low on gas. Could he fight this man hand-to-hand? In his late-teens and early 20s, Andy studied the art of Jiu-Jitsu which offered some means of self defense. And perhaps if he was still 20 years old he would jump out of the truck and do some moves as Andy felt invincible back then. But there was something frightening about the captor, almost as if he had a strength that could out-smart and overpower the frightened couple. Aside from that, Andy was wiser and older than in his early 20’s. He decided that staying in the truck was much safer.
The creepy guy in suspendered-coveralls was in a furious psychosis while yelling out, "You son-of-a-bitch!" He hurled a brick which landed on the hood of Andy's pickup truck and cracked the windshield. That was Andy’s instinctive cue to floor the pickup truck and chase the man to a crossroad. The man desperately turned left to avoid the assailing vehicle, but Andy spun around in a donut maneuver which caused their captor to reverse direction. Andy’s defensive attack in the pickup truck looked like a mad bull chasing someone in circles.
And then out of the corner of his eye, Andy saw a child in one of the roadways, crying. He stopped and could hear the child screaming, “Daddy!”
Now Andy was confused as he watched the man in suspendered-coveralls run towards the crying child, scoop him up and hide in one of the walkways. Andy slowly pulled up to the walkway, but was still in battle mode and ready for another possible assault from their captor.
Andy yelled out his window, "What are you trying to do? Get your freakin' SUV out of the entrance so we can leave!"
The creepy guy in suspendered-coveralls held his crying child behind him and was prepared to spring out in attack. "You son-of-a-bitch; I have my kids here riding their go-carts around. You're going to run them over!"
It was a small misunderstanding that could have easily turned into a tragedy of errors as this man had brought his children to the public storage to ride their go-carts. Apparently he parked his SUV to block the entrance and monitor who was coming in, thereby preventing his kids from being run over by vehicles.
It was a very awkward 10 minutes. Andy exited the pickup truck while hearing the irate man cuss and yell. And through this, he attempted to explain the series of misunderstandings which led to the potentially, tragic event. Andy found out that their perceived captor in suspendered-coveralls was the actual owner of the public storage facility! He usually parked his SUV diagonally at the entrance every Friday afternoon so his children could cruise around the gated parking lot with their go-carts. His business was usually a ghost-town Friday afternoons; but today, Andy and Trish were there.
After the apologies were given and accepted, Andy drove to the nearest gas station while yelling at his wife for causing so much trouble!
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The Grandmother Clock

2012-02-09T03:17:00.003-06:00

Hello All:

It's been a week in which I have no chance to breathe, butsomehow I managed to write a new short story for you! I just couldn't bear thethought of running nothing more than repeats for those who regularly visit myblog. Now at 3:05am, the new story is complete and ready to publish. But Istruggle with the introduction!

I suppose I could comment on clocks in general. Everyone hasheard of grandfather clocks, but unless being exposed to one, grandmotherclocks aren't as widely known. The difference: a grandmother clock stands lessthan six feet and has a slimmer case. And did you know that there is such athing as a granddaughter clock? These stand less than five feet and are evenslimmer than the grandmother.

The Grandmother Clock

It seemed that every holidayGrandma would arrive from across the country to spend a week with us. Andduring this time, a special item of furniture was brought into the family room,seemingly to honor Grandma with. Father had a special location in between thefireplace and the full window where the grandmother clock would sit. It lookedso nice and adapted so well to whatever season appeared outside the family roomwindow.

As a boy, I recall that every visitwith Grandma was marked with a noteworthy event of nature. She would arrive forThanksgiving during an ice storm. There was an Easter with high gusts of wind.If there was a full Moon, it seemed to bring Grandma in a rare form. And thenthere was the Christmas in which we thought Grandma would not join us becauseof the terrible snow storm. Seemingly out of luck she made it, and had to stayan unplanned two weeks as we were hit with more and more snow which forced theentire town to shut down.

Now there was always an air ofexcitement in anticipation for Grandma to arrive. Mother busily cleaned, dustedand vacuumed the home. Extra shopping was done for special meals while Grandmawas here. And I would have to give up my room and sleep on the family room sofafor the week.

Shortly before her anticipated arrival,we would all sit in the family room and wait for her trademarked knock at thedoor. She never rang the bell. "Knock, knock, knock, knock".

"She's here!" I wouldannounce!

The dog would bark in excitement,knowing that a knock announced a visitor. And the entire family would scurryover to the front door to open it.

"Grandma!" The woman wasattacked with loving embraces and dragged into the house. Her baggage wasseized as Father ordered me to bring her belongings into the bedroom. I musthave done this at lightning speed; for not long after Mother and Fathermotioned Grandma into the family room, I returned before she made it to thecenter. As a boy I could see that Grandma always took notice of the specialgrandmother clock brought out just for her visit. But Grandma paid the specialpiece of furniture no mind while sitting down. She pretended not to see it.There were other matters to tend to; laughter, gayety, updates of hergrandchildren and often special presents such as scarves, items of clothing orbooks for my younger sister and I.

Usually Grandma arrived the daybefore whatever holiday was celebrated. She was such a joy to have around. Buta few days afterwards, Grandma appeared to have overstayed her welcome as wewitnessed a radical transformation in the woman.

Such is the case of a Monday afterThanksgiving, the year when my younger sister, Penny, was in first grade.Getting ready for school in the morning I overheard Father in the other roomwhisper to Mother, "She's going on four days without a bath or shower.Your mother is getting that old lady smell."

"I know... I know, don'tremind me." Mother whispered back. "Just remember that I have to dealwith her all day while you're at work."

Moments later, my sister scuffedinto their room. "Mom? I can't find any pants in my bedroom. Did you washany?"

"Shh... Try not to talk soloud. Grandma's still sleeping."

Just then, a cough was produced inmy room where Grandma slept. Then she mumbled something in her gruff voice asthe mattress loudly squeaked, a sign that Grandma had been disturbed from herbeauty sleep and now up for the day.

"It's awake." whisperedFather as he quickly walked away into the kitchen.

Now I was waiting for Mother tomake breakfast so I simply followed her into my sister's bedroom. And that'swhere Grandma appeared at the doorway, wearing her old lady nightwear anddisplaying her wrinkly arms and veiny thighs that were covered with brownspots. "My gosh, you people make a lot of noise in the morning. Don't youknow how to whisper?" She was speaking to my sister in that moment.

Little Penny only shrugged hershoulders. She knew she was still in hot water with Grandma after being scoldedthe previous evening for not finishing the beans on her plate. Usually Motherand Father paid no mind if we wished not to eat something. But all hell brokeloose from the woman when seeing half a pile of green beans on Penny's plate.And she refused to finish them.

Grandma now stood at the entrywayof the bedroom, shaking her head and sighing. "Let me tell you, you kidsget away with murder. Back in the day, those beans would have been given to youfor breakfast. I think you're spoiled-rotten, young lady."

My sister only looked at theground.

"That's right, you heard me. Ithink you need to be brought outside behind the tool shed and beaten good andhard with a stick until you can't sit down for a week. It's what kids need on aregular basis now days. That's what's wrong with the world today. Kids are nolonger beaten." With that statement, Grandma shook her head and staggeredinto the bathroom.

It was starting. After the holidayweekend, Grandma was no longer fun to have around. I could never understand whyshe chose to spend an entire week with the family when after a few days thewoman was so miserable. Everything the family did and said was under criticismand scrutiny from Grandma. She said all sorts of mean and rotten things. Therewas a noticeable heaviness in the house, a spirit of unrest and misery thatseemed to hover around Grandma. She spewed it out at all of us through hergrumpy face and negative comments. Sometimes I felt it necessary to tiptoe intovarious rooms of the house because any little thing would trigger an attackfrom Grandma.

While eating breakfast thatmorning, I saw Father go into the family room and open the grandmother clock,ever so slightly; the door maybe three inches from the secured position. Ispeculated that perhaps this was a reminder of things to come

By Monday evening of that week,Grandma was in full form of ugliness. She staggered into the kitchen whileMother cooked dinner and just placed her hands on the hips while slowly shakingher head in disapproval.

"What's up?" askedMother.

"You need any help inhere?"

"No, I'm fine, Mom. You canset the table if you want."

"What are you making?"asked Grandma.

"Chicken..."

Apparently, chicken did not meetthe old woman's approval. "Chicken? Chicken, again? That's all we ever eataround this is place is chicken! Chicken, chicken, chicken! Don't you know howto cook anything else?" She sounded, exactly, like the Wicked Witch of theWest from The Wizard of Oz.

It was necessary for Mother to steparound Grandma as she offered nothing more than unwanted, useless matter takingup precious cooking space in the kitchen. "We had meatloaf last night,Mom."

Grandma wasted not a second inverbal abuse. "Just like the same, rotten garbage you fed your family theother night. No wonder everyone's sick around this place all the time. I meanyou think we could go to McDonald's or something and get some decent food foronce."

"Mom, McDonald's is the lastthing you should be eating. Did you check your blood sugar before dinner? Andthere's nothing wrong with my family. No one is sick."

Grandma put on quite a display ofsarcasm with more wicked laughter, just a step away from being the Wicked Witchof the West. "Nothing wrong your family? I beg to differ! Those kids ofyours are nothing but a couple of wild Indians who need a few good beatings.And that spawn of the Devil that you gave birth to—that daughter of yours—bynow I'd have her sitting outside in the cold to eat nothing but beans fordinner."

With that, Father put down hisnewspaper and calmly declared, "That's it, I've heard enough. How aboutyou, Laurie?"

Mother agreed, "Yes, she's outof control again."

"Now I hoped we wouldn't haveto resort to the grandmother clock this time, but you leave us no choice."Father gently took hold of Grandma's shoulder. "Come-on... you leave us nochoice."

A look of sadness fell acrossGrandma's face as-if she didn't understand what triggered the punishment shewas about to endure. But really it wasn't punishment. It was a special placethat helped Grandma act kind and sweet—the way grandmothers are supposed tobehave. "Well fine! I guess we have to play that game, again! I don't knowwhy I keep coming back here."

"In you go, Mom." Fathergently guided Grandma into her grandmother clock. The grandmother clock was awork of art that Father had created a couple years prior. It was nothing morethan a glass case, large enough to accommodate Grandma standing up. It wasframed with finished, blond, cherry wood, ornately carved with bevels and thenpainted with pink and yellow flowers to remind one of a grandmother. The onlyclock was the one mounted on top that silently kept track of the time and dayspassing.

Inside the grandmother clock weresecured a dozen or more quartz crystals lined along each of the four corners. Abusiness colleague, who originally gave Father the idea of the grandmotherclock, explained that the quartz crystals would resonate and echo Grandma'snegative, hurtful emotions and words within the case along with all of hermalicious thoughts that would otherwise linger in the house as a heavy cloud ofdark energy. The crystals kept all of Grandma's "stink" in the glasscase. And the more mean and nasty thoughts that Grandma produced, the more theyate away at her. The analogy was similar to pounding one's fist onto a steelwall. The harder one hits, the more damage is done to the hand. It is soonrealized that it's best not to punch a steel wall!

In addition, when Father broughtthe grandmother clock out into the family room, it was placed on a concreteslab. This was done so that when Grandma was finally locked inside, salt wouldbe poured around her. As Father's colleague explained while describing the workof art, salt would trap and neutralize any possible, negative energy that mightleak out.

And so there Grandma remained untilit was time to go home. But don't worry, there were small holes forventilation. Grandma could still be heard inside the clock, but her voicewasn't as loud and damaging as before. She might have had qualms with whatevermovie or program the family chose to watch on TV, but no one was aware of this.And her old lady stink remained confined in that case.

Now during these times, Mother tookgreat delight in turning the tables on Grandma. Once upon-a-time, Grandma gaveher daughter strict discipline and cited that she had called it all uponherself. All grown, up her daughter finally had revenge. "Now stop poutingin there!" ordered Mother. "You have no right to be angry withanyone! You brought this all onto yourself. There is no one else to blame butyou!"

The scornful look in return had noeffect on Mother. Grandma merely resembled a harmless, porcelain doll that wasconfined to a glass case.

One Christmas, the area had beenburied in a terrible snow storm. For that matter, Grandma was trapped for anextra week and, of course, confined to the grandmother clock longer thananticipated. Back home, some of Grandma's friends at the senior citizens' clubhad become concerned and telephoned our house.

It was no problem for Mother. Shesimply slipped the phone through the small, glass hatch that was used forgiving food and drink.

But wouldn't you know it? Althoughsaying only positive things in the first minute or so, "Oh, we've had abad snow storm and I can't get out... Yeah, I'm here longer than expected...Getting a little home sick..." Grandma soon began to give hints of thingsnot so favorable in house. "Yeah, I'm beginning to feel like I'veoverstayed my welcome." A tear drop ran down from Grandma's cheek.

As luck would have it, the phonewent dead!

"Hello? Doris,can you hear me?" Grandma looked over to Mother. "I think the line isdead." For some strange reason, Grandma gave the impression that it wasMother's fault for the disconnect.

Mother paid no mind to Grandma'ssuspicions or accusations. "Well, it's really cold out there and snowy,Mom. A line is bound to go down somewhere."

To this day, I've kept the secretfrom my sister, Penny, that I watched Father sneak outside and pull theincoming line from the small utility box that was mounted on the house. As faras Grandma was concerned, the phone was out of service for the remainder of herstay.

The disconnected line served as anexcellent opportunity for Mother to help cheer Grandma up. She slipped aclipboard with paper and pen in the clock and suggested, "Why don't youwrite a nice letter to all of your friends back at the senior citizens' club?We'll give it to the mailman when he comes through on his snowmobile.

Grandma wrote her letter and thenasked for an envelope. It was sealed and addressed. While observing Grandma'sbehavior, I was suspicious that perhaps she had written a not-so-nice letterabout her stay. I couldn't believe that Mother would fall for Grandma's trick.In all her wicked lies, she could manipulate the relay of events so that theauthorities would be sent to our home!

Ah, but Mother was one step aheadof Grandma. Sealing and addressing the envelope wouldn't hinder Mother frommerely opening it in the other room to read the contents, and then close it ina new envelope to address and send. And there was no way that Mother would sendthis letter. She stormed out of the kitchen, "Mom! What is this? What areyou telling all of your friends back at home?"

Grandma was flabbergasted."You opened that envelope! How dare you? How dare you invade my privacyand take it upon yourself to open a letter addressed to the president of thesenior citizens' club?"

"Never mind that, Mom! You'retelling people back at home that we are mistreating you and have you held hereas a prisoner and confined to a box! It sounds like you're having troubleaccepting the fact that it's you who put yourself in that box, not us!"

"Now I've heardeverything!" shouted Grandma. "Let me tell you, I have never heard ofsomething..."

Mother cut her off, "Don't youyell at me and raise your voice! You better watch it or those words will destroyyou!"

Grandma immediately ceased talking.She knew, exactly, the power of the grandmother clock and wouldn't darechallenge or go up against it.

Mother handed Grandma theclipboard, paper and pen through the hatch. "Now you write your friendsback at home a nice letter. Apologize for the line being down because of thesnowstorm and reassure everyone that you will be home, soon. Make sure it's anice letter!"

For about an hour Grandma wrote herletter and then announced it was finished. This time the letter said only nicethings; apologizing that the phone was down, reassuring everyone that she washaving a lovely stay with us and inquiring of some of the her senior citizenfriends who had recently been hospitalized or placed in nursing homes.

Father read the letter as well andhappily nodded his approval. "I do believe you're getting much better,Mom." In celebration, he went outside to the conservatory green house, cutsome fresh flowers for Grandma and set them on the table near the grandmotherclock.

To this day, I believe that whileGrandma wrote the nice letter, the power of the grandmother clock echoed andresonated her positive thoughts so that they transformed her into a happierperson.

Three days after the letter hadbeen sent, a reply from the president of the senior citizens' club arrived atthe house. Mother read the letter out loud, written by an old woman named Doris. She mentioned being relieved that all was well,and encouraged Grandma to appreciate these rare moments of close family bonding.Grandma was given exciting things to look forward to such as the monthly seniorcitizens' club breakfast and the annual bowl-a-thon just a month away. Andthere were little messages from other friends who wished Grandma well and spokeof looking forward to seeing her again at the cafe in town.

A beaming smile stretched acrossGrandma's face with tears of joy! The power of the grandmother clock echoed herhappy emotions so strongly. I truly feel that she had become one hundredpercent healed in that moment.

One might have believed that it wastime to let Grandma out. But this could not be done! For as we learned from atime before, not more than a day after her premature release, Grandma wouldtransform back into the horrible beast that she was before. Not until the nightbefore her scheduled time to leave could Grandma finally come out. And what bittersweet moments those final hours were.We'd all sit down to a nice breakfast and savor every, last bit of Grandma'scompany, and then afterwards wait for the taxi cab to arrive. We were sure toassist Grandma in bringing out her luggage. And of course, Grandma was urged toreturn soon!

Days of the Week

2012-02-07T03:24:00.000-06:00

Hello All:
Sorry for missing Monday's blog post, but it was a very, busy weekend at home which left me no time to write. Monday started off incredibly busy as well. I just now have my first opportunity to write since Friday. Well, I did update the Nude Art Page on Saturday, but I wouldn't count that as serious writing. Oh, be sure to click over to the Nude Art Page for a rare, Tuesday update. Being that I missed one of the weekly updates, I thought it wouldn't be such a bad idea to surprise you at the beginning of the week.
***
The telescope is now becoming a regular evening appliance here at home. Recently I took my girls outside to look at the Moon, Jupiter and Saturn. And throughout this month they have been enjoying the growth of the moon from a waxing crescent to a now full Moon. I utilize various lenses with color filters to bring in the best images of the Moon through the telescope. If you ever had a telescope as a child, then you know how enjoyable and nearly magical viewing these celestial objects can be.
And we've begun (or attempted) the practice of honoring the celestial bodies that coincide with the days of the week. I'm sure it's no mystery that Saturday was historically a day that honored Saturn. Monday once honored the Moon. I mentioned these things to my girls, but beyond the Moon, the Sun and Saturn; I forget.
Fortunately I have a silly, little writing that I created some years ago that was more of a Wikipedia research into the days of the week. As you can imagine, all the days were somehow named after the planets.
I was unsure at first of posting this. Some parts of the "essay" are a pretty lame and others are just the sort of thing to expect from Tom Raimbault. I giggled a couple times while reading it, so why not go ahead and post it? I have a new short story in the works, but there is difficulty in finding time to write it. The week has started off incredibly busy for me. Fortunately there are the archive collections.

Days of the Week

With a little research, we find that the days of the week are named after celestial bodies and gods who just so happen to name the planets as well. Here in the western world 21st century, each day of the week invokes association of activities typically performed on that day.
Depending how you look at it, Sunday can either be the start of the week or the last day of the weekend. However we see it here in the western world, we like to use Sunday as a day of rest, time spent with the family, or time spent in front of the TV watching the Sunday game. Many people go to church on Sunday and have the family breakfast or brunch afterwards. The name Sunday has Old English roots. It used to be called Sunnandæg which literally meant "the day of the sun" Everyone likes the sun. It keeps our planet warm and helps crops grow. Perhaps we should spend a few moments on Sunday appreciating the sun and being thankful for it.
And then we have Monday... the immediate day following the weekend... yuck! Most people hate Mondays because on Saturday and Sunday morning we slept in and gave our bodies some rest. In doing so, we threw our internal clock off and are not ready to rise and shine at 4am to go back to work. If you hate your job, then Monday is even more reason to hate it. You now have 5 days to live through before the weekend.
Other people like Monday especially if the job is enjoyed. Monday starts up new activities, or brings fresh, new insight into an activity performed last week.
Just like Sunday, Monday has Old English roots as well. Monday used to be called monandæg which literally means "the day of the moon". When you come home from work Monday night and finish dinner, perhaps you should step outside and admire the moon! Everyone likes the moon because it generates some nice, soft light in the sky and reminds us that it is soon time to go to bed.
Tuesdays are boring. Not much can be said about Tuesday other than it is like a Monday except you are back on the regular sleep schedule. Adults taking night classes typically do so on a Tuesday night and children have their after-school activities on a Tuesday night as well. Perhaps this is because Monday is just not a good day to do this because we want Monday to be over soon.
Wikipedia tells us the name Tuesday comes from Middle English Tiwesday, from Old English Tiwes dæg, named after the Nordic god Tyr, who was the equivalent of the Roman war god Mars. So on Tuesday when you finish your night class, or pick your kids up from their activities, perhaps you should glance up at the sky and take notice of the planet Mars. Everyone likes Mars! The government gives NASA obscene amounts of money to send spacecrafts their and perhaps Mars will be our future home when Earth becomes too crowded. Mars is such a beautiful planet and makes Tuesday so much better!
The new name for Wednesday might be Hump day. Not because of Humpty-Dumpty, but because it implies that Wednesday is the middle of the week and if you make it to Wednesday, then you made it to that hump. After lunch is the official hump that it is all down here from there. Unfortunately, the hump is not a very steep slope so you've got a slow cruise down to the bottom. You still need to get past Thursday and Friday before Friday night arrives.
And of course Wednesday is named after some Middle English day of the week. This is a complicated lineage of names, so I will copy and paste what Wikipedia says. "The name comes from the Middle English Wednes dei, which is from Old English language Wednes dæg, meaning the day of the English god Woden (Wodan) who was a god of the Anglo-Saxons in England until about the 7th century. Wednes dæg is like the Old Norse Oðinsdagr ("Odin's day"), which is an early translation of the Latin dies Mercurii ("Mercury's day")"
I don't believe Mercury is very popular to some people. But let me ask you, have you ever seen it? Mercury only appears during certain times of the year because it is so close to our sun. You usually need to see Mercury in the low-eastern horizon just minutes before sunrise, or in the low-western horizon just minutes after sunset. Those driving to work during the pre-dawn moments should step outside of their cars in a region with enough clearance to view and marvel at a rare appearance of Mercury. Then you can say that you've had a Mercurial morning!
Thursday begins Friday early for some people. Many bars run Thursday night specials because many people get paid on Thursday and need to get drunk after a grueling, long week. They can do this because Friday doesn't matter anyway. Everyone is so loosened up and casual on Friday that no one will notice someone coming in with a hangover.
Wikipedia offers another lengthy lineage of where the word originated. "The contemporary name comes from the Old English Þunresdæg (with loss of -n-, first in northern dialects, from influence of Old Norse Þorsdagr), meaning "Day of Thunor", this being a rough Germanic equivalent to the Latin Iovis Dies, "Jupiter's Day". "
When pulling over on the side of the road to puke your guts out on the way home from the bar, you should stand in front of the planet Jupiter to admire its glory while wiping the vomit from your mouth!
Friday is everyone's favorite work-day of the week. Many companies offer casual-Friday settings so that people can wear jeans to the office. Meetings, parties and luncheons are often held on Friday and everyone is in good spirits thinking about the weekend. Some people leave work a little early or even take the whole day off.
Wikipedia says The name Friday comes from the Old English frigedæg, meaning the day of Frige the Anglo-Saxon form of Frigg, a West Germanic translation of Latin dies Veneris, "day (of the planet) Venus."
You can't miss Venus in the sky! It's the brightest star in the sky but like Mercury it can only be seen before sunrise or after sunset because it is so close to the sun. Fortunately, Venus is not as difficult to find because it is further from Mercury. Why not admire the beauty of Venus in the morning sky with a cup of coffee or in the twilight hours over your favorite after-dinner highball.
Everyone loves Saturday! Saturday is the first morning you get to sleep in late and you still have one more sleep-in morning before Monday morning. On Saturday however we like to do some chores or do the shopping. Most people do these things during the first half of the day so the rest of the day is free.
The origination of the name Saturday shouldn't be too hard to figure out. It certainly sounds like it should be called Saturn day. According to Wikipedia, it was named no later than the second century for the planet (Saturn), which controlled the first hour of that day according to Vettius Valens. The planet was named for the Roman god of agriculture Saturn. It has been called dies Saturni ("Saturn's Day"), through which from it entered into Old English as Sæternesdæg and gradually evolved into the word "Saturday".
Saturn is the coolest planet! It's got those astronomical rings around it that never ceases to mesmerize astronomers and fans of Saturn alike. If you haven't admired any celestial bodies all week, you should at least step out to marvel at the planet Saturn in the sky.

Stories in the Earth's Memory

2012-02-03T02:55:00.000-06:00

Hello All:

A friend of mine once mentioned that he keeps a dictionaryat the side of his bed. The dictionary is often referenced as it isn't uncommonfor peculiar words to suddenly enter his head late at night. Curiosity gets thebest of him, and he looks the word up. As I recall, my friend asked me if thesame phenomenon happens to me.

And it does! Often I'll be in the middle of something when astrange word that I'm unsure of the meaning will blatantly appear in my head.Has this ever happened to you?

This phenomenon was a key ingredient of one of those momentsof non-ordinary reality that I had on Thursday morning. Looking back, I canhardly believe that it happened. The whole episode was so strange andsuggestive of all sorts of wild things.

It started in the predawn hours when I sat down over a cupof coffee upon waking up and just casually checked the blog stats. If youhaven't been following for a while, let me just mention that the blog statshave what I would describe as a peculiar "Ouija board" function. Theyactually speak to me, predict the future and give insight of my personal life.

It was an old post from October of 2010—written for the weekof Halloween—when I shared an excerpt from The Tree Goddess. The excerpt was ascene with one of the characters, Sara, who walked the nature trail early inthe morning. During her walk, she gets a couple strange phone calls that(without revealing too much) appears to be centered on paranormal activity.

I stopped in the middle of the excerpt. This was a possiblemessage from my "Ouija board"! Is there something paranormalfollowing me during my early morning walks in the newly discovered forest preserve?I've mentioned these woods throughout this week and the last as they nearlycalled out to me while driving past one morning. I've been obsessed with thisarea of forest. I go there just before sunrise and explore the grounds. But nowI had the fear of something paranormal following me. Suddenly, I was Sarawalking the nature trail!

After my morning shower I dried off and received a suddenword that flashed in my head, Matterhorn.

Not to sound stupid, but I really didn't know the meaning ofthe word at the moment. It's okay, you can laugh.

"Matterhorn...What is that? I've heard that wordbefore." It definitely sounded like a noun, not a condition or action. Idid the only natural thing and attempted to open the Google search page on myphone. I would know the meaning in only a few seconds. But being in thebasement, the signal was weak which caused the page to open very slowly. Ididn't have time for this. I would look the word up later.

Leaving the house early enough for work, I had some time tovisit my newly discovered woods. I parked the car, put on my hiking boots andset out on the trail. (No, I do not wear Matterhornboots—for those who are familiar with this brand name.) Today's journey wassimply to set out on the trail and return to a small, mountain-like hill that Ireally enjoyed discovering the previous morning.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed!

Surely only a text message, I was reminded, however, of Sarawho walked the early morning nature trail in my novel, The Tree Goddess. Wassomething paranormal attempting to contact me? Curiosity had the best of me. Itwas necessary to pull the phone out and check what it was.

That's when I discovered the Google search page still openedand recalled that I was to look up the word, Matterhorn.It made my mission in the forest crystal clear. Whatever spirit had summoned methere; it established contact and gave me a simple instruction. I was to go tothe top of that small mountain-like hill that was discovered the previous day,and enter the word, Matterhorn, into theGoogle search engine.

Now to those of you who know what Matterhornis (I'm sure that's just about everyone), you're probably laughing at the wholeirony of this story. And surely you understand why I was nearly knocked off myfeet when finally learning the meaning of the word. I followed the trail andnearly missed the exact point of the hill's ascension from the previous day. Itwas necessary to turn around when realizing I passed it. Climbing the slight elevationsome distance, I continued to hike until reaching the hill's plateau and then zigzaggedaround some fallen trees. There are small trees with branches that are joinedin such a way to suggest passing into a realm through arched entryways.

It's an interesting place as shown in the photograph. Thisplateau atop the hill is certainly not a mountain. But due to the summation ofgradual land elevations surrounding the forest preserve, it certainly feels asthough you are standing on one. As seen in the photo, if looking out past thewoods, you can see the lights of perhaps a neighboring town or a nearbyhighway. You definitely feel high up and in isolation. Along with this, Inoticed a peculiar humming noise all around me. It sounded like a machineproducing baritone oscillations. My only explanation for this is the fact thatthere are nearby rivers where barges pass through. Maybe these make noise thatcan be carried through the water and ground? There are also train tracks somedistance away, so maybe this was the source of the noise.

In any case, I finally opened the Google page on my phoneand typed in the word, Matterhorn.

It was only necessary to see the Wikipedia summary in thelisting of web results, "The Matterhorn (German), Monte Cervino (Italian)or Mont Cervin (French), is a mountain in the Pennine Alps on the borderbetween Switzerland and Italy."

I took a deep breath, "Wow..." Something hadcalled me to this location and knew that I perceived it as a small mountain. Butwhat am I supposed to do here? What's the place's significance? Can youunderstand, now, why I am so obsessed with this region of forest? And I dobelieve that there is an easier way to get here by crossing through The Placeof Deafening Silence.

Oh, have I given this plateau a name? I certainly have! Inhonor of the strange sequence of events that brought me here, I am calling it, Matterhorn.

***

And this is what inspired featuring today's writing. Whilestanding on that hill, I couldn't help but wonder if there are caverns belowthe ground. Caves are often accessed in hilly regions. Why shouldn't there besome in this place?

There is actually a cave scene in the first book of Amberthat was inspired by this very writing. I considered sharing it with you, butit reveals too much of the story's plot. I'd hate to ruin the surprise.

Incidentally, Amber—the death mask, can be downloaded forfree in many of the catalogs. Be sure to get your copy!

Have a great weekend! And why not keep a dictionary handyfor those moments when words pop into your head?

Stories in the Earth’s Memory
The Earth's memory is very deep and seemingly infinite. It contains stories some 4.5 billion years old: stories of when the Earth was still a molten ball of lava; stories of when the dinosaurs roamed the planet; stories of lakes and oceans that once thrived in a region but have since dried up; and stories of cultures and civilizations who have existed for millions of years—many of which we are still unaware of. To hear these stories, you have to pay close attention and know what you are witnessing. And those stories from millions and millions of years ago can boggle the mind realizing just how short our lifespan is and just how new we are as humans to this planet.
This is exactly what geologists and archaeologists do when digging into the Earth. They seek clues or look for stories in the Earth's memory. A geologist can inspect the countless layers on the sides of rocks in the Grand Canyon and tell us what happened on Earth thousands of years ago. Samples of arctic or Antarctic ice can be drilled hundreds of feet deep to reveal clues of our planet's climate 100s of 1000's of years ago. By deciphering these remnants of Earth's history we touch the inconceivable past when the planet was much different.
The same can be done inside a cave. Have you ever been in a cave? Caves are creations, many of which are continuously developing for millions of years. A simple stalactite in a cave takes 100 years to grow 1 inch. Imagine the centuries of documentation a large stalactite holds. Some caves were formed by erupting lava. Other caves were once filled with water and can be evidenced with swirling textures throughout. However they come into existence, exploring a cave is another pursuit of stories in Earth's memory. And they are so much more than that! A cave can take one to surreal places that can only be experienced for a brief moment in imagination.
Many people have toured caves in different areas of the country. A recent tour I took in Forbidden Caverns in Tennessee made me realize that not only does such a cave yield links to Earth's history, but history of people and ancient legends now buried beneath the ground.
Forbidden Caverns were known by Eastern woodland Indians for centuries; a place where they took shelter for hunting and meeting for councils. It gets its name from an old legend which named the Chamber of the Dead. In the legend, an Indian princess had become trapped inside a hollow mountain which held two rivers. This Chamber of the Dead somehow is now a portal to what we would perceive as Hell. Needless to say, this chamber was forbidden by the Eastern woodland Indians.

Immediately when entering this cave (as well as any other caves) the surreal world is recognized. Many of the grottos and rock formations take on recognizable shapes. I'm sure in this world, it helps one navigate through a cave with greater accuracy. The grottos and rock formations are seemingly endless and play deeply on the imagination. Do you see a Christmas tree? Do you see a bear emerging from a forest of mushrooms?
The story of how people lived in the cave makes it even more interesting. You might find out that Indians had mined flint used to make arrowheads. Or you might find out that during the civil war, it was mined for guano (bat dung) to aid in the manufacturing of gun powder. Some caves, like Forbidden Caverns, were used for illegal activity such as being used as a moonshine distillery. If you are fortunate enough, you can find remains of a moonshine distillery as a piece of history.
There are most often large streams that run throughout a cave originating from underground lakes. These lakes and streams are 99 percent pure meaning you can drink the water from the stream.
When touring a cave, you want to photograph everything. You are impressed with the dramatic breaks in ceilings which reveal a hundred feet up. The countless grottos are impressive and the various chambers create a mood which could never be captured on camera.
Sometimes water from a stalactite will drop on you. This is called a cave-kiss and is considered good luck.
In an untouched, natural cave there is no plant life. But when people start to tour them, they bring seeds or spores on their shoes. As light is given from fixtures, the plants begin to grow.
Throughout the tour you can’t help but want to wander off into smaller crevices of the cave or other chambers which are not explored. But these are off limits because human contact can offset the development of caves.

Classic mariners often made reports of strange creatures living in the sea. They had fears of being attacked by kraken, enormous sea serpents, and monstrous octopi. With the exception of monstrous octopi, these creatures were mythological and symbolized a sailor's fear of what lies in the abyss. You have to imagine that prior to submarines and scuba gear; people of classic times were clueless of what lied beneath the sea. An enormous, dark body of water harboring mysterious life forms with unknown depth can do a lot to imagination including contributions to our fear of the abyss.
One has to wonder if an 11 year old boy, who ventured through a tiny hole, 300 feet, into a cave where he found himself in a dark, vast chamber filled with deep water had an active imagination, with wonder, of what strange creatures lied beneath.
In 1905, Ben Sands was that 11 year old boy who was exploring Craighead Caverns in Sweetwater Tennessee. As mentioned above, he found a tiny hole which he wiggled down for 300 feet until reaching a seemingly large chamber where he was knee-deep in water. He knew it was vast because the light he brought with could not go far enough to see any walls. All he could see was the ceiling. He picked up some clay and threw it to see where the water ended. All he heard was the "thunk" of the clay falling into deep water. He continued to throw balls of clay in every direction until he realized he was surrounded by a vast and deep body of water. To 11 yr old Ben Sands, he had discovered a lost sea and quickly ran home to tell his family. No one believed his wild tale.
Apparently Ben Sand continued to speak of this lost sea for months until his father decided to venture to this lost sea with him. Unfortunately there wasn't much rain in those months which probably made the water in that chamber recede. No water was found and of course his family still did not believe him.
For years he spoke of this wild tale about a lost sea he discovered and it wasn't until 1965 when excavators discovered the body of water that his tale was proven true. Ben Sands was given the pleasure to name this lake which he called "Lost Sea” and was given the first boat ride on this lake.
What stories lie in the Earth's memory about Craighead Caverns? The particular region of Tennessee where Craighead Caverns exists was most likely a lake millions of years ago which carved out numerous caverns with the running water. Today, the lost sea has several acres of chambers still entirely filled with water which gives us a good indication of how the entire Craighead Caverns was millions of years ago.
20,000 years ago a 500 pound Pleistocene jaguar wandered into these caverns where he became lost in darkness until he died of either starvation or thirst. His bones are now on display at the American Museum of Natural History in New York. His footprints deep within the cave tell the story of how he fruitlessly wandered in search of light.
Cherokee Indians had used an area of the caverns called the Council Room. Statues, arrowheads and other artifacts were found.
In the Civil War, confederate soldiers had written their names on walls with the dates - an observation proven by carbon testing and verified by historic records.
A distillery was found in these caverns for the manufacturing of moonshine.
The caverns tell quite a story...
Unlike a lava-formed cave, you might not be impressed with the overall scenery of a water formed cave. Since these caves are formed by water, there are no stalactites or grottos. What are impressive are the enormous, wide-open chambers of the cave. You will also enjoy the numerous waterfalls and streams. And a water-formed cave is recognizable with the fact that it very dark and musty. These caves can be so dark, the photographs are nearly impossible!
In comparison to an Earth-formed cave, a cave formed by water is characterized by large, vast caverns. This cave was dark, so photographs were nearly impossible!
This is Devil’s Hole in Craighead Caverns. It’s a deep hole that once served as a drainage hole when this cavern was filled with water. It goes down about 10 feet and then turns into the width of a softball. The legend says that if you did something bad during the week, the face of the Devil will be reflected to you through the hole. I was one of the first people to look in the hole and was afraid that stage-hand would pop his head dressed like the Devil out and scare me. No, this didn’t happen, and no I did not see the Devil. I was good that week.
Here is a re-assembled moonshine distillery that was discovered in Craighead Caverns. As mentioned above, many caves in the south were used to manufacture moonshine during the prohibition era.
But the most fascinating part of touring a cave formed by water is a boat ride across an underground lake. These obviously are found at the deepest point of the cave. In Craighead Caverns, the actual boat ride on the underground lake requires a hike down a steep trail. You walk on a dock and board one of several boats propelled by some kind of electric motor.
Once I sat on the boat, I found myself to be a bit apprehensive. I contemplated my fears and realized I was reacting to a fear of vast, dark areas with unknown depths of water. The lake was in a large chamber which was slightly illuminated, but for the most part was dark. I was horrified of the thought of falling in the lake because I didn't know of what was underneath. Soon I learned that the water was almost 100 percent pure and we could touch the water if we wanted and drink from it.
No, this wasn’t our boat; I copied this from the website. But this is pretty much what you experience.
Then I realized that an underground lake is nothing more that an underground well accessed through a cave! There must be millions of these all over America!
But the depths of this particular lake are still a mystery to scientists. Divers swam through several acres of chambers clinging to walls to avoid getting lost. They used sonar but found no conceivable end to the lake or the caverns.
Where does the lake end? To solve this mystery, scientists put trout in the lake to find out if they would end up somewhere. They have never left the cavern. When they die, the bones will be left leading scientists thousands of years from now to wonder and speculate how fish got in an underground lake. You see, fish and other forms of life do not exist in underground lakes and wells. With no sunlight, nothing can live and that's why the water stays pure.
Late in the evening your imagination may returned to the caverns. In a sleepy alpha-state, your mind will become boggled with the thought that you roamed in an area once filled with water. What if you could travel through time in those caverns and become trapped in the dark abyss of the prehistoric lake. And one must think about the poor fish that are trapped in those chambers currently filled with water. As you fall asleep, the stories of the Earth's memory pull you deeper into the water where you will probably dream some more.

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The Attic -- short story by Algernon Blackwood

2012-02-01T02:55:00.000-06:00

Hello All:

I texted my mother the other morning with a simple question."What sort of person goes to the predawn woods alone?"

Her answer, "A hunter."

Then she followed up with another text with some morethoughts of those who venture into the woods during the predawn hours."Bird watchers, naturalists taking photos or studying animals, those withheavy hearts and a need to seek comfort in nature, perverts or evenshapeshifters."

It was an interesting series of responses from my mother. Isuppose I asked due to my recent concern of a need to visit the forest in thedarkened hours--a practice that will be nearly impossible as spring approachesand my commute to work is done in daylight.

So which character of the predawn woods from my mother'sworld do I identify myself with? I like the hunter theory and believe itmatches me perfectly. I'll get to that in a moment.

As for a birdwatcher or naturalist who studies animals; I doappreciate the company from forest wildlife during my visits, but I can't saythat this is what motivates me to go.

I certainly don't have a heavy heart with a need to seekcomfort in nature. Although if you've ever spent time in the forest, you wouldagree of its healing and rejuvenating effect.

As for a pervert; well, I do like to write erotica andcollect nude art, but I haven't taken leave of my senses to engage inunmentionable activities in the woods!

Shapeshifter? No, I certainly don't possess the magicalpowers of some sort of wizard. I'll have to ask my mother more about thistopic. I never realized such people do these activities in the predawn hours.

A hunter fits me well. I pull into the lot of the forestwhen it's still dark and quietly emerge from my car. From there I change intomy hiking boots, for boots are one of the most important items a hunter canhave. Without the proper walking attire, one cannot go far in the forest.

A walk through the predawn woods is done carefully andquietly as-if not to disturb the natural events taking place. It might beimpossible to avoid the crunching of dead leaves in certain places, but this isdone carefully.

I'm not there to hurt anyone. All the creatures of theforest are safe in my presence. I couldn't even think of harming a deer, fox, raccoonor bird. I'm certainly not a fierce hunter as I'm only armed with a simplewood-pine short staff to protect myself in the rare event of being attacked bya coyote or wild dog. Not sure if this would really work, but at least something is with me to use for a possible frightening encounter with an animal.

All animals and possible hikers are safe in my presence as Iquickly depart from the main trails to wander across untamed forest of bushesand dense trees. It's often a stream that guides me and I usually part withthis for some moments while exploring a region of interest.

I'm looking for something... searching... hunting...

Observe the photo that was taken on Tuesday morning. I callit, The Place of Deafening Silence. With such a name, you might expect theplace to be void of any sound. It might be so silent that all you can hear isthe blood rushing through your ears. But let me tell you a secret. This placewas quite noisy on Tuesday morning. There was train off in the distance, cars whooshingalong the highway and some animal in the distance rustling through the bushesand trees.

Last Thursday I visited this very location and didexperience the deafening silence. It was a place of total isolation, seemingly miles from civilization in which all that could be heard was the blood rushing through my ears. It was my objective on Tuesday of this week to return tothis place and experience the silence again. What happened? It was a completelydifferent place from the previous week.

This is what I hunt for in the forest. In my many years ofadventures in the forest, I've found that landscapes come right out and affectme. Certain landscapes can trigger a momentary altered state of consciousnessor some kind of non-ordinary reality that cannot be duplicated. It's like being momentarily transported to a different place.

This leaves me with a burning question. Through my own will, canI call back that momentary altered state of consciousness so that this verylandscape returns to The Place of Deafening Silence? I suppose such a challengewould be similar to a hunter who graduates to seeking larger game.

All this has taken place in my new forest that seeminglycalled out to me last week. Throughout the days I've explored the area andmapped it out in my own head. I've been exploring various trails and wandering off to see what surrounds them. I've found an alternate entrance in the eventthat the police close the forest down. Those are my woods and no one shouldtake them away from me! This is the way that a hunter thinks. All land, trees,streams and animals belong to him for as far as the eye can see

***

Today's featured writing is inspired by a strange dream Ihad the other night. In the dream, my wife and I were sitting in the familyroom when suddenly the cat became aware of some ghostly presence on the otherside of the room.

The cat approached the invisible entity and pawed at a fewtimes.

But whatever the presence was, it began to hit our cat."Smack... smack..."

It outraged me to see someone or something treat our familypet this way. With that I ordered the ghost to leave, and it seemed to obey.

But while the cat sat on my wife's lap to receive someloving strokes to his ears, sides of the face and chin; the presence returnedto deliver more abuse to our pet.

Again, I ordered the ghost to leave, and it did ascommanded.

Wouldn't you know it? The ghost came back a third time, thistime manifesting itself as some hoodlum and attempting to trouble ourcat once more. This time I called for the assistance of Archangel St. Michael.But I never got to see what happened. My alarm clock woke me up for the day.

The family cat, Riquette', in Algernon Blackwood's short story, The Attic, seems to have this very gift of sensing paranormal activity. I actually reviewed the story some months ago and gave it five stars. It's still one of my favorites.

The Attic - short story by Algernon Blackwood

The forest-girdled village upon the Jura slopes slept soundly, although it was not yet many minutes after ten o'clock. The clang of the couvre-feu had indeed just ceased, its notes swept far into the woods by a wind that shook the mountains. This wind now rushed down the deserted street. It howled about the old rambling building called La Citadelle, whose roof towered gaunt and humped above the smaller houses—Château left unfinished long ago by Lord Wemyss, the exiled Jacobite. The families who occupied the various apartments listened to the storm and felt the building tremble. 'It's the mountain wind. It will bring the snow,' the mother said, without looking up from her knitting. 'And how sad it sounds.'

But it was not the wind that brought sadness as we sat round the open fire of peat. It was the wind of memories. The lamplight slanted along the narrow room towards the table where breakfast things lay ready for the morning. The double windows were fastened. At the far end stood a door ajar, and on the other side of it the two elder children lay asleep in the big bed. But beside the window was a smaller unused bed, that had been empty now a year. And to-night was the anniversary....

And so the wind brought sadness and long thoughts. The little chap that used to lie there was already twelve months gone, far, far beyond the Hole where the Winds came from, as he called it; yet it seemed only yesterday that I went to tell him a tuck-up story, to stroke Riquette, the old motherly cat that cuddled against his back and laid a paw beside his pillow like a human being, and to hear his funny little earnest whisper say, 'Oncle, tu sais, j'ai prié pour Petavel.' For La Citadelle had its unhappy ghost—of Petavel, the usurer, who had hanged himself in the attic a century gone by, and was known to walk its dreary corridors in search of peace—and this wise Irish mother, calming the boys' fears with wisdom, had told him, 'If you pray for Petavel, you'll save his soul and make him happy, and he'll only love you.' And, thereafter, this little imaginative boy had done so every night. With a passionate seriousness he did it. He had wonderful, delicate ways like that. In all our hearts he made his fairy nests of wonder. In my own, I know, he lay closer than any joy imaginable, with his big blue eyes, his queer soft questionings, and his splendid child's unselfishness—a sun-kissed flower of innocence that, had he lived, might have sweetened half a world.

'Let's put more peat on,' the mother said, as a handful of rain like stones came flinging against the windows; 'that must be hail.' And she went on tiptoe to the inner room. 'They're sleeping like two puddings,' she whispered, coming presently back. But it struck me she had taken longer than to notice merely that; and her face wore an odd expression that made me uncomfortable. I thought she was somehow just about to laugh or cry. By the table a second she hesitated. I caught the flash of indecision as it passed. 'Pan,' she said suddenly—it was a nickname, stolen from my tuck-up stories, he had given me—'I wonder how Riquette got in.' She looked hard at me. 'It wasn't you, was it?' For we never let her come at night since he had gone. It was too poignant.

The beastie always went cuddling and nestling into that empty bed. But this time it was not my doing, and I offered plausible explanations. 'But—she's on the bed. Pan, would you be so kind— ' She left the sentence unfinished, but I easily understood, for a lump had somehow risen in my own throat too, and I remembered now that she had come out from the inner room so quickly— with a kind of hurried rush almost. I put 'mère Riquette' out into the corridor. A lamp stood on.the chair outside the door of another occupant further down, and I urged her gently towards it.

She turned and looked at me—straight up into my face; but, instead of going down as I suggested, she went slowly in the opposite direction. She stepped softly towards a door in the wall that led up broken stairs into the attics. There she sat down and waited. And so I left her, and came back hastily to the peat fire and compan ionship. The wind rushed in behind me and slammed the door.

And we talked then somewhat busily of cheerful things; of the children's future, the excellence of the cheap Swiss schools, of Christmas presents, ski-ing, snow, tobogganing. I led the talk away from mournfulness; and when these subjects were exhausted I told stories of my own adventures in distant parts of the world. But 'mother' listened the whole time—not to me. Her thoughts were all elsewhere. And her air of intently, secretly listening, bordered, I felt, upon the uncanny. For she often stopped her knitting and sat with her eyes fixed upon the air before her; she stared blankly at the wall, her head slightly on one side, her figure tense, attention strained— elsewhere. Or, when my talk positively demanded it, her nod was oddly mechanical and her eyes looked through and past me. The wind continued very loud and roaring; but the fire glowed, the room was warm and cosy. Yet she shivered, and when I drew attention to it, her reply, 'I do feel cold, but I didn't know I shivered,' was given as though she spoke across the air to some one else. But what impressed me even more uncomfortably were her repeated questions about Riquette. When a pause in my tales permitted, she would look up with 'I wonder where Riquette went?' or, thinking of the inclement night, 'I hope mère Riquette's not out of doors. Perhaps Madame Favre has taken her in?' I offered to go and see. Indeed I was already half-way across the room when there came the heavy bang at the door that rooted me to the ground where I stood.

It was not wind. It was something alive that made it rattle. There was a second blow. A thud on the corridor boards followed, and then a high, odd voice that at first was as human as the cry of a child.

lt is undeniable that we both started, and for myself I can answer truthfully that a chill ran down my spine; but what frightened me more than the sudden noise and the eerie cry was the way 'mother' supplied the immediate explanation. For behind the words 'It's only Riquette; she sometimes springs at the door like that; perhaps we'd better let her in,' was a certain touch of uncanny quiet that made me feel she had known the cat would come, and knew also why she came. One cannot explain such impressions further. They leave their vital touch, then go their way. Into the little room, however, in that moment there came between us this uncomfortable sense that the night held other purposes than our own—and that my companion was aware of them. There was something going on far, far removed from the routine of life as we were accustomed to it. Moreover, our usual routine was the eddy, while this was the main stream. It felt big, I mean.

And so it was that the entrance of the familiar, friendly creature brought this thing both itself and 'mother' knew, but whereof I as yet was ignorant. I held the door wide. The draught rushed through behind her, and sent a shower of sparks about the fireplace. The lamp flickered and gave a little gulp. And Riquette marched slowly past, with all the impressive dignity of her kind, towards the other door that stood ajar. Turning the corner like a shadow, she disappeared into the room where the two children slept. We heard the soft thud with which she leaped upon the bed.

Then, in a lull of the wind, she came back again and sat on the oilcloth, staring into mother's'

face. She mewed and put a paw out, drawing the black dress softly with half-opened claws. And it was all so horribly suggestive and pathetic, it revived such poignant memories, that I got up impulsively—I think I had actually said the words, 'We'd better put her out, mother, after all'—.when my companion rose to her feet and forestalled me. She said another thing instead. It took my breath away to hear it. 'She wants us to go with her. Pan, will you come too?' The surprise on my face must have asked the question, for I do not remember saying anything. 'To the attic,' she said quietly.

She stood there by the table, a tall, grave figure dressed in black, and her face above the lamp-shade caught the full glare of light. Its expression positively stiffened me. She seemed so secure in her singular purpose. And her familiar appearance had so oddly given place to something wholly strange to me. She looked like another person—almost with the unwelcome transformation of the sleep-walker about her. Cold came over me as I watched her, for I remembered suddenly her Irish second-sight, her story years ago of meeting a figure on the attic stairs, the figure of Petavel. And the idea of this motherly, sedate, and wholesome woman, absorbed day and night in prosaic domestic duties, and yet 'seeing' things, touched the incongruous almost to the point of alarm. It was so distressingly convincing.

Yet she knew quite well that I would come. Indeed, following the excited animal, she was already by the door, and a moment later, still without answering or protesting, I was with them in the draughty corridor. There was something inevitable in her manner that made it impossible to refuse. She took the lamp from its nail on the wall, and following our four-footed guide, who ran with obvious pleasure just in front, she opened the door into the courtyard. The wind nearly put the lamp out, but a minute later we were safe inside the passage that led up flights of creaky wooden stairs towards the world of tenantless attics overhead.

And I shall never forget the way the excited Riquette first stood up and put her paws upon the various doors, trotted ahead, turned back to watch us coming, and then finally sat down and waited on the threshold of the empty, raftered space that occupied the entire length of the building underneath the roof. For her manner was more that of an intelligent dog than of a cat, and sometimes more like that of a human mind than either.

We had come up without a single word. The howling of the wind as we rose higher was like the roar of artillery. There were many broken stairs, and the narrow way was full of twists and turnings. It was a dreadful journey. I felt eyes watching us from all the yawning spaces of the darkness, and the noise of the storm smothered footsteps everywhere. Troops of shadows kept us company. But it was on the threshold of this big, chief attic, when 'mother' stopped abruptly to put down the lamp, that real feat took hold of me. For Riquette marched steadily forward into the middle of the dusty flooring, picking her way among the fallen tiles and mortar, as though she went towards—some one. She purred loudly and uttered little cries of excited pleasure. Her tail went up into the air, and she lowered her head with the unmistakable intention of being stroked.

Her lips opened and shut. Her green eyes smiled. She was being stroked.

It was an unforgettable performance. I would rather have witnessed an execution or a murder than watch that mysterious creature twist and turn about in the way she did. Her magnified shadow was as large as a pony on the floor and rafters. I wanted to hide the whole thing by extinguishing the lamp. For, even before the mysterious action began, I experienced the sudden rush of conviction that others besides ourselves were in this attic—and standing very close to us indeed. And, although there was ice in my blood, there was also a strange swelling of the heart that only love and tenderness could bring.

But, whatever it was, my human companion, still silent, knew and understood. She saw. And her soft whisper that ran with the wind among the rafters, 'Il a prié pour Petavel et le bon Dieu l'a entendu,' did not amaze me one quarter as much as the expression I then caught upon her radiant face. Tears ran down the cheeks, but they were tears of happiness. Her whole figure.seemed lit up. She opened her arms— picture of great Motherhood, proud, blessed, and tender beyond words. I thought she was going to fall, for she took quick steps forward; but when I moved to catch her, she drew me aside instead with a sudden gesture that brought fear back in the place of wonder.

'Let them pass,' she whispered grandly. 'Pan, don't you see.... He's leading him into peace and safety ... by the hand I' And her joy seemed to kill the shadows and fill the entire attic with white light. Then, almost simultaneously with her words, she swayed. I was in time to catch her, but as I did so, across the very spot where we had just been standing—two figures, I swear, went past us like a flood of light.

There was a moment next of such confusion that I did not see what happened to Riquette, for the sight of my companion kneeling on the dusty boards and praying with a curious sort of passionate happiness, while tears pressed between her covering fingers—the strange wonder of this made me utterly oblivious to minor details. ...

We were sitting round the peat fire again, and 'mother' was saying to me in the gentlest, tenderest whisper I ever heard from human lips—'Pan, I think perhaps that's why God took him....'

And when a little later we went in to make Riquette cosy in the empty bed, ever since kept sacred to her use, the mournfulness had lifted; and in the place of resignation was proud peace and joy that knew no longer sad or selfish questionings.

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The Island of Angry Dolls

2012-01-30T02:55:00.000-06:00

Hello All:

My wife’s grandmother, aunt and uncle visited from out oftown over the weekend. The purpose of the visit was to check on mymother-in-law. In case you haven’t been following, my mother-in-law wasvisiting over the New Year holiday and was checked into the hospital foremergency heart surgery. She’s been with us during recovery and doing well.

And I’m very grateful for my brother-in-law and his son whois also staying with us during this time. It provides my wife the opportunityto go to work while someone stays with Mom during the day. But they will bereturning home in the early part of this week.

But we certainly had our fun over the weekend! My wife’sside of the family live in Casco, Wisconsin. As I’ve mentionedbefore, Casco is similar to my fictional Mapleview in that funerals areattended by the whole town. Luncheon is provided as a pot luck dinner from allthe people who attend. If you ever want to eat well, attend a funeral in Casco, Wisconsin.All sorts of casseroles, sausages, meatballs, along with a vast array ofhomemade deserts are available at these luncheons.

The last time great Grandma visited (wife’s grandmother) shebrought with a big pot of chili in a box that had the words, “Holy TrinityFuneral” written on it. Yes, we all sat down and enjoyed some left over chilifrom a recent funeral in town. This time, great Grandma brought with two pansof lasagna in paper bags that had the writing, “Holy Trinity Funeral”. OnSaturday night we all sat down and enjoyed yummy lasagna left over from afuneral.

***

Aside from the out of town visitors, I had a specialafternoon with my older daughter as the two of us went for a nice hike in thesnow frosted forest. This is the same woods that called out to me last week,and I ultimately decided to spend more time in this section of deep forest.

“What about my younger daughter?” you might ask.

She was invited to come with, but wasn’t fond of hiking inthe snowy, cold woods. That’s okay; she joined us later in the evening for someviews through the telescope at celestial bodies—Venus, Jupiter and the Moon.

I wanted to share a couple pictures with you. Occasionally,my daughter and I would venture off the trail to hike down a ravine and explorea stream or some other area of interest. Streams and other bodies of water canyield some of the most beautiful images. This picture was taken slightly afternoon with all the sun’s glory reflecting off the micro-crystal snow dust.

We took other photos, and examined them later in theevening. “This is cool… that didn’t turn out so bad… nothing spectacular withthis one…”

And then we came to the other photo that I want to sharewith you. Initially I said, “Eh… this one’s not so great.” Jokingly I furthercommented, “Unless you want to consider the ghost over here.”

That’s when my daughter exclaimed, “There is a ghost! Look!”

We couldn’t believe our eyes! Somehow we had captured whatlooks like a woman wearing perhaps a ballroom dress. Look carefully; you cansee her head and hair, her arms and the way the dress hangs to the ground! Isthis the famous Resurrection Mary going out for a stroll in the snow forest? Wewere about ten miles (or more) from the place of her tragic death and where sheis now buried. Whatever the thing is, it’s interesting.

You might need to picture to be larger to see the ghost. If you click the image, the photo will get larger for you.

***

Today’s featured writing is an excerpt that has survived theterminated novel, Doll Fetish. Early in my career of writing horror, I didn’tknow any better and began to produce horrible writings of little, plastic dollsthat were tortured by an evil man. As you can imagine, these dolls came to lifeand got their revenge. But as I’ve learned, writing is a powerful, mysticalart; and to graphically illustrate life-draining torture is something not to beproud of. As the narrator, I gave those dolls life. For that matter, realpeople were being tortured.

But today’s excerpt doesn’t involve torture. Eventually thedolls escaped to their own island. I wouldn’t recommend trying to find them!

The Island of Angry Dolls

The deepest fear one could ever fathom overcomes me in the dark of night. Little noises; tiny things running in my darkened room; and the sensation that s

omething is hiding under the furniture has me restless at night. It's gotten so bad that I often move from town to town and live out of hotel rooms. But eventually they find me; they track me down and won't rest until vengeance if found.

Several years ago I was sailing alone out in the middle of the southern Atlantic. Suddenly a storm blew in and I spent a good 36 hours holding on for dear life. The boat had capsized, but fortunately there was a small island in the not-so-far distance, enabling me to swim to shore.
By the time the shore had been reached, I realized that everything was lost; everything, that is, except my gratitude for being safely on land.
Eventually the storm cleared which was soon followed by exhaustion. I fell asleep on the beach for the night, but upon awakening in the morning, was shocked to discover I had been tied up and couldn't move. Even more shocking was the very existence of miniature, angry women who surrounded me.
One of the women spoke, "We should kill him! You know how these humans are!"
The statement triggered discussion and arguing as the miniature women assessed what to do with me. And in those moments of heated words, I could see that these were not miniature women. These were walking and talking plastic dolls; a realization that caused panic as I speculated perhaps I was hallucinating as a result of a concussion brought on by the boat capsizing.
Many of these dolls were convinced that the giant stranger had arrived to inflict harm and danger, and should be killed. But there was a leader who appeared to take my side, and pointed out that not all humans were like a man, whose name was often repeated in the discussion, Jeremy.
The solution for the moment: I should be imprisoned for a certain period of time and undergo a series of psychological examinations to determine who I was. And that's just what they did. I remained tied up for a few days while the dolls constructed a wooden cage for me to live in.
I hadn’t eaten in days and was famished! “Could you please spare some food and water?”
This question confused the dolls because they did not know what food was or why people needed water. Apparently, dolls that walk and talk have no need for food or drink.
After describing to them why humans need food and water, someone figured out that holding me captive would be too costly, as it would be necessary to find fruits, fish, animals and fresh water on a regular basis. Killing me was, once again, a popular option; but the leader came to my defense, mentioning to the others that I could be very useful.
I spent weeks in the wooden cage that was built for me without bathing or getting out for exercise. I barely had enough room to lie down to sleep at night; and for some reason the dolls did not understand the importance of fire and staying warm. The dolls did bring me food and water, but they didn’t look happy spending so much time fishing and gathering.
I was thoroughly interrogated by each doll. Some of them were angry, projecting much animosity and hatred. I didn't understand what their prejudices were. But through time, the conversations with the dolls enabled me to build a story and realize that these dolls were abused and somehow escaped to the remote island.
After several weeks of being badgered with questions and hearing the tales of terror from each doll, I had a meeting with the leader who identified herself as Sally. She told me the entire story which I had already pieced together, but she helped fill in some gaps. There was some recent knowledge that their abuser, Jeremy, was about to be released from prison. This worried the dolls as they speculated that perhaps he might find them and inflict more harm.
It made me wonder what possibly this man would do to punish the dolls. Needless to say, I also had to wonder just what this Jeremy did to deserve prison.
That was not for me to worry about. A new purpose was clearly given to me by the dolls. Since they had spared my life and taken care of me on the island, I had to go back to the civilized world, track down Jeremy and kill him. If I agreed to help the dolls, I would be released and could begin constructing my own boat, even live in the village with the dolls. I was so desperate to get out of that cage, I agreed.
I was finally able to bathe, find my own food, even show the plastic dolls what fire was and how it cooked fish.
They were really nice "people" and lived in homes made out of giant, tropical mushrooms. Through time I became a friend to them and we spent many days building a boat for me to sail home. At night we sat around the campfire, singing songs and having a good time.
Sally told me in private, once, that I was the best thing that ever happened to those dolls because it was a healing experience for them. They finally learned that not all humans were evil like Jeremy, who was about to be released from prison.
The boat was nearly completed and I began to think about things. Reality finally hit me that I was about to return home and kill a man who had paid his debt to society. This could cause me to go to jail, a place that no one would want to visit. And I scratched my head while wondering if Jeremy had actually gone to prison for torturing plastic dolls. There are no laws forbidding people from abusing toys, so how did he go to jail? Still, these dolls made me promise that I would help them. Perhaps if I had reasoned with them...
I told Sally one afternoon that maybe it was a bad idea to kill Jeremy. There was no possible way that Jeremy could have found the remote island, and even if he did, the dolls would have no problem defending themselves. I had no chance against the dolls when I first arrived and was inches away from being killed. If Jeremy was so foolish as to seek out the island of dolls, it would easily be met with his death. The dolls had nothing to fear!
Throughout my suggestions, Sally remained silent, saying not a word.
In the evening, the dolls weren't as cheery around the campfire as they were in previous nights. Apparently, Sally must have clued them in on my discussion. I attempted to break the silence and speak with the dolls as a group, suggesting that killing Jeremy was a bad idea.
Silence remained, and the night ended early.
I awoke the following morning, tied up in much the same way that I had been on the morning after my boat capsizing! The dolls were, once again, angry. Sally and Tina held burning coals near my eyes and said that since I had broken my promise, I should be punished by having my eyes burned out. Then I could learn to live on an island, blind without help from the miniature dolls.
I begged for mercy and told them it was not easy realizing I was about to kill a man.
They had no pity for my concerns of what would come of me after killing Jeremy. I was ordered to keep my promise or face the consequences.
There was no other choice but to agree.
Once untied, the dolls provided a tour of the elaborate infrastructure throughout the village. They had power, Internet and means to leave the island. Sally had a business that rescued dolls that were being abused. These things added further belief that once I left, I could easily be tracked down. If I didn't live up to my end of the bargain, they would find me and burn out my eyes!
I sailed off to sea one early morning in my new boat that wouldn't have been possible without my miniature friends. They gave me bittersweet farewells and subtle reminders of my obligation once returning home.
But some days out to sea I began to believe that the experience was only a vivid dream, brought on by many months of loneliness while I rebuilt my boat. Such a silly thought, an island of plastic dolls! There was no way a man named Jeremy would be tracked down and murdered once returning home.

***
Movement behind the curtains; noises at the corners of walls; terrifying knocks at the bedpost: they're coming for me, the angry dolls. It’s time to leave town. How I wish I could just get a good, night sleep!

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Eerie Landscapes of the Forest

2012-01-27T02:55:00.000-06:00

Hello All:

The Tree Goddess received an anonymous, short review onBarnes and Noble. The reader rates it at five stars and simply says, “Awesome! YOUHAVE TO GET THIS BOOK! IT'S THE BEST BOOK EVER!"

I am so glad that the reader enjoyed the book. And if anyoneelse feels the same after reading The Tree Goddess, be sure to check out thefirst book of the Amber trilogy, the death mask. It could be considered theprelude to The Tree Goddess. Many more adventures in Mapleview are currentlybeing written.

***

I find that the woods have an ability to beckon and call outto me. Recently I was feeling an overwhelming guilt for not making my briefvisitations of the forest throughout the week. For those who not know, I have aregular ritual of what I call "micro-hikes in the forest". Thisinvolves pulling off to the side of the highway while commuting to work, hikingsome seven minutes into the forest and then returning to resume my commute.Usually I keep my phone with me to grab photos. Sometimes the photos perfectlyillustrate the magic felt in that moment. Other times the quality is so badthat many of the images need to be deleted.

For late January in the Chicago area, it’s just barely dawn by thetime I reach the forest. I managed to grab some cool pictures earlier this weekand thought I would share them with you. If you haven't already figured out, Ihave a fascination with landscapes that can provoke feelings of eeriness. Isuppose this has something to do with being a horror fiction writer. For being anice, friendly guy; why do I find such beauty in dark and mysterious places?

And I did something different on Wednesday morning. Often Iturn down an intersecting road of the main highway traveled while commuting.Upon returning from the forest, naturally I turn around and rejoin with themain highway to continue my commute. But on Wednesday morning I got back intomy car and continued traveling the road I had turned left on with the intentionof joining with another highway that travels the same direction as theoriginal. Cutting across yields some of the most beautiful forested roads thatcould make one feel as-if on vacation. For being in the Chicago area, there are some deep woods thattake up many square miles in this region.

Suddenly, I found myself in an area of wooded highway thatseemed to call out to me. "This is where you need to go. This is the placethat you need to explore on all future daily visits to the forest."

But this area of forest scared me. It appears so deep anduntamed. The place is so wild and scattered that the roads actually obey thissection of forest. And I've always believed there to be strange, late-nightactivities taking place in this region. Outside of possible paranormalactivity, it seems like the ideal setting for alien spacecraft to land.

Was the mother ship sending out a signal for me to meetthem? I just had to visit!

The following morning I began to anticipate this micro-hikein the unexplored area of the forest. A slight fear began to build up as I leftthe house and traveled my usual route. What is it about that wild, untamedregion of forest? Although all instincts warned me not to follow through withmy adventure, curiosity got the best of me. I drove through to my destination andfound a small parking lot.

It was pretty much dark as I exited the car. It was so darkthat I didn't notice the lack of a hiking trail. It was necessary to enterthrough a wall of thorny bushes until reaching the actual inside of the forest.Hiking some distance inward, I finally reached a small stream that for now isvoid of water.

But the journey was not in vain. Standing still, the onlything that could be heard was dead silence and the sound of blood rushingthrough my ears--no engines of cars off in the distance or early morninghikers. There was no paranormal activity or encounters with the alien mothership. It was simply me in the isolation of thick, wooded, pre-dawn wilderness.These places will need to be visited in the upcoming weeks and months.

Leaving the forest early this morning, I drove past the sameplace that had called out to me 24 hours prior. I gave my answer to thisobscure spirit, "It's beautiful! It's absolutely beautiful! Yes, this ismy new place!"

***

The experience calls to mind a couple past writings I hadmade about the forest. It includes some photos of eerie places. Maybe in thenear future I'll open up another page on the blog simply titled, Forest Landscapes.It’ll be an accumulation of magical places of wilderness that I discover in mymicro-hikes.

Have a great weekend, and visit a forest near you!

Eerie Landscapes of the Forest
Often being advised by rational coworkers that my predawn hikes in the forest were a bad idea; I ignored their warning and journeyed some distance in the forest for beautiful pictures of the darkened forest, yet to have been hit with sunlight. As I turned back towards the main road where my car was parked, I was disappointed to see that the police had parked behind my car with their headlights on, obviously investigating the vehicle with missing driver.
"Great! Now I have to explain why I'm walking the woods in the pre-dawn hours!" Surely the police were going to search my car, pat me down for any weapons or drugs and possibly wait for back-up to arrive so a team of investigators could search the woods for some evidence of a sinister crime!
Then my mind suddenly shifted as I realized what I was truly looking at. I was still much too far from the highway to see my car. Somewhere, in the middle of the hike, was a large puddle of water which reflected pre-dawn light and cast many dreamy visions to the onlooker. For me, the scrying would reveal an irrational phobia of being harassed by over-zealous police. If you look at the cover art for Donna the Unburied, it's the same image except flipped and stretched out.

Pre-dawn images of the woods are certainly beautiful, particularly photos of the sky. One morning I had reached a clearing of forest and took notice of the moon between two trees and the horizon. The photograph does no justice to the actual moment. I'm sure this holds true to every picture taken of nature. What I enjoy most of this picture is the fact that it was only 8 degrees outside that morning! Have you ever stepped outside on such a winter's morning and

taken a look at the sky? If so, then you would agree how crisp and clear everything looks.

As the season progresses, the early morning woods receive more light. There's an exception to this rule shortly after Daylight Saving. In fact, the large puddle of water used for Donna the Unburied was taken during that very week of DST last year.

But before DST, landscapes such as the one on the

left were possible to view. The weather was warming at that time and melting the forest snow. And what better way to illustrate the contrast of changing seasons by photographing a running stream. Streams in the winter woods can be eerie, especially since the forest is dead silent with the only sound being the slight trickle of water. It brings with it mud, silt and often decaying leaves and rotting wood.

An exhilarating

sensation that comes with the melting woods is a cool, fresh humidity brought on by evaporation and moisture. Keep in mind that the photograph to the left was taken on a cloudy, foggy morning. Perhaps this added to moisture. And I recall that there was a constant popping sound along the ground. I wasn't sure what this was, but imagined it to be air pockets from the soil that were now being flooded with water.

Believe me; I had to fight with myself to resist the urge not to walk into the dense area of foggy trees. Time was running out that morning. I needed to

get back to the car!

The photo to the left is my most recent one taken on a hike from last week. Walking some distance into forest I soon found myself near the bank of a pond. I liked the rolling, gray clouds along with the sheet of dull ice that had formed over the water. The trees had yet to bud and any vegetation along the ground remained dormant. Because of this, the colors are nearly exclusively grays and browns.

Something else happened on that morning that I was unable to capture on the camera. During the hike back to the car, small flakes of snow begin to whip through the trees and along the ground. In just a few weeks, these sorts of phenomenon will not be seen for many months.

I am writing this on Monday, nearly 24 hours before a planned micro hike in the woods. Being that Daylight Savings started on Sunday, the forest should be dark. How I hope to enjoy some more rare scenes like these.

Here's a little poem I wrote about the forest one time and thought I'd share it with you:

To The Woods

To the woods; that's where I want to go!

Where the sounds of automobiles and noisy populations are unheard;

where dense trees, thickets, and babbling creeks await;

over spiraling hills and monster ravines -- forests' peaks and valleys;

where the new-found, off-beaten trail leads to caverns of memories forgotten.

To the woods... to the woods... let's go to the woods!

Where creatures of danger lurk behind shadows, hidden in bushes, prowling near trees;

wolves, serpents, cougars, even bears -- deadly, yet beautiful -- this is their home!

Spirits of trees, hauntings of long-forgotten battles, and shallow, unmarked graves;

ghosts who veil over landscapes, mysterious noises, irrational fears.

It all awaits you; but you have to go,

to the woods... to the woods... let's go to the woods!

Where the only stories told are those of seasons' passings;

where spirits of the forest wisp spirals of snow in the valleys of pine;

where the breath of spring melts frozen creeks, streams, and ponds;

where lush trees and deep moss provide shelter from patchy oases of summer's dry and craggy hills and valleys;

and where autumn leaves fall to the floor, covered in snow and then greet you in March!

To the woods... to the woods... let's go to the woods!

Where naked nymphs frolic at the bank of a creek;

where pixies flutter over delicate flowers;

where elves and gnomes live in the rotted holes of trees --

they invite you in to share their ale and good cheer.

It all awaits you, my friend; but you must go,

to the woods... to the woods... let's go to the woods!

Never before have you been filled with such overwhelming awe and wonder;

to wander so deep where people never venture.

So vast, so isolated, you swallow the fear and press onward.

More and more -- you could stay forever! You can do whatever -- dance and play!

But these things can only be experienced if you take those steps,

into the woods... to the woods... let's go to the woods!

Bonnie from Third Floor Quasics

2012-01-24T02:55:00.000-06:00

Hello All:

If you've been visiting the blog for some time, then youknow that I thoroughly enjoy my night time dreams. On Friday and Saturdaynights, I like to sleep a bit longer. I'm sure everyone else does this on theirweekends. And while sleeping in, I'm sure to take notice of the bombardment ofcomplex dreams; some of them frightening, some of them pointless, some of themrevealing subconscious concerns while others having some mystical meaning. Thedreams have gotten so important to me that lately my Ouija board blog statshave been asking me about them. Yes, to answer the cosmos, I've been havingsome very, interesting dreams!

***

If you were a spy staying in an enemy country, how would youcommunicate or get instructions from the people who sent you there? Letters,telephone calls, emails and possible secret meetings can all be tracked downand jeopardize the operation.

If you've ever had the chance to listen to a shortwaveradio, you might have noticed certain channels that are nothing more that aseries of numbers repeated by a monotone voice. These "numberstations" (as they are often referred to) have been theorized asoriginating from spy headquarters that gives spies their instructions. If youdon't know what shortwave radio is, try to understand that the radio signalused in this technology bounces off the ionosphere and back down to the earth.As a result, someone can transmit from Europe or Asia, and a receiver can pickup this transmission from the United Statesor South America.

There are thousands of legitimate shortwave radio stationsthat feature music, news talk, updates on the conditions of a country, orreligion. Ham radio operators can transmit on shortwave and often send Morsecode to other hammers located half a world away. But what has continued tobaffle the shortwave world are these strange "number stations". Doingnothing more than repeating vocal sequences of numbers or simply combinationsof undecipherable pulses; no one knows where they originate from and no oneknows exactly what their purpose is. It must be spies, drug smugglers or secretmilitary covert operations.

It's an interesting theory, and I'm sure plenty of peoplemight ask about the newer technologies such as blogs or Twitter that allow anonymousbroadcasts to millions of people worldwide. But is this really anonymous?Suppose a spy is staying in an enemy country and broadcasts from Twitter or ablog. Governments have ways of tracing the origination of these broadcasts. Fornow, it seems that shortwave is the safest option.

Oh, but there is a very, interesting alternative tocommunicating. Bringing one's mind in the alpha state, it's very possible toopen a telepathic portal. But telepathy is limited. Much is distorted throughthe receiver's perception or own interpretations. Words aren't the easiestthing to communicate by telepathic means. It's usually only feelings or imagesthat can be relayed. I suppose if a pair of such communicators were highlyskilled, then transmitting words would be easy. But how skilled are you withtelepathy?

It's easier for the receiver to enter the dream world whilethe transmitter enters an awakened alpha state, sort of an altered state ofconsciousness. It could be as easy as lighting a couple candles at your bedroommirror and standing before it while thinking of the intended recipient. Restassured the recipient will see your face in his or her dream. Then have yourmessage written on a card. But it can't be a long message, only a few wordsthat would make sense to someone dreaming at that moment. Of course the messagewould have to be written in such a way that you, personally, can see it in thereflection so that it's telepathically sent along with your own face.

But there might even be error to receiving the writtenmessage. Sometimes it might be necessary to have small pictures on yourflashcards to send via the bedroom mirror. Be sure the photos have meaningbetween you and the recipient.

All of this sets the premise for today's featured writing.Bonnie from Third Floor Quasics has been featured a couple times on the blog,but the story has gone through a major revision.

Bonnie from Third Floor Quasics

It was a Friday night, shortlyafter midnight, as Tim slept soundly in his bed. Although a very, peculiardream that startled him awake; Tim hadn't thought much of it initially. Thedream, however, marked the beginning of a series of bizarre dreams that wouldcontinue on for over a week.

From out of nowhere, a womandisguising herself as a Marilyn Monroe look-alike appeared before Tim. Her feetrested on one of the lower steps of the ladder so that her knees were highenough to rest her elbows and clasp her fingers together to form a bridge,ultimately providing a place to rest the chin. In this pose, the Marilyn Monroelook-alike smiled flirtatiously. With face and hair done up to emulate the lateactress, there was something frightening, almost wicked of the woman. To makethe dream all the more bizarre, she next held up a flashcard that revealed thename, "Bonnie... 3rd Floor Quasics"

With that Tim awoke from thenightmarish dream with a slight sense of alarm. "What was that allabout?" Tim thought to himself. "Maybe I shouldn't have a pepperonipizza and hot fudge brownie sundae before going to bed." To calm hisnerves, Tim got up for a tall glass of water and then returned to bed for thenight. There were no further strange dreams.

But on Sunday night, shortly aftermidnight, Tim was startled awake from another strange dream. He was faced,again, with the frightening Marilyn Monroe look-alike who continued to smilewith chin rested on the formed bridge made by her fingers. Again, she held up aflashcard, "Bonnie... 3rd Floor Quasics." Then she held up a secondflashcard that startled Tim awake. "Steve Lockman".

Tim sat up in bed. "What theheck?" Steve Lockman was the name of Tim's boss. Considering the eerinessof the two dreams, there just had to be a meaning. He was sure to remember thedream for Monday morning.

***

The following morning, Tim softlyknocked on the doorframe of his boss' office. "Steve?"

"Yeah! Good morning, Tim! Howwas your weekend?"

"Not bad at all. I got someprojects done at home..." Tim hesitated for a couple seconds. "Hey,did you ever know a woman by the name of Bonnie?"

"Bonnie?" Steve appearedto be searching his memory for any known women of that name. "No... Why,does someone remember me?"

"Well, I had a couple weirddreams over the weekend. There was a woman who seemed to have a fascinationwith Marilyn Monroe and tried to look like her. In the dream, she held upflashcard that said Bonnie... something about third floor quasics...? Does thatring a bell for you?"

"No, Tim. Why would I haveanything to do with a weird dream about some woman named Bonnie?"

"Oh, but there was a seconddream in which she held up another flashcard with your name on it."

Steve returned a blank stare."Hmm... Yeah, that's pretty weird. I still don't know anyone by the nameof Bonnie or anyone with a fascination with Marilyn Monroe. Sorry; I can't helpyou with that one."

***

Later that night,Tim realized that his recurring dreams of Bonnie from Third Floor Quasics wouldregularly happen shortly after midnight. On this night, however, Bonnie did notsit on a ladder and smile at him flirtatiously. Instead, she appeared as thereflection in his bedroom mirror. As with the previous dreams, Bonnie announcedherself with the first flashcard. "Bonnie... 3rd Floor Quasics."

Then she provided aseries of additional flashcards with short statements that appeared to add to alarge message. "Steve Lockman"... "Cafeteria"... "Tryto sit"... "Tripped over foot"... "Dumped tray"..."Got my teeth fixed"... Bonnie smiled to demonstrate that her teethwere, in fact, fixed.

With that, Tim wokeup and deeply pondered the meaning of the strange recurring dreams. It appearedas though someone was using him as a medium to communicate a message to Steve.Even more, this supposed Bonnie knew that Steve didn't remember and provided abrief story to remind him.

Was it a deceasedperson? It clearly wasn't as Bonnie used a mirror. Apparently, she hadreverse-written messages on flashcards and held them up in the mirror so Timcould see them through telepathic means. Tim wasted not another moment inwriting down the details of the dream along with the message.

***

The following morning, Tim softlyknocked on the door frame of Steve's office. "Steve?"

"Hey, how's it goingTim?"

"I have some more details ofthis Bonnie I told you about yesterday. Last night she said that you wouldremember her as the person who tried sitting with you in a cafeteria, buteither you or someone else had stuck a foot out and made her trip. She droppedher tray on the floor. She also reassures you that she got her teeth fixed fromthe fall."

Steve now wore a confused grin onhis face. "Tim! What are you talking about? I already told you that I haveno idea who Bonnie is. I never tripped anyone in a cafeteria or saw this happento someone. I'm glad she got her teeth fixed."

How peculiar of Steve to feelrelieved that Bonnie had gotten her teeth fixed. Maybe Bonnie was a girl fromhigh school that everyone picked on, and Steve felt guilty for a number ofyears for tripping her in the cafeteria. Whatever the reason, hopefully Tim'sjob was finished and all messages had been delivered.

But this was not the case! Laterthat night, slightly past midnight, Bonnie appeared before Tim in anotherdream. This time she was dressed in nothing more than her lingerie and brieflyturned her back so that Tim could see her beautiful butt in half-thong panties.The act was probably done to force Tim to pay attention.

Smiling and appearing very muchlike a Marilyn Monroe look-alike, Bonnie began to flash a series of statementsthat were most likely done before a mirror. And she introduced the additionaluse of photographs to make her messages clearer.

The first card was flashed,"Bonnie... 3rd Floor Quasics" Then the second flashcard, "SteveLockman"

Next Bonnie held up a picture ofTim's office building along with a flashcard that read, "3rd floor...Midnight shift".

Another card was flashed, "3.1MHz". Then another, "Mechanic Clyde".

Finally, Bonnie flashed aphotograph of a toy Slinky with the word, "Research", underneath.

Tim awoke from the dream and wassure to write down all the details to relay to his boss the following morning.

***

Rather than enter Steve's office,Tim decided to send the details of the dream in an Email to his boss. Notexactly comfortable serving as the medium of communication between Steve andBonnie, Tim still had a sense of obligation to fulfill his duties.

"From: Tim Green

Sent: Wednesday February 04, 20098:07 AM

To: Steve Lockman

Subject: Radio Equipment Upstairs?

Steve,

Do we have some kind radioequipment upstairs on a 3rd floor? I always thought that our office buildinghad only 2 floors, but it sounds like there is a 3rd floor.

The reason I ask is because yourfriend, Bonnie, approached me in another dream last night. Apparently there issome mechanic named Clyde who works upstairson the 3rd floor during the midnight shift. Either he or Bonnie is monitoring aradio frequency of 3.1MHz, and someone instructed them to research themechanical properties of the slinky. It sounds like there is some researchgoing on upstairs that we are unaware of. My guess is Bonnie will report anydetails on those findings to you.

Tim"

"From: Steve Lockman

Sent: Wednesday February 04, 20099:13 AM

To: Tim Green

Subject: Re: Radio EquipmentUpstairs?

Tim,

So are you implying that our officenow has Bonnie and Clyde working here? Funny!

Tim, this is a sales office. Thereis no research taking place here. We only have 2 floors and no storage attic.As for midnight shift, the office locks up for the night at 8:00pm.

You really need to give up thisBonnie and Clyde thing. Oh, make sure thosesales reports are ready for the 10:00 meeting this morning.

Steve"

***

Later that night, there was anotherimportant message from Bonnie. It came shortly after midnight and containedsomewhat of a note of urgency. Bonnie stood before her bathroom mirror andflashed the introduction card as usual, "Bonnie… 3rd Floor Quasics".Then it was followed with the second card, "Steve Lockman".

Once the proper introductions weremade, Bonnie turned and walked over to the wall behind her. Using crimson-redlipstick; she wrote the statement, "WE HAVE A SERIOUS PROBLEM!"

Returning to the mirror she flasheda card, "Security issue", followed by "Door left open" andfinally, "3rd floor... midnight shift."

The details of the dream wererecorded once Tim woke up. Of course! Due to the sensitivity of the informationbeing disclosed, Tim could not jeopardize the operation by emailing the updatesto Steve. Unfortunately, he would have to speak directly to his boss.

And so on Thursday morning Timentered Steve's office with an expression of urgency on his face.

"What's up, Tim?" greetedSteve. "Another Bonnie and Clydeupdate?"

"Yeah, about that..."answered Tim. "Listen, I don't think it's a good idea for me to email youanything about Bonnie anymore."

"Good point, Tim! The joke'sgetting old and I was a little worried you were about to give me anotherstory."

Tim wasted not another moment withthe recent information. "Last night, Bonnie wrote on her bathroom wall inred lipstick that we have a serious problem. Then she said something about adoor on the 3rd floor being left open and cited that this is a securityissue."

Steve wore an expression ofdisbelief. "Tim, are you serious? Come-on!"

"Don't you see?” Timcontinued. “I'm not supposed to be emailing you the updates. Due to thesensitivity of the information, using email can jeopardize the research. I'm topass on the messages to you in person."

Steve sat back in his executivechair with hands behind his head in a moment of deliberation. "Tim, let meask you something. If this Bonnie and Clydehad something important to share with me, why wouldn't they come in her andtell me directly? And why would they be contacting you through dreams to passon the information? Why couldn't they do this with me?"

Tim had a simple answer."Bonnie probably did try to contact you telepathically, but you weren'topen enough."

"Right! I get it! So you'rethe chosen one. You have a special gift unlike other people and are being usedto work for a mysterious cause. See, that sounds like delusions of grandeur ormaybe the beginning of schizophrenia. You should probably see a doctor. Tim,I've already told you that we have no 3rd floor in this building and that thereis no midnight shift. Furthermore, this is a sales office, not a researchcompany. I don't know what else to tell you, but I'm getting a little concernedabout you."

***

Considering his boss' advice, Timhad a couple drinks a few hours before going to bed and did his best to forgetall about the bizarre dreams of Bonnie from Third Floor Quasics. But trying toforget was of no use. Shortly after midnight, Bonnie appeared in another dream.

"Bonnie... 3rd FloorQuasics"...

"Steve Lockman"...

"Party... Clyde'shouse"...

"Saturday night..."

"3.1 MHz"...

"Sensitive Slinkyinfo"...

"Bringencoder/decoder"...

"MANDATORY!"The final card was written in bold, red lettering.

Realizing the seriousness, Tim feltthat it was best to communicate the scheduled meeting someplace else other thanSteve's office in the morning. He waited until lunch the following day while heand his boss sat at a table, alone, in the office cafeteria.

As Steve took a bite from hisfoot-long BMT from Subway, Tim nearly whispered the recent update."Listen; there is some kind of mandatory meeting that you need to be awareof for Saturday night. There is something about information being covered at3.1MHz and that you need to bring your encoder/decoder. I guess the meeting isbeing codenamed as party at Clyde's house. Clyde will be going over the details of his Slinkyfindings. The meeting is mandatory."

Steve rolled his eyes and shook hishead while chewing and listening. At thefirst chance of speaking, he merely replied, "You've got some seriousissues my friend. I'm not sure what's going on with you."

***

Much to Tim's surprise, there wereno strange dreams of Bonnie on Friday and Saturday night. Was Tim's workfinally complete? Did he serve his purpose so that the mission could move intothe next stage? Hopefully the recurring dreams had ended.

But on Sunday night, Bonnieappeared in a disturbing dream with a grave expression on her face."Bonnie... Third Floor Quasics"... "Steve is offpayroll"... "You are next in line..."

There was no reason to write downany of the dream's details. The message was simple and rather alarming.Apparently, Steve failed in attending the mandatory meeting and now Tim was totake his boss' place.

The following morning, Tim reportedto the office with a sense of relief that it was no longer necessary to provideupdates to his boss. But he shouldn't have been so relieved. As the morninghours passed to midmorning and near lunch, Tim's boss did not report to theoffice. It wasn't until about five minutes before lunch that his coworker, Ron,softly knocked at the doorframe of Tim's office.

"Tim?"

"Yeah, what's up, Ron?"

"Hey, have you heard fromSteve at all today?"

"No, I haven't seen him comein and I haven't gotten any calls or emails."

"His wife called a few minutesago and asked if we've seen him. I guess he went to the hardware store onSunday afternoon and never returned. She hasn't seen Steve in nearlytwenty-four hours. I guess he's missing or maybe ran away."

The information was disturbing forTim, considering the strange dream of Bonnie from last night. But to make themoment all the more shocking, Ron began to give account of a dream he had theprevious night.

"Hey, Tim, I was going to askyou something weird. Did you ever know someone by the name of Bonnie? I hadthis really, weird dream last night..."

Apparently, Tim was next in line!

Little Paw Fixes FBI Radios

2012-01-23T08:50:00.005-06:00

Hello All:
Snow blew into town over the weekend in the Chicago-land area--lots of snow! Coming home Friday afternoon from work, it took five hours to complete my commute. And even after people had removed the snow from the driveway a couple times, it was necessary for me to park in the street to remove more before pulling the car in.
By Saturday morning, the neighborhood had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Despite how the snow had extended my commute home, I was glad to see it. I love winter, and find the absence of snow to be depressing.
It was soon noticed how much the neighbors' dogs enjoyed playing in the snow. Has anyone else ever noticed that it's the larger dogs that love to play outside in a freshly fallen blanket? They jump and then bury their snoots in the snow to throw some up in the air. If ever wondering how fast a dog can run, watch how it bolts at lighting speed around the perimeter of the backyard on the morning after a snow storm. Then a dog will sit for a while as-if in deep contemplation while watching more fall. It reminds me of when I was a boy and would enjoy playing outside during these times. Often our family Saint Bernard would join me. While I built some snow fort, the dog would sit with me. It really felt like she was part of whatever game of imagination being played in the moment.
By Sunday, the weather began to warm up some. My older daughter found herself in a conflict as she really wished to go to the forest and photograph some winter scenes, but also wanted to snowboard with her sister. It looks like snowboarding won on Sunday and she'll have to wait for the next snow storm. Overnight it reached the mid 40s in temperature and it rained. We even heard thunder! This morning, much of the snow has melted. It's not much of a winter in the Chicago-land area this year. :-(
I did do one thing this morning. There's been a recent urgency to go to the forest and resume my micro hikes as I haven't done this since late autumn. I stopped on my way to work for a brief visitation and discovered much of the grounds to be ice and slush. It mixed quite well with the damp hibernating trees. I probably should have taken photos, but was pressed for time.
***
Receiving instructions over the radio or other means of medium might be the theme for this week, or at least a couple days. One of my favorite stories is that of Little Paw who just so happens to be a schizophrenic teddy bear who believes that the FBI has contacted him.

Little Paw Fixes FBI Radios
It was a warm, summer night as Little Paw slept soundly in his room. But he was soon awoken by a summoning voice. "Little Paw! Little Paw; wake up!"
The cub sat up, rubbed his eyes and looked around. There was no one in the room, and Momma and Papa Bear were sound asleep. Perhaps he was only dreaming.
His head gently hit the pillow in a wish to nod off to dreamland, but the summoning voice returned. "Little Paw! Don't go to sleep!"
"Who's there?" The cub was startled and nearly terrified.
The voice seemed to come from the bedside radio. "Little Paw! I am the leader of the FBI and I'm speaking to you through your radio. We have a very important job for you, provided you accept. We've been watching you for some time and have decided that you would be the perfect candidate for our FBI radio repair person... er... teddy bear. Would you be interested?"
Little Paw's eyes opened wide with a beaming smile. Would he be interested in such a duty? Little Paw would be honored and gladly accepted the challenge.
But it was necessary to test the cub as the voice continued, "Secret agents have put one of our radios in your neighbor's garbage can. It looks like any other ordinary radio, but it receives FBI communication. If you successfully retrieve this radio, then you have passed the first part of our test. And if you can repair the radio, you will have passed the test entirely and will be designated our official FBI Radio Repair Agent.
Little Paw certainly couldn't awaken Momma and Papa Bear, asking permission to retrieve the radio. What if they said no? This would lead to failing the test and he couldn’t land the job as FBI Radio Repair Agent. It was easier to crawl out the bedroom window, into the night, and over to his neighbor's garbage can. And just as the leader of the FBI mentioned, there was a radio waiting for repair.
Back to his house, through his bedroom window, Little Paw was safe and had passed the first test. He hid the radio under the bed and crawled back under the covers. Tomorrow he could examine the radio and hopefully get it to work.
"Little Paw! What are you doing? Why are you sleeping? The FBI needs that radio and you agreed to fix it! You are someone who backs down on his word. You are worthless and cannot be trusted!” The voice called out through the bedside radio. Apparently, the FBI had an advanced technology that was able to send signals through Little Paw's bedroom electric outlet that would monitor his activities. This was serious business, and it was best to begin the evaluation of the FBI radio right away!
Little Paw worked the night; all the while he was under careful watch by the FBI, and spoken to via the bedside radio. They wanted to make sure the cub did everything correctly. FBI radios are serious, and there can be no tolerance for errors!
By dawn, Little Paw had discovered a simple problem with the radio. The wire that connected the exterior antenna to the interior circuit board had been cut. He simply used electric tape to restore the connection, and the radio, once again, worked.
Again, the radio wasn't much different from what one might have on a bedside table. But it had the ability to receive FBI broadcasts. Little Paw listened carefully for a few minutes and overheard a portion of a broadcast that contained FBI secrets about the government.
The voice from the leader of the FBI became outraged.” Little Paw! What are you doing? You are not to listen to FBI secrets; it is forbidden!"
He didn't mean any harm; the cub was only curious, and hopefully the FBI would forgive him. Little Paw unplugged the radio and hid it in the bedroom closet. Soon he would receive instructions of where to deliver the radio so secret agents could retrieve it.
Time passed, and Little Paw continued to receive additional jobs from the FBI. The plan was consistent: crawl out his bedroom window at night, locate the radio and bring it back into his bedroom where the evaluation process could be done. Some nights he didn't wait for a mission to be given. Little Paw simply crawled out the window and searched for the FBI radios without prior instruction. The leader of the FBI must have been proud of the official Radio Repair Agent, who exhibited the qualities of a proactive operative. But the cub never received instructions of where to deliver the repaired radios. His bedroom closet was building up a collection, and there was no way to hide them.
One day, Momma Bear asked, "Little Paw, why are all of these radios in your closet?" She discovered the collection of radios and was most curious. Her cub was expected to always tell the truth, no matter how difficult the truth might be.
Little Paw realized that his job was top secret. But he couldn’t lie to Momma Bear. The words ran off his tongue, "Those are the radios that I fix for the FBI." He was in a state of disbelief. Did he really divulge his secret job to Momma Bear?
"Oh, you fix these radios for the FBI?" Momma Bear chuckled. "Honey, that's wonderful! Do you actually get them to work?"
Little Paw watched in horror as Momma Bear plugged one of the radios in the electric outlet. He yelled out, "Momma, no! You're not supposed to listen to FBI secrets! It's forbidden!"
Momma Bear was understanding of her cub. "Don't worry; I won't listen. I just want to see if it works."
Unfortunately, while Momma Bear checked to see if the radio worked, Little Paw overheard a brief notice about the President of the United States meeting with extraterrestrials later in the week. It was already too much information! And the leader of the FBI could be heard clearing his throat through Little Paw's bedside radio.
Momma Bear turned the radio off and put it back in the closet. "Well that's wonderful, honey! Papa will be so proud of you! Maybe some day you can have a job as a radio repair person." She was so happy that her cub could now play and have an active imagination. The medicine truly was working; Little Paw was finally a normal teddy bear. But Momma Bear couldn't help but wonder where all those radios came from. There must have been 20 in that closet; old walkmans, clock radios, boom boxes and even transistor radios from the days long past.
The disrespect for FBI confidential broadcasts on Momma Bear’s part triggered curiosity for the bear cub. What if there was a way to listen to FBI secrets without the leader of the FBI’s knowledge? Could he shroud his invasion from the watchful eyes through electric outlets? All it would require is to be away from the bedroom outlets—any outlets—and Little Paw would be safe. But how and where were the questions that burned and continued to agitate the teddy bear’s curiosity.
One day, he made a discovery that might very well have made that desire a reality. The bedroom closet contained over two-dozen radios waiting for delivery to the FBI. Many of them were battery powered which meant they could be used in a place where electric outlets were unavailable. Coincidentally, the very closet that stored the radios did not have an electric outlet! He could sneak through the door and listen to the FBI secrets. And to prevent the sounds of the radio being overheard by the leader of the FBI, Little Paw could plug a pair of headphones into one of the radios and listen until his heart was content.
It would require much thought and speculation. What were the consequences? Could he get caught? And what could he do with such information? Perhaps he could sell FBI secrets to enemy countries. Little Paw once heard that espionage was a financially rewarding lifestyle. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that the FBI had never paid him for his services.
One night, after dinner, Little Paw opened up one of his toys and removed a 9 volt battery. He did this with extreme caution, as if not to let prying eyes from the electric outlets see. The leader of the FBI was most likely intelligent and could detect Little Paw’s intention to invade FBI confidentiality. He opened the bedroom closet door, pretending to look for a shirt to wear. Then he quickly slipped through the door and shut it behind him.
Once in the dark, he pulled a penlight from his pocket to examine the collection of radios. A small radio that used a 9 volt battery for DC power looked promising. Plus it included a headphone jack to accommodate the pair that Little Paw had in his back pocket. A quick clip of the 9 volt battery, connection to the headphone and flip of the switch “on”; Little Paw was now in the violation zone, listening very carefully to every FBI broadcast. In one report, it was mentioned that the FBI now held the technology to observe what every home in America was doing via television sets. Unsuspecting citizens were unaware of the camera-like devices installed behind the screens of their TVs. Needless to say, the teddy bear cub was frightened upon hearing this. The FBI was probably observing Momma and Papa Bear each night while they watched TV. Perhaps they knew that Momma and Papa Bear ate honey late at night!
Frightened, he turned the radio off, pulled the battery and put it away. But just before the cub left, he heard a voice coming from the light fixture in his closet. Unbeknown to him, the FBI had seen everything through the closet light fixture, in much the same way they could see through the electric outlets in his room.
The angry voice announced, “Little Paw, I told you not to listen to FBI secrets on the FBI radios! It is forbidden! Now you are in big trouble!”
Oh no! What was Little Paw going to do now? Terrified, the cub had no choice but to run out of his room and tell Momma and Papa Bear everything. He even informed them of how the FBI was watching through the living room TV. Then he reminded, “Turn it off Papa! They can see us!”
Of course Momma and Papa Bear were very concerned. Why was their little cub suddenly having a relapse?
“Little Paw, have you been taking your medicine?” Momma Bear was quick to look in Little Paw’s bottle of pills. Sure enough, he had missed many days worth of medication. Of course! The FBI certainly wouldn’t recruit a teddy bear to repair their radios. As for watching her and Papa Bear through the TV: hopefully that wasn’t true! They might see her eating all that honey late at night, and… well, let’s just say that Momma Bear didn’t have the same figure from 10 years ago, and neither did Papa Bear!
Little Paw was immediately given a pill along with a nice cup of relaxing, chamomile tea. He was tucked into bed and reminded to always take his medicine.
Papa Bear collected all the radios from Little Paw’s bedroom closet and brought them out to the trash. “There! If the FBI doesn’t want my cub listening to their broadcasts, they can pick the radios up in the trash where they belong!” Nobody messes with Little Paw, nobody!

Lost Dog

2012-01-20T03:28:00.001-06:00

Hello All:

You've probably taken notice a flock of some hundred or morebirds land in your backyard and then take off at split-second's notice so thatthey all huddle together and follow the same course. In midair they changedirection at exactly the same time, usually shifting back and forth for a goodthirty seconds before deciding to land in a bush. Then after waiting for about aminute, the birds suddenly take off and continue this phenomenal dance ofnature. It's nothing short of amazing.

What inspires the birds to behave this way? Who in the flockdecides that it's time to suddenly leave that bush and then ultimate shiftdirections in the air so that hundreds of birds follow for about a minute untillanding in another backyard? There seems to be some energy of the moment thatdrives this.

Twitter uses its recognizable blue bird as the icon. And Ifind the bird most appropriate to describe the whole Twitter phenomenon for itcauses users to behave like a flock of birds. Information sometimes passesthrough millions of users so that the whole Twitterverse is focused on onething for the present moment. I believe Wednesday's obsession with the SOPA andPIPA act is a fine example of how Twitter can cause people to act without evenfully understanding a situation. In short, Twitter causes users to bebirdbrains!

Now I apologize to those readers who haven't the slightestidea of what SOPA (stop online piracy act) and PIPA (protect IP act) are. Ididn't even hear the acronyms being used until Tuesday night of this week andhadn't realized how angry people were of it until Wednesday morning. I'm stilltrying to make sense out of the whole phenomenon that took place Wednesday.Wikipedia shut itself down in protest along with many other websites. Millionsof tweets were made throughout the day as people declared that SOPA and PIPAaim to censor the internet. Various articles and blog posts from authors andartists warned that our right to freedom of speech is in jeopardy. I supposesome might have gone so far as to declare that democracy is about to see itsend. People used the "F" word while urging other to take a stand anddo what is necessary to ensure our voices are heard. We could not allow censorshipto happen.

I believe the greatest impact to Wednesday's protest wasWikipedia shutting down. Even I realized the power of Wikipedia when seeking toreference information throughout the day, only to learn that Wikipedia was thebest source for that information. Unfortunately, the website blacked itself outfor the day. If you visit now, you will find an announcement that congratulatesmillions of people for banding together and making sure that the voice washeard to stop PIPA and SOPA from being voted later this January.

I suppose you might consider me to be a bird of a certainfeather. Birds of the same feather flock together. Like millions of authors,poets, musicians, artists and any other creative people, I was immediatelyaffected with the mention of the internet being censored. If you're familiarwith my style of writing, then you know how important my freedom of speech isand how I depend on the internet to be unregulated (to a point). But maybe I'mdifferent. I must be different because I actually think the whole SOPA/PIPAprotest that went down on Wednesday was stupid!

Struggling to understand how SOPA/PIPA would impact myability to write and have my own site and blog, I read countless articles onthe topic that were very unclear to me. Much of the information on Wednesdayseemed to be hype designed to make people get angry. Occasionally I would landon an article that described the acts aiming to block websites overseas thatpirated movies, books and DVDs.

Surely there had to be something out there from a reputablesource that would clarify the two acts banning my ability to write horror anderotica, present nude art and say whatever I wanted to say--not only on myblog, but in my tweets throughout the day along with what I post on Facebook.What about my favorite nudey websites that I visit throughout the week? Whatabout researching information online? Will I need to pay for information? Can Istill self-publish my books? I needed answers!

As the day went on, I could find nothing! Still, I watchedthe whole world throw a great tantrum over SOPA and PIPA. "What ishappening? Why are people acting like this?"

I'm still lost, although I feel much clearer on the twoacts, now, on Friday morning than I did on Wednesday evening. Simply put, oneact is Congress' version and the other act is the House's version. Both aim forthe same objective, to block websites outside the United States from offering piratedmovies, music and literature. How will this be done? The technique of domainname blocking will be put in effect so that traffic outside the United Statesfrom domains that support such sites cannot filter in.

Did you know that here in America, authorities have the powerto shut down a site or domain that offers pirated material? Unfortunately, thiscannot be done to countries outside the U.S. But blocking them is anoption.

This is where people get angry. DNS blocking is the sametechnique used in China.Everyone knows that Chinais a communist country and that information is regulated. I suppose there is afear that Americais heading in the same direction.

But what can be said of countless producers of movies, musicand literature who would like to see their intellectual property protected. I'ma writer, and would be furious to discover that thousands of copies of Freakedout Horror were being sold without my knowledge. (Dream on, Tom!) But this ishappening for many other people who deserve to see their financial reward for acreative work.

In short, I have found nothing to verify that my onlinefreedom is in jeopardy because of the two acts. Wikipedia, could you pleasetell me what affiliation you have with foreign pirating of intellectualproperty so that you find it necessary to shut down and make a point? Andunlike many other authors and artists, I did not shut down on Wednesday. I'mglad I didn't!

I could be wrong. If someone out there can explain to me howSOPA and PIPA can do anything outside of targeting foreign pirate sites, pleasetell me! I'm just like everyone else. I would hate to have my online freedomtaken away. But for now, it would appear that the world behaved like birdbrainson Wednesday.

***

Today's featured writing is a hysterical fantasy that Ienjoyed a couple days ago and just had to make a story about it. Wouldn't youlike to play the Lost Dog game?

Have a great weekend and do come back for more next week.

Lost Dog

When Sally was a little girl shewished so badly for her own puppy. But Mother and Father would not let her haveone. For you see, caring for a dog was too much of a responsibility for thefamily. And although a puppy might look small, cute and easy to care for; theytypically require more work than a full grown dog. You have to consider thingssuch as housetraining and even dealing with the home being destroyed because ofseparation anxiety. Little Sally was made to understand these things.

But it wasn't necessary for Sallyto have strictly a puppy. She would have gladly accepted a simple dog; maybe asmall one that was not only cute and fluffy with nice markings on its fur, butwell behaved and already housetrained.

Such a dog would probably show upat her front door one morning. Maybe the dog was lost and couldn't find his wayhome. Or maybe the dog's owners no longer loved him and kicked him out of thehome. That would be okay for little Sally. She would bring the dog in the houseand make it a part of the family.

One morning, little Sally's dreamcame true! Shortly after getting out of bed, she rubbed her eyes while gazingout the bedroom window and took sight of black and white dog with a whitestripe on its head; half of his neck black and white; white tips on its pawsand a white tip on its black, fluffy tail. It was a border collie, nervouslypacing the fence lined perimeter as-if lost. Somehow the dog must have foundits way into Sally's backyard and couldn't escape.

In Sally's belief the dog was justas good as had! It was in her yard and lost. Apparently the owner no longercared for the dog. She ran out of the bedroom and into her parents' room."Mommy! Daddy! There's a doggy in our backyard! He looks lost like he hasno home. Can we keep him, huh?"

Annoyed to be woken up so early,Father stretched and yawned while Mother patted his shoulder—an indicator tocheck out what little Sally might have been talking about.

"Doggy, huh?" commentedFather. "Let's see what we have outside." He staggered down thehallway and to the back door. Sure enough there was a border collie runningaround the yard. "Awe jeez..."

Just then, Mother came in thekitchen. "What kind of dog is it?"

Father next announced, "TheHendersons' dog escaped. I'll have to give 'em a call."

Uh oh! This wasn't good for littleSally! Her dream of a lost dog coming to her house was about to shatter intopieces. "Daddy, no! He's our doggy, now! Can't we keep him?"

"No, that belongs to the Hendersons." Fatherpicked up the phone and dialed it. "Good morning; Mr. Henderson...? Ithink your dog is in our backyard."

In the meantime, little Sally's lipquivered as the tears ran down her face. Why was life so cruel? The doggy shewished for so long had arrived, but about to be taken away. She sobbed andthrew a near tantrum while observing mean, rotten Mr. Henderson enter thebackyard in his pajamas and bathrobe. He took little Sally's doggy.

This incident only fueled morefantasies for Sally. At night she would lie in bed and imagine a dog that wasfar, far away—maybe a thousand miles away. Somehow he escaped the owners'backyard and ran down the street, soon to get lost. While searching for a wayto get back home, maybe the dog became confused and somehow ended up on afreight train and couldn't get off until it stopped at little Sally's town. Notsure of where he was, the dog continued to run down the neighborhood streetsuntil reaching little Sally's house.

Now what could Mother and Fathersay? The dog didn't belong to any of the neighbors. He was dirty, hungry, tiredand in need of help. Even worse, the poor dog didn't have a collar with a tag.

Mother and Father let the dog staywith Sally with the understanding that it was only temporary until someoneanswered the "Lost Dog Found" ad in the paper. But the owners were athousand miles away where they didn't receive the local paper.

The dog was so cute and friendly.He looked just like Mr. Henderson's dog, except better. With no one answeringthe ad, Mother and Father had no choice but to keep the dog.

***

All grown up, Sally now has her owndog; a border collie like the one she always wished for as a little girl. Butshe can still recall a bittersweet magic behind those childhood days of wishingso badly for a dog. All those fantasies pent up in heart leads Sally toregularly go out and play the game of Lost Dog.

Today she drove through town in herred pickup truck, moving slowly until possibly finding something that caughther eye. Just then, she spotted a man in the rearview mirror that appeared tobe crossing the street. But he disappeared behind a parked delivery car. Theonly feature she recalled was short, brown hair and carrying a beverage fromthe local coffee shop.

Quickly making a u-turn at theintersection, Sally stepped on the accelerator with not a second to spare. Shereached the other end of the street and turned right where the man was lastseen. And there he was, reaching the end of the block and making another right.He casually sipped his coffee beverage as-if not a care in the world.

Oh, but Sally would rescue him.Apparently he was lost and probably very scared. She carefully approached theend of the block as-if not to startle the man. Then she turned and droveforward to slowly pass him, studying very carefully and evaluating the situation.He was so cute and appeared so friendly. Who could have possibly let him out towander the streets alone?

Aware of being suddenly followedand stalked, John picked up his pace slightly. From what he could see, it was awoman who intently watched him from the pickup truck. If he didn't know anybetter, the woman was planning to catch him! Maybe she was dangerous.

If his feelings of suspicionweren't enough indication, John watched as the red pickup truck pulled over ina business delivery driveway in such a way to block his path. Then the womanstepped out of the truck and walked around to meet John.

"Are you lost?" Sallyasked.

"Uh, no! I work in the area.I'm not lost."

Sally gently placed her hand onJohn's shoulder as-if to reaffirm that she meant him no harm. Then she spokewith soft eyes locked on his in such a way that one would speak to a child or afrightened animal. "Where are you supposed to be right now?" Shepatted him while asking.

"I'm on my lunch break. Myoffice is right down the street."

The poor guy; he was so frightenedand confused. Sally could take care of him. "Awe... why don't you comehome with me? You're lost and scared. I won't hurt you. Come-on, I'm here tohelp you."

Needless to say, John found thewoman's behavior unusual. "No, I'm okay..."

But before he could continue, Sallygrabbed his arm and coaxed him towards the back of the pickup truck. "I'vegot you... Come-on, in you go... No one's here to hurt you." Sally openedthe tailgate and coaxed John in.

John hesitated briefly. The womanwas clearly out of her mind, but she seemed so nice. After a couple seconds ofdeliberation, John hopped into the back of the pickup truck and watched as thewoman closed the tailgate.

"There, that's not so bad.I'll bring you home."

Soon the truck drove along the citystreets with John sitting in the back. His hair tousled in the open wind asother motorists and pedestrians looked up at him while surely wondering why aman in a business suit would be riding in the back of a pickup truck. After some time, he wondered why the womandidn't invite him to sit in the cab along with her. It was as-if John werenothing more than a lost dog being rescued and waiting patiently in the back ofa truck to arrive at the destination.

Taking the final sip from his icedjava, the pickup truck pulled into a residential neighborhood; soon to thumpover the driveway curb of a house. This must have been where the strange womanlived.

Just as John was about to argue thatthe peculiar game had gone far enough, Sally emerged from her truck and flashedthe warmest, most nurturing smile. John was safe and finally home. The womanwould take such good care of him.

Sally opened the tailgate."Okay, out you go."

Remaining quiet, John did asordered.

"I bet you're hungry. Let'sget you inside."

Inside, both Sally and John weregreeted at the foyer by an excited border collie that barked and lunged fromside-to-side while investigating the newcomer.

"See your new friend?"Sally asked the dog. "I found him out in the streets. Let's give him abath and then fix him lunch."

Bath? Was the strange woman really going togive John a bath? It must have been true, for she walked down the hallway andmotioned him to follow. The bath water was turned on and adjusted to what Sallyfelt to be the ideal temperature. Then she left the room while ordering John toget in.

Some moments later, John sat in thefilling tub with soap bubbles that topped the water. The afternoon was gettingto be quite interesting. What did the strange woman have in store for John?

It was only a bath and nothingmore. Returning to the bathroom, Sally shut off the water and began to gentlypour buckets of warm water all over John. "So, we need to give you aname."

"My name's John."

"John? No, that's not a goodname for you. How about we call you Rex?"

"Rex?" asked John"What's wrong with calling me by my real name?"

"Rex is your real name. That'syour new name and I'm your new owner. My name's Sally, by-the-way."

"Hi Sally, nice to meetyou."

"Tilt your head back"ordered Sally. Soon she began to dump water on Rex's hair. "So where didyou say you were going?"

"To the office. I wasreturning from lunch break."

"The office? Is that yourjob?"

"Yeah..."

"What were you supposed to dothere?"

"Well I did have ateleconference call scheduled for about now."

"What was the teleconferencecall about?"

"Eh... not much. Just thecustomer yelling at me while the boss listens in and yells at me evenmore."

By now, Sally had shampoo workedinto Rex's hair. She immediately stopped massaging his head at the mention ofbeing yelled at. "Well that doesn't sound like much fun. That's almostlike abuse. See, no one there loves you. Aren't you glad you came home withme?" Sally began to rinse the shampoo out of Rex's hair. "We're goingto get you all cleaned up and then fix you lunch."

"I already had lunch."argued Rex.

"What did you have?"

"Not much... I was kind of ina hurry so I got my iced mocha and a cookie."

Sally shook her head while sighing."Not eating right, either! We'll take care of that. Once you dry off I'llhave a nice, hot Panini sandwich waiting for you. Do you like pastrami andSwiss?"

"Sure..." ActuallySally's lunch didn't sound so bad after all. The cookie and iced mocha didn'tgo too far. Rex was getting hungry. Then Rex asked, "How about Giardiniera?Do you have any of that?"

"Of course I do! I'll make youa nice lunch." Sally finished giving Rex his bath. It wasn't such a badafternoon, after all. Considering where he was supposed to be, Rex gladlyaccepted the alternative. And he couldn't help but feel so loved in thatmoment, getting a warm bath from a nice, friendly woman who would soon make himlunch. Sally was sure to become a good friend!

***

After drying off and redressing—slacksonly worn and his shirt without necktie—Rex strolled into the kitchen with the bordercollie excitedly trailing behind and barking.

In the kitchen, Sally had lunchprepared for the two of them. A plate had been set for Rex with his toastedPanini and a drink.

"You've got a nice dog."announced Rex as he sat down.

"Thank you!" said Sally. Thenshe addressed the dog. "See, Zinger, your new friend likes you!"

Rex commented on the dog's name."Zinger, that's cute for a border collie."

"Uh-huh! I used to likeZingers when I was a little girl. Doesn't he look like a Zinger?"

"Yup, he sure does."

Rex and Sally enjoyed a nice lunchtogether along with some wonderful conversation. Sally was so glad to havefound Rex out in the streets. After some time, she might even wonder whorescued who.

After lunch, Sally, Rex and Zingerwent to the local park for a little stroll. There was a field with park bencheswhere the three of them stopped to take a rest. That's where Sally spotted atennis ball laying under the bench.

"Oh, look at this. Zingerloves to play fetch! Go get it!" Sally whipped the ball some distanceaway.

Zinger charged after the ball likean energized border collie would, and returned to drop it on the ground beforeSally for more.

"Hey, let me see if I canoutrun Zinger!" suggested Rex.

As Sally threw the ball, both Rexand Zinger charged after it. But Zinger was much too quick for his friend. Rexwas going to have to try harder than that.

As both returned for another throwfrom their owner, Sally advised Rex that he was a little out of shape. Butplaying every day would help get off some of the excess weight so that he wasjust as fast as Zinger.

Rex was able to still play. Hewaited some distance away so that the three could play a game of interception.As Sally tossed the ball to Rex, sometimes Zinger was able to jump midair andcatch it. Zinger was such a smart and talented dog.

After their outing in the park;Sally, Rex and Zinger returned home to crash in the family room before TV.Zinger laid in the fetal position on the floor while dozing off. Rex cuddlednext to Sally as she stroked his hair.

Then Rex annoucned, "You know,I should really be getting home."

"Home?" asked Sally."No, I'm afraid that's not possible. You're lost and a thousand miles awayfrom home. Apparently your owner didn't take care of you. Not only that, I haveno way of finding who this person is. You'll just have to stay with me, now.This is your new home and I'm your new owner."

Rex could say nothing. How longwould Sally play this fantasy game of Lost Dog?

What's it Like on Venus

2012-01-18T08:56:00.005-06:00

Hello All:

Maybe in about 24 hours I'll have abetter understanding of this SOPA and PIPA act that will be voted on later thismonth. From what I understand, SOPA and PIPA will allow internet censorship.

For starters, censorship is such abroad topic. What exactly do they mean by this? Does it mean I can no longerpublish erotic stories on my blog?

I guess the act would go afterinternet piracy. That sounds like a good thing. But upon investigating further,I was given some vague explanation that I—personally—would have to monitor allthe content and links on my site to ensure they adhere to some specifiedregulations that ensure no piracy is being done. If something ever happens (notsure what investigators find) I could be subject to fines and other punishment.

I see Wikipedia has blocked theirwebsite today in protest, claiming that regulating the internet will kill free knowledgeonline. That wouldn't be such a nice thing.

So is this just hype? Common, ordinarypeople like me need to know clearly what these regulations mean to us. And no,I will not be blacking out my website for today in protest. I don't understandwhat I would be protesting—as if millions of people each day access my website,anyway!

I didn't even hear about SOPA andPIPA until last night. Today, I see Google has their name blocked in protestwith an advisory to fight internet censorship.

Is everyone just as confused as Iam? Maybe today was the first you heard of it? I just did a little more readingon Yahoo and see that the act targets foreign websites that violate certainlaws. So are we going after off-shore scam operations and illegal porn sites?Is the whole SOPA and PIPA protest being blown out of proportion?

Again, I'll probably be more knowledgeableof this topic as the days go on.

***

If you read Monday's blog post,then you can recall that my mother-in-law was sent to the hospital foremergency surgery on her heart. She is doing fine, now, and past the crucialfirst twenty-four hours. She's sitting up in chairs and eating. Supposedly, mymother-in-law will be released from the hospital later this week to live withus for a while during recovery.

Great Grandma has gone home alongwith her son (mother-in-law's brother), and we all enjoyed her chili a couplenights ago. I even have leftovers of in my lunch for today. Recall that thiswas chili from one of the funerals in Casco, Wisconsin. Great Grandma will bereturning to care for her daughter during recovery and then ultimately bringher back home to Wisconsin.Thank you to those who kept our family in your prayers.

***

There are lessonsfor us writers as we continue through our journey in the craft. Call to mind adisturbing novel I once attempted to write titled, Doll Fetish. Not realizingat the time that my writing turned the dolls into real people in the story,they were graphically tortured as joke to the reader. Why squirm and feel sosorry for them? They were only dolls.

Ah, but I broughtthose dolls to life in the story. Being the case, this is the same as writinggraphic torture to no end; scenes that I refuse to write. And the same can besaid of graphic murder. I cannot write of murder. Although the Tree Goddessillustrates a brief murder to answer burning questions to the reader, it isonly described from "a distance" and not so involved.

I've learnedanother lesson as a writer. As of yesterday, I've made up my mind to abort theproject in which I use a pen name and write of a topic people don't associateme with. Why? It's because I cannot be untrue to my name and writing style. Icannot be distracted from my fictional world of horror, fantasy and dark romance.Tom Raimbault is to be clearly defined as a writer of these things. Writing, asI've learned, is mystical art that channels power much greater than we realize.To embrace this power, one must be true to him or herself. There can be nohiding behind pen names or writing of things that do not inspire us or topicsthat go against our nature.

Mapleview needs me!Amber needs me! Mary needs me! And the same can be said for readers who eagerlywait for the next Mapleview installment. Lesson learned, I go back todedicating myself to writing of Mapleview.

***

Hmm... Today's featured writing isreal interesting. I found it in the blog stats and it sort of jumped out at meas a message from the Ouija board. I'm thinking beyond the Amber trilogy withthis sort of topic.

What's it Like on Venus?

I was sitting in the cafeteria at work enjoying my yogurt the other morning when a rather odd lady approached me with the queerest look on her face. She made the statement, "You're one of them, aren't you?"

"Excuse me?" Needless to say I was taken by surprise. But for some reason I knew exactly what she meant. And just as I was about to say, "Oh, you mean one of the Venusians", she said, "One of the 77 walking the Earth; you're one of us."

I affirmed but confessed I was only at the early stage of realizing this and didn't know much about it. With that, the strange lady walked away. Apparently if I were truly a Venusian (an extraterrestrial from the planet Venus) I would be well aware of it and not just learning about it. I don't really think I am, but there are people who truly believe they are walk-ins from the planet Venus.

So what's it like on Venus?

I don't think any one description of Venus is correct. Don't get me wrong; if you and I were to attempt to describe Venus we would imagine it to be intolerably hot with deadly greenhouse gasses. It is, after all, very close to the sun and pretty much proven to be unfit for any kind of life. A scientific, physical description of the world of Venus is usually correct if one is knowledgeable about the planets in our solar system. But from where a Venusian comes from, Venus is something we can't fully comprehend. Most Venusians claim that they reside on an ethereal plane of Venus -- an almost astral world of existence where life can be inhabitable.

Valiant Thor, one such Venusian, made a profound statement. He said, "Many Earth people live one life openly while in their hearts and minds, they live quite another." What did he mean by this? Was he implying that people live in two separate worlds of the physical and ethereal? If this is what he meant, did he mean to say that we can travel and exist on Venus in an ethereal sense?

As stated above, many claims of the environment of Venus can vary when considering that an inhabitant is ethereal. A mysterious Venusian who goes by the name of Christina claims that on her world, everything is created by thought. Here on Earth, we need to create things physically which as she describes is really just an extension of creating things mentally. On an ethereal plane, the world you create is pretty much subject to your preferences. It sounds cool, but there are rules and regulations that go along with it. You certainly can't have a population of people creating all sorts of realities while calling themselves a population or society. Not only that, the ethereal world causes thoughts to be crossed with other people. With that in mind, a world you create is only contributed to the many other worlds created by other members.

With the above ideas in mind, we have opened the door to all kinds of questions. Take for example, if you imagine the after-life to be a 5th dimensional paradise where you are no longer confined to the 4th dimensional laws of time and space, then you probably ask, "What is the difference between existence on Venus and existence in the after-life?" For all practical purposes, we could say that Venusians on Venus are deceased and living in some kind of after-life dimension. However, they are not claiming to originate from an after-life world. So what is this strange ethereal dimension where people generate their own reality through thought? And just how do they come to Earth as physical beings?

To address the question of having physical properties, we are given a very confusing explanation. According to Venusian-UFOlogy theory, Venusians can slow the molecular vibration of their bodies down so that the vibration matches ours. When they do this, they can appear to us as physical, biological entities just like us. But I question this theory with the understanding that Venusians exist in an ethereal non-physical world. So what molecular structure is being slowed down when there is no physical to make up an ethereal entity?

The mysterious Christina has an interesting theory. She says that Venusians create a physical double of their ethereal bodies. This is fascinating if it were true because it almost sounds like a spirit that is able to manifest itself as a physical entity.

From the mid-1950s to present, Venusians have appeared to people as humans. And according to the Venusians, they really are human. They claim themselves to be descendants of Earth people who left the planet ages ago. And this is what I call the "missing link" of the whole Venusian/Space brother theory. Venusians are decedents of the Atlantean race that took off in spaceships before the Earth was destroyed in some kind of prehistoric nuclear war. What were these people then? Were they physical entities who transformed themselves into ethereal beings only to transform themselves back into physical beings at will?

So what is it like on Venus? It must be a really nice place. Perhaps you are from Venus.

Impressions of a Historic House

2012-01-16T02:55:00.000-06:00

Hello All:
We have some great news here at the Literary World of Tom Raimbault for Amber -- the death mask. The first novella in the Amber series has received its first customer review on Barnes and Noble; more surely to follow in the future.
The anonymous person says, "The book itself wasn't THAT bad... I suppose with a better suited author it would have been a good read. I liked some parts, other parts I felt that it was rather scattered, and written by a bitter and jaded man with poor interactions when it comes to women. It's free so if you have a rainy day and nothing better to do, I suppose its okay."
Striving to be a literary master of horror and dark romance, I reflected for a moment of the reader's comments and realized that it was an excellent review!
"It's good... I like it... The reader was really affected by this..."
It would appear that the story, itself, is enjoyable--maybe a bit scattered as the reader says. But it's the narrator who I feel people have trouble appreciating. Apparently, the reader does not like the author who wrote the book. This person has created his or her own impressions of me and believes me to be a bitter, jaded man with poor interactions with women.
I love it!
Let me just clarify to any other readers who might be curious; I have excellent interactions with women! Take the initial introduction to my own wife as an example. While working in 1995 at Re/Max as a Realtor, my wife was hired to be the office receptionist. How do you suppose I introduced myself to the young woman who I was so attracted to?
The office was nearby a cornfield. In that year, there was a large population of boxelder bugs, and some of them had infiltrated the office building. There was a vacant area of the office that I often spent time in. In this place, I took notice of a small pile of dead boxelder bugs that accumulated near the window. I scooped up a handful and carried them into the front of the office where my wife worked. The handful of dead bugs were presented to her as a gift.
"Eww! Gross! Get those away from me!"
So cruel; I tossed the handful of bugs at my wife and was delighted as she screamed in horror. Her skin seemed to crawl as she deliriously brushed off any possible dead bugs on her.
"That wasn't nice!" she cried out.
Of course I felt sorry for my poor wife (not even a girlfriend yet). To make her feel better, I jumped up on her desk and did my imitation of a house fly that lands on the table and investigates the area for food or sticky things that interests flies.
See how well I interact with women? Don't you wish that I would "put the moves" on you?
My charming gestures certainly worked. We began dating in autumn of 1995 and married in the spring of 1998. I've been with this woman for nearly seventeen years and have enjoyed a very, happy marriage with two beautiful girls.
Considering that the divorce rate for 2011 in America was 50% (65% for second marriages) I must be doing something right. No, I'm not a perfect lover. My introductions to women certainly are quirky and jaded. But it's all good. I'll gladly accept the "bitter and jaded man with poor relationships with women" award. :-)
***
One night last week I was putting some items away in the freezer here at home and was given quite an annunciation. Someone had carelessly placed a box of plasticware on top of the refrigerator in such a way that it rested halfway over the freezer door. When the door was opened, plasticware had rained down all over me.
"Wow! We're getting a lot of company!" I announced. I'm not sure if the falling silverware rule applies to plasticware. But apparently it does! I write the introduction to Monday's featured writing on Sunday afternoon and currently have many guests about to arrive who will stay throughout the week. My wife's mother recently had a health emergency that requires immediate surgery. She currently lives up in Wisconsin and visited over the New Year holiday. She's been in the hospital for about a week now. Surgery will be done on Monday morning. If you could be so kind, please keep our family in your prayers.
But throughout the week, my mother-in-law will have her son, her grandson, her mother and brother staying in this house as everyone goes up to the hospital to visit. Eventually she will be released and stay here during recovery while her own mother (wife's grandmother) cares for her.

So, yes, we have plenty of company throughout the week! Good thing we have plenty of rooms to acomodate these guests. My wife has done shopping to ensure we have enough food throughout the week. Fresh bedding has been put on the beds in the spare rooms. And look! In Great Grandma's room, I was sure to set my daughter's pet gargoyle on the side table to watch over the eighty-some-year-old woman while she sleeps at night. See how well I take care of my guests?
Great Grandma was so nice as to bring with some chili to share for one of the dinners this week. She packaged the chili and pasta in a box that has, "Holy Trinity Funeral" written on the side. It looks like she brought some leftovers from one of the town's funeral potluck dinners.
See how much fun we have? Wouldn't you like to stay at our house for a night?
As for my writing; don't worry, it won't suffer. I have my own private chamber set up at the other end of the house where I can arise at 2am and write without disturbing the guests. That's why the Good Lord invented the witching hour; so that writers, artists, inventors, college students or anyone else who has work to do can do so without interruption.
***
At least the house of author, Tom Raimbault, isn't like the historic Trivelli house in Mapleview. Before Mary purchased the home from her aunt, there was a tenant who rented the home from Loraine Trivelli. Accounts of her experiences are provided in today's featured writing.

Impressions of a Historic House

Welcome to Mapleview: a peaceful, historic town that is surrounded by miles of forests, lakes, mountains and untouched wilderness. It’s a strange town with its collection of terrible legends and paranormal activity. Much detail is provided in the novel, The Tree Goddess. The story you have picked up details a tenant's experiences at an old, historic house that has been rightfully called, the Trivelli House—as it has been passed down by the family for generations. The house sits high up on a hill and overlooks the Hidden Lake Forest Preserve. Just like the strange town of Mapleview, the Trivelli House has its terrible legend and reputation of paranormal activity.
You are fortunate to be reading this short story. The Tree Goddess only briefly mentions that the tenant, Terri, had some frightening experiences while renting the home before escaping, never to return to Mapleview again. Terri’s experiences are detailed in this story.
***
Terri drove on a Saturday morning through the heavily forested highways with nothing but miles of wilderness and seclusion to surround her. Finally reaching Mapleview Road, she soon found the oversized, historic house and ascended the half-block driveway where Loraine Trivelli had greeted her.
Loraine was a friendly, older woman, perhaps in her early 60s with an air of grace and of following all things that were proper. She led Terri into the home and provided a tour of the place which most people only dream of.
“It’s a house that was built in the 1830s and has been passed down through the generations. As you can see it’s fully furnished, many of the pieces antiques. If you decide to stay, I only ask that you make no changes to the decorating and structure, as this is a historic landmark to the town of Mapleview.”
It was a beautiful home in a quiet town, and just the place for Terri to rediscover her talent for art. How could she turn down such a place?
“So what brings you to Mapleview, if you don’t mind me asking?” Loraine was always curious of her potential tenants.
“I’m an artist, just looking for a quiet place and some inspiration.” Peace and quiet was something that Terri most certainly needed, considering the stress and near nervous breakdown experienced at the company, just outside of Chicago that specialized in biomedical manufacturing. The wirey-thin, middle-aged blonde who served as a punching bag to management and the FDA alike could no longer take the damage. Threats of being fired because of production mishaps, and threats of heavy fines from the FDA inspectors were squeezing the very life out of her. There was no reason to stay as she had other talents and plenty of finances saved up. Many people left the company under similar circumstances; it was just Terri’s turn.
“Oh, I get plenty of artists and writers who stay here for a year or more so they can complete a work.” It seemed to Loraine that her historic house was the ideal place for people like Terri to live, offering peace and quiet in the communion of nature.
But then Terri hinted towards a question, hoping not to offend Loraine. “It’s so nice here and peaceful. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to leave after a year or so.”
Loraine wasn’t going to take Terri’s curiosity personal. Although she desired to keep renters for longer periods, the legend and stigmatism of the house eventually pushed tenants away. She was lucky to have a renter like Terri, who needed a quiet place to stay. Loraine very calmly speculated, “Oh, I suppose people want to move on. Not much happens here in Mapleview. I’m sure after a couple of years; you might want a new environment for inspiration as well.”
Again, the historic house was beautiful and sat in a quiet town. It was just the place for Terri to rediscover her talent for art. How could she turn down such a place? The rental agreement was filled out that very day.
Certainly not expecting inspiration to immediately hit her, Terri spent some time getting acquainted with the historic house and the small, charming town of Mapleview. As a gentle reminder to creativity's subconscious, Terri did set up her oil canvass in the living room, just in front of the old piano with antique vase seated on top. The vase was certainly in need of fresh flowers, and her oil canvass was in need of inspiration.
The Trivelli house overlooks the Hidden Lake Forest Preserve and backs into a narrow, wooded path that descends to the bottom of the forest. Returning from her first nature hike one morning, Terri took sight of the historic house from a distance, and realized that it had been built on throughout the 150 years, or more, since its original construction. She could see the very center of the building which revealed the possible appearance of the home as it would have looked in the 1830s. That was the moment of initial inspiration. The canvass was brought outside, some distance from the house, and the brush strokes began to take form.
It was an interesting painting; the exclusive colors were blue and light-gray, ignoring the lush greens and browns of the forest world. Terri was unable to create a clear, discernable image of the house and attributed the stymie to the fact that she was painting the building as it looked 150 or more years ago. The end product was eerie, dark-toned and suggested a haunted environment. Maybe the inspiration was a bad idea. Terri decided to bring the painting inside and work on it after dinner that night.
It sat in the living room in dim light where Terri could view the painting from the dining room. If she didn’t know any better, there was an air of celebration and welcoming. There was no reason to change the painting as it was well received, and would be a sad thing, indeed, to alter the very beauty captivated in the drawing. But who was receiving this work with such delight. And why the mysterious air of celebration which gave the feeling of welcome, and that of being the center of the evening? After 2 years of hurt emotions from her job at the biomedical manufacturing company; the mysterious feelings of a celebration, welcome and appreciation for her art were gladly received on Terri’s part. She agreed to leave the painting as is, and move on to the next project while deciding that her work should be done in the late afternoon and evening hours.
Retiring late in the evening after what she felt was a much deserved couple glasses of wine, Terri fell into a restful sleep. In her mind and in her dreams, renting that home was the best thing she had ever done and couldn’t wait to create new paintings.
Terri set up a new canvass late in the following afternoon, but it wasn’t yet time to draw. It was better for her to create a spectacular dinner and enjoy some more wine while savoring every moment in the hours that passed. It was a special night indeed, but Terri didn’t know why.
Where did she learn to cook that way? Terri was fantastic! But just who was she fantastic to? This question resulted in the decision to personify the mysterious presence that received her with such welcome. The presence was to be made tall and dark, in a suit while seated at the piano bench. And although the face revealed subtle characteristics of being handsome, the brush strokes made the features barely discernable, similar to the painting of the house.
Terri always wished for such a man in her life. No man back at the biomedical factory in Chicago could compare to him: full of truth, warmth and a power to melt her heart. She had often heard of painters whose characters took on a life of their own. Writers have mentioned similar phenomenon. But the man was the personification of the house. It was he who welcomed her with such generosity and admiration of her work.
***
The following evening there wasn’t time for dinner, perhaps some fruit and a small glass of wine. That night, Terri was to learn of the deep essence of the house, beginning with painting the walls. Occasionally, the wall would reveal skeletal parts along the texture which Terri simply interpreted as a symbolic understanding of the depth of the house. But in the hours of painting, she soon had subtle images of bodies buried behind the walls, and ghostly people trapped behind the surface, pounding to escape. It wasn’t exactly her idea of a beautiful house that welcomed her. Bodies and ghostly people trapped behind the walls suggested something dark and not-so-friendly. Maybe it was best that Terri take a few days off from painting. She had yet to venture into town and get acquainted with the shops, businesses and supposed friendly population that lived in Mapleview.
The following morning, Terri drove about a half-mile into town and sat down for breakfast in a small café. It certainly was a friendly town as evidenced by the waitress who noticed she was new and took the time to get to know her.
Upon mention of renting the historic house, the waitress was alarmed. “You’re staying at that house? How is it?”
The waitress’s reaction was Terri’s first alarm that perhaps there was something wrong with the house rented from Loraine. But outside of her disturbing painting, there was nothing noticeably wrong with house. “It’s okay; beautiful decorating; lots of antiques.”
The waitress looked carefully at Terri as if contemplating whether or not to tell her more. Then she spoke. “The house is supposed to be haunted. I don’t know how true it is, but some guy murdered his wife there back in the 1800s. People rent the house but soon leave because of the paranormal activity.”
“Really? Well is it real, or just a legend?”
“It’s supposed to be real. People say the man who lived there chopped up his wife and hid her throughout the house. And I guess he told police that wolves dragged her off into the woods one cold, winter night.”
It was a disturbing piece of information for Terri that possibly shed light on her recent painting.
Later that night was not to be an evening of painting! Terri needed new inspiration and had abandoned any further intention of getting acquainted with the house. Tomorrow she would spend more time in town and find some landmark or scenery that would provide her new inspiration.
But how dare she sit there and eat dinner? Terri had work to do! The mysterious feelings of guilt made it nearly impossible to enjoy her meal. Someone was angry. Wasn’t she going to paint more?
Terri retired upstairs to her room, early, and tried to catch up on some reading. What was she doing? How could she lay there? There was almost an air of demand that expected her to rise from bed and go to the oil canvass. After an hour of intense feelings of guilt, Terri finally went back downstairs and began to draw. But it was another gruesome painting of a deep, dark hole of trapped souls, held captive by demons. If it weren’t for the disturbing nature, Terri would have tried to sell the paining as it was one of her finest works.
***
For weeks, the torment of being forced to the canvass continued to the point where Terri felt she could not leave the house. She watched the story unfold through the brush strokes of the man who welcomed her with such warmth and appreciation for her art. He had no problems attracting beautiful women who immediately fell in love with him. But the women were under deception and realized their demise only when it was too late. He would often torture them in unspeakable ways, allowing the torture to be the means of their deaths. But the story didn’t make sense to Terri as she knew of the legend of the house. This man was supposed to be married; and as far as Terri knew, the small town of Mapleview had a population of maybe 100 people back in the 1800s. What was she seeing drawn out on canvass?
It was the final, two paintings that forced Terri into realizing she was in danger. The first painting was that of an unclothed woman, standing upright in a restrained position with a cloth sack over her head. Nearly all the flesh of her lower torso, thighs, and legs had been removed so all that could be seen was muscle. A large lake of blood ran throughout the floor. Was this woman still alive? Quickly removing the flesh, as in less than a minute or so, would have been the only way she could be conscious of the pain. But why the cloth sack over her head? The burning curiosity was overpowering to the point of sick obsession. Although it was an hour past midnight, Terri began to make another detailed painting of the face behind the cloth sack. Who was it, and what was she feeling?
By dawn, Terri stood in front of the painting in pure terror, studying her own face behind the cloth sack. She was shrouded in darkness with the sensation of her lower body flesh removed. The Terri who made the painting had gone days without eating while living on only a few hours of sleep. She was obsessed with the stories behind the paintings to the point of nearly killing her. The Terri in the painting was highly distressed and yet unable to scream out of weakness from the rapid amount of blood loss. And the Terri who made the painting was equally as weak, unable to scream herself.
With what little life she had left in her, Terri gathered up all the paintings and carried them down into the cellar. Whoever would rent the house in the future should know of the presence of terror. Discovering the paintings would communicate the reality that Loraine tried to keep a secret.
Terri never saw or heard one shred of ghostly activity in that house. But the presence had tracked her through the paintings and had the intentions of torturing and slowly driving the life out of her.
Good thing for Terri; she escaped at the last minute. But what of the next person? Hopefully the paintings would be found.

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The Creatures throughout our Solar System

2012-01-13T02:55:00.000-06:00

Hello All:

I had a little fun with my two girls last night afterdinner. Like most kids, both girls are developing a fascination with astronomyand the other planets in our solar system. When my youngest daughter mentionedhow sad it is that Pluto was stripped of its planetary status; her older sisterchimed her two cents by mentioning that when standing on Pluto, the sun simplylooks like a bright star in the sky.

"It's really cold on Pluto." I added. "It'sway too cold for people and most forms of life. But Pluto does have thePlutonian Zistles."

"Plutonian Zistles? What are those?"

I began to describe the theoretical creatures of NationalGeographic's, Roy A. Gallant, and then pulled out my phone. "Don't take myword for it. Let's look it up online!" Shortly after, I found my oldwriting (featured today) titled, the Creatures throughout our Solar System.Scrolling down to the bottom of the page, I found a picture of a PlutonianZistle and let my older daughter read all about it.

"Cool! They can leap in the air!" exclaimed mytwelve-year-old while reading. "Oh my God! This guy actually talked tothem! He used some kind of hyper dimensional resonator!" And then she gotto the end of the article. "You posted that Dad... This is your story!"

But it was all in good fun. We checked out the OucherPouchers, Blinker-Roos and Martian Waterseekers.

***

I recalled the writing early this morning that gave accountof my visitations to fantastic places where unheard of creatures were found. Itwas difficult not to think of this while sitting in my casted circle andinvoking the element of Air. Recall earlier this week my mention of practicingthe banishing of this element from my circle. But this morning I decided it wastime to invoke Air.

What made me decide? Well I was sort of haphazardly goingthrough my workout this morning, not exactly totally into it. It was still aworkout, but I just didn’t have it in my heart. In my opinion, when someoneengages in the art of casting circles and invoking elements, there can be noslipshoddiness. The mind cannot be lazy! As a good boot to my ass, I toldmyself, "You're invoking Air today! Today is the day! Are you going tostart off with a so-so workout or are you going to do it like you meanit?"

This self-announcement helped put myself back in the rightframe of mind for a good workout. Again, there can be no going through themotions.

After the workout; I casted a good, solid circle in which Icleared my head and used the moment to reflect upon my frame of mind. Butsomething wasn't right. Maybe I wasn't ready to do this. Invoking elements isunfamiliar territory and something I had never done before.

I wasted not another second with hesitation. In this frameof mind, I would be sure to concentrate and follow through with everything likeI meant it. I reached for my micro piece of flash fiction that invoked theelement of Air. Then I called it into my circle to be active in its presence.

But you see; it's not enough to simply poetically describethe element of Air and understand it as gusty winds that come in with spring.It's not enough to call it into the circle. I wanted to feel and experience itspresence. To do so, I closed my eyes and journeyed to the very land where windoriginates. Silly me; the raw force and spirit of wind doesn't originate fromthe friendly, gusty winds of spring. Wind comes from the land where my polarbears live, the Arctic. In this realm that wasnow part of my circle, a terrific force of wind like never felt before nearlyripped through my body. The sound was more than a howl! Rather, it was aconstant deafening explosion which picked up blankets of ice and snow that spikedat my face with unbelievable velocity. It was one of the most dramaticperformances I had ever witnessed. At some point in this realm I sat on theedge of large hill to continue experiencing the Arctic wind. This is the forcethat needs to be in my circles. When calling upon Air, I will venture to thisrealm and harness its power. For now, I will spend the upcoming weeks justfurther acquainting myself with it.

I believe that acquainting myself with this element will besimilar to when I began casting circles. At first, they were only circles. Butas the weeks went by, I could feel them getting energetically stronger to thepoint that they are now transformative of me. The same might hold true withinvoking elements. For now I simply journeyed to the realm of where Iunderstood air to come from and experienced it. Soon it will have an impact onme and I will learn how to harness this force.

Of course the element of Air was banished before breakingdown my circle. I'm really excited to go back tomorrow morning. I wonderwhat Fire will be like.

***

As mentioned before, my experience with Air reminded me of alittle fictional piece I had written a couple years ago, the Creaturesthroughout our Solar System. I believe visiting the different planets andcommunicating with the creatures in my imagination gave me the needed practicefor venturing to realms where nature's elements can be found. Of course today'sfeatured writing is only fiction. But working with elements is very real andcan cause damage if not done properly.

Have a great weekend. Why not dust off your hyperdimensional resonator for a voyage throughout the solar system?

Oh, be sure to check out Friday's update to the Nude Art page!

The Creatures throughout our Solar SystemIt might be easy to conclude that a hyper-dimensional resonator is some nifty, new video game enjoyed by the gaming world. Anyone who uses such a device might speak about traveling to other times or far-out places that are considered unreachable by humans. But a hyper-dimensional resonator is not a game or some latest craze in the gamers’ world. It's an actual device that has been used since ancient times.
I've spoken about the one that I currently own, but have never really used it. I was unsure what to do with such a device and wondered if there were any consequences.
Hyper-dimensional resonators are subtle with their effects. There are no flashes of light, sudden storms, or objects around you starting to fade away as the power of the device gets stronger and stronger. You simply notice a gradual, mental pull away from the current reality you reside in. But it soon becomes as real as the place we are in now.
Recently I stumbled across an old picture taken from Roy A Gallant's National Geographic book titled Our Universe. It was a picture of an Oucher Poucher: a creature that resides on the physical world of Venus. The creature called to mind many of the other creatures that Roy A Gallant discovered residing throughout our solar system. I certainly don't have a spaceship to journey to these dangerous places such as Venus. But I do have a hyper-dimensional resonator.
Roy A Gallant's creatures often appear on the Internet in game developer websites or personal blogs of people who like to ridicule these creatures. I suppose I could take the pictures of these creatures and copy word-for-word what was written in the National Geographic book and add my own comments. But what if I could do more? What if I could find these creatures and possibly communicate with them. What stories would they share with me? We might learn so much more from them.
I fired up my hyper-dimensional resonator and tracked a frequency that had a peculiar effect on the things around me. I wanted to take a tour throughout our solar system to find the creatures discovered by Roy A Gallant -- his Oucher Pouchers, Binker-roos and Stovebellies etc.
The first stop was the molten-hot and dense environment of the planet Venus. I've written about the ethereal planet of Venus, but these strange creatures that go by the name of Oucher Pouchers reside on the physical planet of Venus. When finding an Oucher Poucher, my first question was very obvious. "Why do Oucher Pouchers prefer to live on a planet with temperatures of 900 degrees Fahrenheit?"
The Oucher Poucher spoke in a roaring, monstrous voice -- almost like a lion roaring. He told me that anything less than 700 degrees was too cold for them. They tried Mercury, but at night the temperatures can reach -330 degrees. With the greenhouse effect, the temperature on Venus stays ideal for them.
Just what did this Oucher Poucher mean by saying "they tried Mercury"? Through further conversation I found out that Oucher Pouchers are not from this solar system. They originated on a planet very much like Venus, but the star their planet orbited was dying. Where-as Earth creatures would die with the sudden increase in heat from a dying sun, Oucher Pouchers only noticed a slight increase that felt good for them. But they knew that their star wouldn't last forever. They searched for the perfect planet until they found Venus. There was no struggle in taking this world because with the exception of the Oucher Pouchers, Venus is void of life.
Oucher Pouchers are a very interesting biological creation. They feed on rocks and melted metals. Although pouch-like, their bodies feel like stone, but their feet are still sensitive to the extreme temperatures of Venus's surface. If an Oucher Poucher stays too long on the ground, his or her foot will feel the extreme pain and may be inclined to jump high in the air while screaming "Ouch". Which brings about their interesting method of travel: the Oucher Poucher inflates its pouch-like bodies and bounces high off the ground.
Our next stop is the more bearable environment of Mars. With no extreme heat or heavy pressure from a greenhouse effect, it's easy to see why Earth-people often fancy at the idea of improving the environment of Mars and colonizing there. On Mars, I was in search of the famous Martian Waterseeker. I found one which was a bit frightened of me at first because I resembled a mutated Martian that dominated the planet over a century ago.
In talking to the Martian Waterseeker I realized that I had been viewing Roy A Gallant's creatures as simply animals. But these creatures have been in existence for millions of years and are long-time evolved. The Martian Waterseeker was a highly intelligent creature that had, for some reason, been an object of discrimination simply because it didn't look like the Martians. Martians thought that Martian Waterseekers were stupid animals that were dying off. But little did they know that societies of Martian Waterseekers resided in caves deep in the ground where they had a seemingly endless supply of water.
Martians who went extinct towards the middle of the 20th century were highly knowledgeable on melting ice and irrigating water from the polar caps to their farms. They maintained lush marshes of vegetation for eating and providing oxygen. But the frozen water supply began to rapidly diminish thereby causing extinction of the Martians.
Why didn't the Martian Waterseekers step in and help the dying Martians? It was because Martians tried to exterminate any and all Martian Waterseekers, not realizing that they held the key to survival on the planet. Martians did not understand that the intelligent Waterseekers had oceans of water deep in the ground and lived off vegetation underground.
I was allowed to enter one of the caves on Mars, but could not go down far enough to see large cities of Martian Waterseekers.
When above ground, the Waterseeker's parasol tail can protect its entire body from ultraviolet radiation. And its large ears can keep it warm at night.
One of the things that disappointed classic science fiction and horror writer, H.P Lovecraft, were other writers' accounts of alien creatures that were very Earth-like. One of the reasons he produced his story "The Color out of Space" was to illustrate alien entities that could not be perceived.
You don't have to try and perceive something invisible to understand the existence of Binker-roos who live on the icy moon Europa of Jupiter. But you do need to understand that these are creatures unlike Humans, Oucher Pouchers or Martian Waterseekers. The Binker-roo is somewhat of a mobile plant. Since its green, it gets its energy by photosynthesis in the sunlight. Because of this, the Binker-roo does not need a mouth or nose!
For more energy, the Binker-roo has some kind of conductive coil on its back that converts the electromagnetic energy from Jupiter into electricity. And since Europa is a frozen ocean, the Binker-roo has hoofed-like feet that resemble ice skates giving it the ability to glide across the ice.
It was very difficult trying to find a way to communicate with a Binker-roo that I found on Europa. Needless to say I was unlike anything the Binker-roo had ever seen, so it was afraid of me. I found that the Binker-roo communicated by transmitting electrical signals through the air with its coils. My hyper-dimensional resonator was able to interpret these signals into recognizable words. And that's when I learned of what worries Binker-roos the most.
This particular Binker-roo suspected that I was one of the intelligent reptilian fish that reside under the ice of the ocean of Europa. It believed that I had somehow broken through the ice and was there to eat Binker-roos. Binker-roos can see beneath the sheet of ice that stands between them and the ocean and they can see the hostile, aggressive reptilian fish that are trapped underneath. These reptilian fish live on plants in the ocean of Europa, and constantly think of ways of breaking the ice to get to the Binker-roos. None have ever broken through, but if it ever happens, it may spell doom for the Binker-roos.
I told the Binker-roo of Earth's plan to one day land on Europa and penetrate the ocean in search of life. This deeply upset the Binker-roo, and he let me know there may be a war between them and humans if we ever invade Europa to let the reptilian fish free. I wasn't quite sure what he meant, but somehow there is a weapon of destruction they can use with the coils on their backs. I wonder why they don't use this on the reptilian fish if they ever break through the ice.
There is not much to discuss about the Jellyblimps and Swordtales that reside in the skies of Jupiter. The planet Jupiter itself is way too dangerous to live on. Anything that lives on Jupiter must live far off the surface.
Jellyblimps are creatures that have large gas bags that fill up, enabling the Jellyblimp to float through the atmosphere of Jupiter. It’s a difficult life -- not only because a Jellyblimp cannot sleep too long before it hits ground, but also because of dangerous Swordtales that take great pleasure in breaking the gas bags of the Jellyblimps to eat. I really could not spend much time there to talk to either of these creatures. I had no way of flying or floating to stay off the surface of Jupiter.
The surface of Saturn’s moon, Titan, is icy and the surrounding environment is methane. For millions of years, the Stovebelly has evolved with one purpose in mind: to stay warm! By eating the ice throughout the moon and breathing the methane gas, their internal organs somehow create a chemical reaction of fire in their bellies! And if this isn’t enough, the Stovebelly can use this energy to blast off the surface of Titan to land in another area.
I didn’t get the feeling that communication was possible with these creatures. I would consider them to be alien-like polar bears that roam the surface of Titan, breaking up the ice to eat it. And a very peculiar sight I noticed was a group of small half-fish / half-salamanders called Fishimanders. They often emerge from the water to congregate around a Stovebelly who might be radiating heat at the moment. Unlike a polar bear on Earth that would devour these creatures lying along the shore, the Stovebelly isn’t the least bit interested. The Stovebelly is only in constant search of ice to munch on to make more flames in its belly.
On Pluto we are once again challenged with strange, intelligent creatures whose existence is unlike anything we could have imagined. The Plutonian Zistle is nothing more than a living ice crystal.
Temperatures of near -400 degrees Fahrenheit cause electricity in a Plutonian Zistle to flow throughout its construction bringing it to life. They can mobilize themselves by sending electrical charges to the ground, helping them bounce 20 Meters high in Pluto’s low-gravitational field.
Plutonian Zistles take advantage of their electrical energy to radio signals to one another – much in the same way that Binker-roos communicate. I was able to use my hyper-dimensional resonator as a translator and was able to communicate with a group of Zistles, who I found were very eager to communicate and most curious about me.
Plutonian Zistles live for hundreds of thousands of years, and needless to say are quite happy living on the un-Godly cold planet, Pluto. Any place warmer, the electrical current that flows freely in their bodies would no longer flow, causing them to hibernate. And if it got any warmer, the Plutonian Zistle would melt. Frosty the Snowman could most-certainly relate to a Zistle's concern of melting.
I asked a group of Zistles of what they thought about Pluto being stripped of its title of being a planet. They didn’t seem the least bit concerned because whether Pluto is a planet, moo, or asteroid; it’s still home for the Plutonian Zistles.
Then I heard that Zistle-like creatures exist throughout the universe! Many times a colony of Zistles from Pluto’s moon, Charon, or some approaching comet, will escape gravity to land on Pluto. This is a stunt that is very dangerous because the Zistle runs the risk of being shattered upon impact or even traveling towards the sun and face long-term hibernation or even melting.
As you can see our solar system is full of wonderful forms of life. We shouldn’t be looking for creatures that look like us. We should realize that elsewhere, creatures could be quite different.
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Don't Let Them Get You!

2012-01-11T02:55:00.000-06:00

Hello All:

Apparently the whole world wasaffected by the beautiful, full moon that slowly inched its way across the skylast night. I write today's introduction on Monday morning which followedJanuary's lunar peak activity over the weekend. Examining the blog stats, I seethat someone in the world entered an interesting search phrase last night toaccess my blog, something to do with swimming nude in the moonlight. Whoeverthis person was, I truly hope you followed through with your desire and enjoyedthe experience. Nothing can describe the beauty of wet nudity, showered by therays of the moon.

As for me, the full moon had quitean interesting effect during the predawn hours when I awoke for the day.Although still considered nighttime, the house was softly illuminated by theambient lunar glow which penetrated the drapes and opened windows. Glancingoutside while fixing a cup of tea, I was surprised to see snow.

"Snow..." I whispered tomyself and so happy to see it. With as much as I love winter, I am sodisappointed with this year's season in Chicago.But what was this? Upon a closer look, there was no snow in the backyard.Rather it was the bright rays of moonlight, scattering along the frosted grassand bushes outside. The entire backyard had been transformed into a magical,lunar wonderland!

But I had other business to takecare of; that pressing, urging business that we all feel when first waking up.While doing this, I forgot the lunar wonderland outside and began to havelittle flashbacks of the previous night's quest of seeking photos of creepyextra terrestrials looking through people's windows. By the time I returned tothe family room after doing my business, I was fearful of aliens just secondsfrom abducting me. They're so sneaky and fast. They can materialize through thewalls and paralyze a victim as he or she is being carried off to the spaceshipfor horrific medical examinations!

Now sitting in the darkened familyroom with nothing more than the rays of the moon to guide me, I finallyrealized that I have a dreadful phobia of alien abductions!

I suppose it's all my doing. As aboy I read about all the famous alien abductions—The UFO incident with Bettyand Barney Hill, the Andreasson Affair, the Pascagoula Kidnapping—I bombardedand brainwashed myself with this information. I had been exposed to this somuch that I truly believed that alien abductions were normal, everydaybusiness. I was next! They were coming for me!

This concern only sparked furtherresearch into the topic. I read pseudo-scientific magazines that studied andpresented findings to the reader. To this very day, I can tell you all aboutthe aliens—more strange knowledge on my bookshelves of the bizarre that anyhorror fiction writer should know.

Sitting in my moonlit chair, thehouse was under attack by a squad of bug-like, inorganic, extra-terrestrialcreatures. Their long fingers clawed against the outside screens of my windows.They scurried across the rooftop where they would find the chimney and drop inthrough the fireplace. In fact there were some already in my house, tiptoeingthrough the darkened corners and ready to hex me with their spell of paralysis.

These are the moments that delighta horror fiction writer. And I owe much thanks to the moon for providing such adazzling, magical, lunar wonderland. The rays from the moon certainly hold thestuff that dreams are made of. I should have stepped outside into the backyardto absorb and collect every ray that possesses the ability to trigger powerfulfantasies. None-the-less, I still feel the effects from this morning's predawnexperience many hours later. There's what I would describe as an invisible,bright white light stabbing the area around my eyes; sort of an aural moonburn. Now at work, I can easily slip back to those moments of this morning tobe back with the moon for more dreams.

By next month I should create alittle ritual in which I do step outside to be in that lunar wonderland andcollect massive amounts of lunar rays to provide energy for writing. Maybe bythen we might have snow. I could cast one of those circles that I've beenpracticing every day and use it to operate in my own separate reality.

Speaking of circles, I mentioned acouple weeks ago of maintaining this recent practice. Circles, as you probablyalready know, are ideal for creating a safe environment to function innon-ordinary reality. I've been meaning to get skilled in this art for I wishto invoke the elements later this year.

Since doing so, I've learned thatcasting circles provides so much more than originally bargained for. Mytechnique involves a rather quirky, geometric ritual in which I precisely placequartz stones along the circumference of a circle and then expand it so that Ihave what I feel is the perfect circle. Through the weeks, these circles havegotten stronger and increasingly solid (energy-wise, not geometrically). Iactually feel at home within my circle. The circle has a mirror effect withsort of a psycho-analytical phenomenon.

"Oh, that's why I'm feelingthis way... Of course..." By using the self-reflective power of my circle,I've learned to quiet certain thoughts and correct behaviors.

I feel so comfortable and skilledwith casting solid circles that I've began practicing the banishing ofelements. I suppose being a writer; I felt it necessary to create my owninvocation to the element of Air. It's nothing less than a micro piece of flashfiction that describes the gusty winds of March and how it seems to bring innew life with the birth of spring. It’s further described as being somethinglively and playful, and that people like to open their windows to let thespringtime breeze in. Then I invite this force into my circle, bounded by ownwill of course!

But I've yet to actually call andinvoke Air! As mentioned before, if calling such a force into my own circle, Ibetter know how to get rid of it. That's why the reverse-invocation ofbanishing Air and sending it back to where it originated has been written. Thisbanishing is practiced every day within my circle.

Perhaps I can do something similarwith the magical rays of the moon next month. But I wonder; would thisrepresent one of the ways for me to safely understand the element of Fire?

***

Well, enough of my magic essay!Today's story was inspired by those moments of this morning when my house wasunder attack by extra terrestrials. I've written of creatures from other worldsbefore, but nothing that embraces the sheer terror of alien abduction horror.To write this story, I go back to those days in my youth when I read all thealien abduction tales and the pseudo-science magazines that were probably justcreated to scare people. Everything we can possibly think of to horrify us ofalien abductions is in this story.

Don’t Let Them GetYou!

Worked for nearly two years, Paulreally wished he could have changed his job schedule from night hours to day.But the company hired and needed him for second shift—to come in at 4:00 in theafternoon and work until 12:30am. This was somewhat of an inconvenience forPaul. He worked an hour away from home which meant traveling lonely, darkenedhighways while struggling to stay awake.

And this is why Paul stopped at asmall gas station that was opened late at night. It was located out in themiddle of nowhere and provided much relief as the familiar sign was seen and hepulled into the parking lot. Paul needed a cup of coffee to help wake himselfup, maybe even get into a well-lit environment to pull out of a disturbing,dreamy, late night thought. For you see, while traveling in the night, Paul hadsome unpleasant flashbacks of his early youth of things he'd rather forget. Whydid memory serve these incidents with such clarity? They should have beenburied in his subconscious and eventually purged from memory. Isn't that whathappens with early childhood memories?

As a boy, the dreadful mushroompeople were an unwelcome presence for little Paul. At least this is what theyreminded him of, mushroom people. Thin and dark gray with long, nimble fingers;long faces with small mouths and black, bug-like eyes; they possessed sort of awaxy, mushroom like appearance. As a boy, they made no effort to disguisethemselves. They watched Paul from his bedroom closet or would walk in a roomto try and take him as he played with toys. These hideous people wereresponsible for causing little Paul to hate being alone. The solution wassimple. Stay close to Mother or Father or the mushroom people would take him.

But it was impossible to stay closeto Mother and Father while being forced to bathe. "You need to take ashower after dinner tonight." Mother announced.

"Awe Mom, do I have to. I tookone yesterday morning."

"That's what we do in thiscountry, Son" replied Father. We bathe daily. You might as well get usedto it."

"Right!" chimed in Mother"You've been playing outside all day and need to get cleaned up. Showerafter dinner!"

This was not good. The mushroompeople had been watching little Paul all day. There were definitely some closecalls as they nearly closed in on him. Surely the things would find him in theshower and there would be no escape.

Why did showers require curtains tobe closed? It was bad enough that Mother and Father expected little Paul toleave the door closed. But how could he see if something was creeping up fromoutside the curtain? He once left it open but caused the floor to get wet. Thisresulted in a serious scolding from Mother and Father.

Little Paul could do this! He onlyneeded to wet his hair, rub in shampoo and quickly rinse it off. He couldsponge his body down with soap and washcloth, rinse off and be done. Then hecould return to the safety of the family room where the mushroom people wouldavoid.

But in the shower, the blotches ofsoap on the wall reminded little Paul of their faces. The patterns on the tileclearly revealed cruel, mushroom people with sinister expressions and maliciousintent. Paul did his best to ignore these things and carefully rinsed the soapfrom his face by applying water with the hands.

That's when he was slammed with theparalyzing fear brought on by the most unwelcome sight. Thin, nimble fingersgrasped around the shower curtain and slowly pulled them open. The mushroompeople had found him and there was no escape! With adrenaline overload and thespikes of overwhelming terror crawling up his spine and neck, Paul tried to letout a scream. But his voice could not escape. He was somehow muted so that onlya barely whisper could be produced. And there was no running away! LittlePaul's body turned to ice as the room around him appeared to lock and pauseas-if an individual frame of a movie.

A darkened portal opened on thewall so that the bathroom was joined by a strange room filled with moremushroom people. Body frozen, little Paul was floated into this room where helearned that these people were nothing less than evil doctor creatures whosubjected people to the most unspeakable, terrifying medical procedures.

By the time the incident completedand Paul was returned to the shower where normal reality resumed, not more thanthirty minutes had passed. How would Mother and Father believe him? It was adark memory that Paul carried with him for many years.

***

The well-lit store and bell thatrang as the door opened didn't quite snap Paul out of his spell as expected. Somethingweird was happening to him, that foreign feeling of everything being distant,reality turning into nothing more than an insignificant collection of pixelsthat disguised a truth or reality behind it. The smell of coffee was certainlya recognizable memory. He came for coffee, so Paul hesitated not a moment inwalking over and pouring himself a cup.

In the late night hours, Paul wouldhave preferred to fix a cup of half decaf and half regular. But due to theovertired mind that seemed to be playing tricks on him, Paul felt it best topour a cup of straight, regular java.

Paul wouldn't dare let the steamfrom the cup take on any strange shapes that would remind him of what he fearedmost. But he really should have skipped the splash of cream. For it accumulatedat the top in such a way to subtly suggest a face that one would wish toforget.

Oh no! It was happening! All those bizarreperceptions, weird sensations along with little, unrelated occurrence to serveas indicators all warned Paul of the unpleasant truth in the not so distantfuture. It was probably about to happen any moment.

There must have been a look ofdesperation in Paul's face as he approached the old woman who worked thenightshift behind the cash register. He needed her, a reminder of Mommy whokept him safe from those awful people. But how can you communicate such a needto a stranger? This was the problem. No one would ever believe Paul if he triedto tell.

"Thank you very much and havea nice night." The cashier gave Paul his change and presented a littlesmile in hopes that a bit of friendliness might safely carry the obviouslydisturbed man to his destination that evening.

And then Paul stepped back outsideinto the night. It was the turning point, the trap that snatched and locked himinto the next stage of altered reality. They were coming for Paul and there wasno escape.

What Paul needed to do was get homeand get to sleep. He pulled out of the parking lot and continued along thedarkened highway. He drove some 15MPH over the speed limit. A police officerwould only be a welcome presence that could save him.

Suddenly, an eerie light drifted ina zigzag formation across the sky and seemed to hover some thousand feet abovePaul's vehicle.

"Oh no..." Paul's voicequivered as his eyes barely produced a tear. His breathing increased along withheart rate. It was really happening. He remembered the zigzag lights fromnearly two decades ago on a camping trip. They traveled in these things andwere able to track Paul's location. The presence of these lights onlyguaranteed another capturing. Paul could not let that happen; not after theterrible things he experienced last time. They were so cruel and coldhearted;appeared delighted in simply torturing him.

Originally traveling 15MPH over thespeed limit, Paul now floored the accelerator so that the car roared to avelocity of an additional 20. He was now traveling 35 MPH over the speed limiton a dark, remote highway. Where was a cop when he needed one? A speedingticket was possibly the only thing that could save him.

But it wasn't the flash ofheadlights that Paul soon noticed in his rearview mirror. Accelerating onlytriggered a close pursuit by the object. It made a high-pitched noise thatlowered in octave as it came near Paul's vehicle. Then the sound was followedby a loud click that seemed to suggest disabled power.

In this moment it was difficult forPaul to understand what was happening. Did the object cut power and somehowfeed off the energy of the pursued vehicle. Or did the object cut power toPaul's vehicle so that it was under guidance of whatever was out there. Thesecond theory seemed most likely as Paul had the sensation of doing everything,exactly, as they wanted.

He knew what they were. As a littleboy, Paul didn't understand what these creatures were. But as he got older, heidentified them as aliens or extra terrestrials. They fly in spaceships. Andthere are countless reports of other unfortunate people like Paul who getabducted by these humanoids for various reasons. Sometimes the experiences areenlightening and very positive for people. But there was nothing benevolent ofthe people who regularly took Paul. They were there to hurt him and performterrifying, painful experiments.

Just then, the face of one of themushroom people hung its head over the windshield and looked in at Paul.

Paul screamed in terror andattempted to swerve the thing off the roof. But not more than after the firstswerve, there was a peculiar alteration in time/space transition. It can bedescribed with the sound of a tick. "Tick...Tick......Tick............Tick........................Tick................................................Tick!"With each tick, the next second grew longer and longer so that the car slowedto a stop and pulled over on the side. For Paul, experiencing the phenomenonwas like viewing stationary images with each tick. Although annoying, eachframe told the story of how the car was arrested and guided to the side of theroad. They didn't even have to open the door. They simply reached their gray,long, nimble fingers through the windshield to pull Paul through and then floathim into the spaceship that was only a few feet on the road in front of him.

Once the crew of extra terrestrialsand Paul were inside the ship, it apparently took off at enormous velocity forthe sky as the overbearing pressure of liftoff could be felt. Down below, itmust have looked like an abandoned vehicle was left on the side of the road,driver nowhere to be found.

Oh, but Paul was somewhere. He wasthousands of feet in the air onboard an extra terrestrial spaceship to betortured by sinister creatures. No one could hear him scream except for thealiens who delighted in the sound.

Aliens like their victims to be naked.About a half dozen of the mushroom creatures wasted not a moment in removingPaul's clothes. From there, they used the power of levitation to drift nakedPaul into an eight foot tall glass tank where he was lowered in.

"Oh no! Not the tank!"Paul cried out. "Please! You can't do this to me! You don'tunderstand!"

Oh, but they understood. The procedurewas part of the series of experiments. They seemed to laugh like children asPaul desperately pounded in a means to communicate with them. The glass wasthick and unbreakable, soon to have a top sealed over. From there, jets of coldwater shot up from holes on the floor. The tank rapidly filled with water—coldwater, not warm!

Paul could only cry. He was tootired to deal with this crap. The last time this happened, he truly felt likehe would die.

Higher and higher the cold waterfilled. Soon it was up to his neck as Paul enjoyed every last breath, realizingthat it would be necessary to use mental control to fight his need for air.With the last breath of air sucked in, the water completely surrounded him.Paul was vacuum sealed in glass tank of cold water with no way to breathe orescape.

And what do you suppose the aliensdid? They walked away and left him in there to float and deal with his anxietyalone. From what Paul could see, they were doing preparations for additionaltests, really bad ones for sure.

Paul tried to mentally call out."Please, I need air!" He would slowly exhale to provide relief."You can't leave me in here. Humans need air!"

But the aliens didn't care. Theyweren't there to communicate or be helpful.

At some point, Paul must have lostconsciousness; for he awoke in the partially drained tank. But the ordealwasn't over! As Paul recalled from last time, two additional fills with waterto cause unconsciousness were necessary to complete the test. Exhausted, hecould only endure the agony.

Waking up after the third iterationin the tank, Paul was finally levitated out and across the examining room ofthe spaceship. He was weak, shaking cold and not looking forward to whateverother horror was about to take place.

The next test involved a coupledozen large needles. Although the aliens had some power and ability to levitatePaul, they chose to suspend in air by puncturing his skin with large needles—throughthe shoulders, through the back, across the chest, in the arms, through thebacks of thighs. They needles, themselves, were suspended by strong wires. AsPaul hung there in agony, he resembled a puppet that had yet to have his feetset on the floor. And there was something else. The wires and needles wereconnected to equipment that could generate electrical current. At any giventime, the controlling alien would initiate a painful voltage through Paul'sback, arm or leg.

Invasive procedures are often doneduring alien abductions to collect semen samples or carefully inspect theinsides of the person sampled. But the aliens who captured Paul had no otherreason to perform the next procedure other than to be mean.

A needle-like device was insertedstraight into Paul’s abdomen. Imagine the sharp sting of such an objectpenetrating your belly button! But there was even more torture! A small,flexible medical hose was somehow attached to this needle-like device and begandrawing blood from Paul. For some reason it was terribly painful! And thedevice had a power to send signals throughout the abdomen and generatesensations of nausea.

Paul was so sick, ready to vomitand feeling ever squeamish at the sight of his own blood being removed throughthe navel. To make matters worse, it was horribly painful. And from what hecould see, the blood was being accumulated in an open glass tank.

The alien operating the procedurewas so mean that it sent a series of high-voltage current through the needlesthat suspended Paul's body. Having the subject’s attention, the alien nextdipped a sponge into the open tank of water, lifted it and squeezed to allowthe blood to dribble back in.

"Lift... Squeeze... Dribble...Lift... Squeeze... Dribble." Just moments before Paul lost consciousness(his forth time while being onboard the ship) the alien brought theblood-saturated sponge over to him and began to rub it on Paul's face and neck.

I mean there was just no reason—at all—for any of the procedures takingplace on the spaceship, other than to physically and mentally torture an Earthperson.

***

The next thingPaul remembered was staggering down the ramp of the spaceship and towards hiscar under the escort of the mushroom people. He was so weak and tired. His bodyhurt everywhere. Upon being guided into the seat of his car, Paul only wishedto go to sleep right there on the road. The car had been left running and theclock now displayed 3:22am.

Drifting in andout of consciousness, Paul watched as the spaceship took off for the sky. Hereached for the now cold cup of coffee in the console. Maybe that would givehim the energy to drive home.

So if you ever seethe glowing lights in the sky, or happen to see one the creatures that are notfrom this world; run, run as fast as you can! They will only hurt you!

Conjured Lover

2012-01-09T02:55:00.000-06:00

Hello All:

Just the other morning, I wasdriving to work and about to merge onto another highway. But I was curious ofthe traffic conditions. Were there any accidents or incidents that could havecaused a back-up or delay?

Just then, I thought of the perfectsolution. Perhaps there was a little sylph nearby who could have quicklyscouted some miles down the road and clued me in to the roadway conditions.Sylphs, in case you are unaware, are small, invisible, fairy-like creaturesthat belong to the Air. What makes sylphs unique is the fact that they enjoybeing around people and communicating with them. If one looks carefully enough,a sylph can actually be seen in a cloud or swirl of smoke. They can also bedetected through unexplained movement around hanging items such as thin sheersor thin, lightweight decorations.

Sylphs have the reputation of beingwilling to help people. As long as one can open him or herself up, it ispossible to telepathically communicate with a sylph. Simply think as ifaddressing a sylph with your question in mind. My technique involves repeatingthe song from The Little Prince except changing the words so that I sing,"Oh little sylph from who knows where; are you a star or are you aprayer?" While softly singing this, I held in mind my need to know thetraffic conditions some miles down the road. I didn't speak this directly in mymind, only had the thought as a "feeling".

And what do you suppose the sylphtold me? She said, "Why don't you open Google Maps on your phone and getthe traffic conditions?”

What sort of answer was that? Whata lazy sylph! But I guess it was the quickest answer that she could have givenme at the moment.

Later that day, I had a pressingquestion in mind of some mysterious circumstance in my life. I softly sang mylittle tune, "Oh little sylph from who knows where; are you a star or areyou prayer?"

Whatever sylph was nearby was notof much help. She only called to mind the Ouija board function of my blogstats. I've found that examining random search phrases or peculiar posts thatare accessed, I can get clairvoyant answers to questions I have. The littlesylph told me, "Well doesn't your blog have a Ouija board function? Whydon't you ask your blog?"

So is this the way sylphs are? Ithought they are supposed to be helpful. Maybe I haven't perfected thetechnique of working with elemental creatures of Air.

***

As promised last week, today I havea little story about conjuring up a lover by opening the portal of fantasy.What is this portal of fantasy? Maybe the sylphs taught the main character howto do this. It's quite an interesting combination.

Conjured Lover

If it happened to you, you'dcertainly understand the addiction. Similar to eagerly awaiting that importantemail and obsessively checking the inbox, Warrencouldn't go more than twenty minutes without asking a nearby sylph if what hewaited for was happening. If the furnace kicked on and the curtains blew, itsuggested the possibility of sylph being present.

Sylphs, in case you are unaware,are magical, fairy-like creatures that are as transparent as the Air theybelong to. The Air is their world and domain. But they have a tendency tointeract with people on a telepathic medium and even assist them. Do you havesome pressing question? Try asking a sylph who could be nearby. Speak yourquestion in the mind, and the magical creature will travel through the Air andquickly return with the answer. Sylphs are inconceivably fast. They are so fastthat they have short-term memory so inquiries must be simple.

"So is she there, yet?"asked Warren.

"No, not yet." repliedthe sylph.

The recent experiences were sofantastic that Warrencould hardly believe them. It just had to be a near hallucination triggered bysome hopeful fantasy. But the experiences were so real, nearly frightening. Thewoman knew how to do these things, even taught Warren how to do it himself through sometelepathic means. What were her reasons? What was she doing to him?

Not more than ten minutes afterasking a sylph the question, Warrenspoke out to another one that was nearby. "How about now? Is she doingit?"

"No!" replied a nearbysylph.

Warren definitely had an obsession. Thisobsession could possibly burn out the telepathic connection that he shared withthis woman. Eventually he'd grow sick of it. Or perhaps she would get tired ofhis constant thinking of her. It was best to forget and give it a rest.

Nearly two hours passed as Warren kept theexperiences out of his head. He didn't think of the woman and he ignored anypossible presences of nearby sylphs. But before tucking in bed for the night,he just had to ask, "Is she doing it now?"

"No, it doesn't look thatway." replied a nearby sylph.

Perhaps tonight was a night thatthe woman didn't feel up to it. Considering the nature of the experiences,actually performing the activity could be mentally draining and depleting ofenergy. It would appear that tonight would not be one of those nights. Verytired, Warrendrifted off into deep, black sleep.

Only a couple hours into hisnight-full rest, Warrenwas startled awake by a noise at his bedroom window. "Knock... Rattle...Knock-knock... Rattle..." Outside, the wind howled. The noise must havebeen the loose window screen banging back and forth against the track from thewind. But Warrenknew better. Such things must be given a deeper look. The noise was actually alittle sylph outside his bedroom window that did what was necessary to wake Warren up.

Apparently, the woman was doingwhat Warren hadwaited for all day! He had to act fast!

He dashed up the stairs and intothe hardwood attic where a nostalgic, cheval floor mirror was tilted at anangle to reflect against a small, plastic, children’s wadding pool that just sohappened to have cute, little fishies painted on the bottom. The pool wasfilled with water and surrounded by unlit candles. But before the candles couldbe lit, there had to be some preliminaries performed.

Warren picked up a piece of white sidewalkchalk from a nearby antique desk. Then he drew a large circle on the floor toencompass the nostalgic cheval mirror and wadding pool. After the circle hadbeen drawn, he returned to the desk for six large, unlit candles and a box ofmatches. The six candles were evenly spaced along the chalk-drawn circle andthen lit.

Feeling safe, Warren next lit the candles that surroundedthe wadding pool filled with water. Finally, his portal of fantasy had beenactivated.

Attic lights turned off, Warren knelt before thewater to view the distorted, reflected image of the very reflection coming fromthe nostalgic, cheval mirror. It wouldn't be long before the mysticalphenomenon of scrying would take place and Warren's conjured lover would appear.

But what was this? One of theflames of the candle in the easterly direction of the wadding pool began todance and flicker with a most annoying stroboscopic effect. It was a blastedsylph who decided to dance and play along the flame of a candle. Now wascertainly not the time for any interruptions from a playful, magical creature.

But unbeknown to Warren,the little sylph had been directed by the woman on the other side of the mirrorto play with the flames of Warren'sportal of fantasy. In his late-night frame of mind the strobing candle beforereflected water induced a state of hypnosis so that he entered the dream worldand could finally see his lover.

Through the reflection in thewater, Warrenwatched as she walked, naked, with back turned towards him. She wore a pair ofstiletto high-heels to not only suggest being the dream world dominatrix, but toalso lift her naked ass in the air and cause extreme arousal for Warren. Her long,untamed, red hair brushed and draped along the woman's back—such a wicked, sexycreature.

And then she turned to face Warren. "Is thiswhat you wanted, huh?" Her voice was saturated with orgasmic chemistry, atemporary surge in sexual hormones that had obviously altered her way ofspeaking. "Is this what you've been waiting for all day? You want to seeme naked? You want to touch me?"

It was her world, her realm and nowher presence that filled that attic to dominate Warren. She was so frightening and causedsuch paralyzing fear. And yet Warrenwanted her. He wanted her so badly and to finally be with the woman who hauntedhim nightly in the portal of fantasy.

"Come find me..." Shesqueezed her naked breasts so tauntingly. "I'm waiting for you!" Shemoved the other hand down to her crotch and transformed her expression toproduce the most desperate, pleasure-stricken face. "If you ever dare comefind me, look out! You're not going to believe what will happen to you!"

She was only being playful. Reallythe woman on the other side of the mirror liked Warren and her intentions were harmless. Butshe was growing impatient. Where was he?

But Warren couldn't quite place her in his mind.He had seen her before, but memory failed him. Warren wished he knew where the woman lived.Even more, he wished he was confident that these experiences were real.

A Woman to Adore

2012-01-06T04:47:00.000-06:00

Hello All:

Be sure to get Friday's nude art update. Visit the nude art pageand enjoy the little writing that goes with it. ;-)

***

As I mentioned in a tweet yesterday evening, I just can'twait to sit in the dark and write a bunch of bizarre stuff! It's true! Now thebeginning of 2012, I made a commitment to devote myself to more writing, morestories for the blog and to be a little more focused on completing Amber.

But now my knowledge of unusual things is being employed toassist in writing a how-to manual. I'm not using my real name for the finalpublication of this, so you'll never know which one of the millions of booksreleased was co-authored by me. Tom Raimbault writes fiction, weird fiction!Although the how-to manual is a very, strange topic; it's boring and notsomething I wish to be associated with! I want to return to my little world offantasy where I sit in the dark and write a bunch of bizarre stuff.

Maybe next week...

Here's a photo from late summer of last year that I recentlydiscovered while browsing the pics on my phone. I just had to share it withyou. Isn't it a beautiful lily pond? If you look carefully at the center, youwill see a huge goldfish swimming under water.

***

Well it looks like the first week in 2012 offers much in thedepartment of sex and nudity at the Literary World of Tom Raimbault. Here's alittle story I wrote over a year ago and haven't featured since. As I've alwaysfelt, when a man loves a woman, he should spend much time on his knees gettingvery acquainted with what's down there while his lover lays comfy on the mattress.

Have a great weekend. Maybe next week I'll show you how toconjure up a lover by opening the portal of fantasy!

A Woman to Adore

Although she is my lover today, there once was a time that I could only observe her from a distance, heartbroken and never believing that she could be mine. She is so beautiful and perhaps more than what I deserve. You see, every man lives a moment in his life when he finally has the love of an exceptionally beautiful goddess. For some, this moment is only temporary. Others are fortunate for the moment to last many years. As for me, I don't know how long this love will last between us; but I'm sure to adore her in our every moment together.

Only a lucky man is invited to enter her home if there is no answer at the door. On this day, there were plans for an afternoon outing; but with no greeting at the door it was assumed she was still showering or dressing. I opened the door and let myself in, then called out to my love.

There was no answer; only the sound of water that rushed through the plumbing. A careful approach to her bathroom had revealed not only the sound of water that spiked against the shower's walls, but the door which had been left open a crack.

In these frisky days and a possible invitation, it was certainly appropriate to carefully peek through the crack and watch my love through the glass shower door. I love everything about her body; love it even more when she's naked. And although the running soap and water against the door gave a slight distortion to my own private show, I was able to see everything.

Her beautiful hair was wet and draped behind her back. The remainder of her body was lathered in soap, so sensually, against her body. How I wished it was me who put it there with my bare hands that would have slowly caressed her body.

She rinsed the soap as it ran down her breasts, down her abdomen; then turned so that the same would be done to her back. Just to be near her ass that dripped hot, steamy water would have been the greatest reward. I would have kissed it while working my way up her back then to give slow, sensual kisses to her neck while caressing her wet, naked breasts.

I could have watched forever. But a beautiful thing could not be ruined. What if she discovered my presence and made sure to keep the door closed and locked in the future? Rather than ruin a good thing, I carefully turned away and walked into her bedroom, then stripped down to my boxers and sat on her bed.

It must have been 15 minutes before she entered her bedroom with nothing more than a large, white bath towel that wrapped the middle of her body, covering her naked breasts and ass. Anyone who has seen a woman in a bath towel would agree that the most striking feature of such a phenomenon is the partially damp towel that hugs the curve and form of a woman's ass. A woman's cheeks jiggle behind the bath towel and call out to be explored.

My surprise presence startled my love as she cried out, "Oh my Gosh! You scared me! What are you doing here?"

"Waiting here for you. I let myself in.”

"How long have you been here?"

I stood up and approached the delicate goddess who was safely covered in nothing more than a white bath towel. "Long enough..." Then I took hold of her bare shoulders and lay a kiss on her lips. The heat and steam from the shower could still be felt on her face and shoulders. I continued to kiss so eagerly. She was delicious with her warm lips, soon to present her hot tongue that united with mine.

Say goodbye to the bath towel! It was pulled off in much the same way that a child might tear open a present. When fully unwrapped, the gift stood before me. My right hand cupped the cheek of her gorgeous ass that was not fully dry, thanks to the partially damp towel. Her wet hair; a plain and simple face without makeup; and a naked, fresh body were all I needed in that moment.

I recall in the early stages of our relationship when we began to lose inhibitions and talk about intimacy. In these moments we carefully discussed our turn-ons and turn-offs and the ways we prefer to make love. Although every man enjoys being inside a woman, I was delighted to hear my new lover proclaim that she was clitoral. "It's all about the clit.” In those words, it told me that she needed plenty of clitoral stimulation during lovemaking. I had enjoyed sex for many years. This new woman would provide me something new and exciting.

"How do you like a woman to look down there?" She asked me this when it was learned that I enjoyed pleasing a woman.

"I like it shaven so that the lips are baby smooth and soft, yielding a full invitation to taste and explore. But some neatly trimmed hair above the clitoris that extends to the bikini line is a very, sexy thing."

And this is how it was presented to me on our first time together. She undressed and stood before me to present the most beautiful treasure of her body, shaven lips that were baby smooth and a neatly trimmed landing strip that pointed to where I needed to be.

But she doesn't keep herself trimmed all the time. She doesn't have to; I love her just the same. And today when I guided her to lie down on the bed, I could see some brown fur had grown to barely cover the treasure.

More kisses were given to her simple, beautiful face and sweet, sexy lips. I slowly kissed my way down her neck and to her chest where I paused to give attention to each nipple. While doing this, my firm erection escaped the unbuttoned hole in my boxers and rubbed against her steamy slit. And then I slowly kissed my way down her beautiful abdomen.

I've always felt that when a man loves a woman so strongly, he should spend countless hours on his knees and before the mattress, in complete adoration with her silky thighs rested on his shoulders. He should get very acquainted with what is down there and listen attentively to what a woman likes and needs. I've always loved the thing, nearly as much as I love her. But I like to play a little game in which I "accidentally" discover her secret treasure.

The upper-most, inner thighs are a delight to kiss and admire. Then my lips continue so delicately up the side of her labia, some distance around her clitoral hood—being extra careful not to make contact with it—until finally hovering above her clitoris somewhere below the bikini line.

The first time I played this game, I paused after giving the first kiss to her clitoral hood and softly asked, "Mmmmmmm... what's this?" Of course I can't use that phrase every time. I think it to myself; and I'm sure she enjoys having her clitoris "accidentally" discovered each time. Whatever the hood attempts to shroud, it should be gently opened and explored. Now fully opened and exposed, I gave slow, delicate kisses to the tip for several seconds and then exhaled hot air from my mouth before placing my lips completely around it to give a gentle suck.

I could have continued stimulating her until she finally cummed. And with it in my mouth, receiving sucking and stimulation with my tongue, she would have probably cummed very quickly. My lover admitted this the first time she received attention down there as she urgently warned, "You're going to make me cum!" She likes the moment to last, so I am sure to slow things down a bit.

Pulling away from her clitoris, kisses were next given down her slit, and then I nibbled her labia with my lips while sucking. When done properly and gently enough, I can slowly slide up and down her labia while continuing to provide suction. Of course attention is given to both sides before returning to her clitoris for another round of slow, delicate kisses to the tip for several seconds, followed by a gentle suck and stimulation with my tongue.

My lover needs variation. She told me this throughout the many times of getting acquainted with her treasure. Rather than repeat what had been done the first time, I return to her slit and then penetrate with my tongue while reaching above to take hold of her beautiful breasts.

All of this is done without measure or without assuming that she would return the favor. Oh, she's reciprocated once or twice; but I could never expect anything more than for her enjoy every second of pleasure. It's all done purely out of unconditional love, coming straight from my heart.

And don't think that the sex in our relationship is based solely on her receiving oral pleasure from me. There is plenty of fucking to be had. She enjoys fucking just the same, but needs to be straddled over me in full control to finally cum. In those moments, I lay there watching as her face changes to such a radiantly beautiful expression, her eyes soon to close as she occasionally pulls her head back and shakes her wild sexy hair. Her gorgeous breasts dance to the movement as her abdomen squirms back and forth. As I observe these things, my hands lay on her silky thighs; sometimes to reach above and squeeze her beautiful breasts, then to play with her nipples.

Other times my lover needs to be more aggressive and dominating. She enjoys straddling my face and demands that my hands firmly grasp her ass and pull her closer in. During these times, she nearly abuses my face with violent fucking. My mouth takes as much of her in as possible while my tongue constantly moves inside, tasting and loving every bit of it as I should. Her wine is so intoxicating and addicting. And I must say that I enjoy the way her lips and inner walls seem to quiver in response just before she cums.

I love her so purely and unconditionally, taking into consideration all of her needs. I am sure to adore her with affection, sweet words, gifts; and while not doing this I take keen interest in her daily concerns and observations of the world around her—listening attentively to every word spoken by my love. For you see; although I'm a nice guy, well-mannered and not terribly bad looking, I know all too well that the day will come when a man who can give her so much more will enter her life. He'll adore her with affection and the above mentioned just the same. And surely he will love her in bed with the knowledge that "it's all about the clit". But maybe he would only do this in exchange for a favor. At most, perhaps he would please her just enough to make her cum. In those days, hopefully she would remember me and recall how those moments of pleasure were given straight from the deepest room in my heart, unconditionally, requiring nothing more than to lay there and enjoy a man who listed to her every need.

Years later, when I am gone, there may come a night when she finishes making love with my replacement, and watches as he rolls over to fall fast asleep. Hopefully she will remember those cold, winter nights when our naked bodies were spooned against one another while she opened her legs just enough for my fingers to slowly and gently ellipse her Cleft of Venus. Sometimes I would pause at her clitoral hood and slowly massage while hearing her sweet words whispered, "I love you..."

The crescent moon and Venus may have been paired in the evening sky. But under the warm blankets, the crescent moon now made love to Venus as my middle finger penetrated her and felt deep within for a swollen area that caused intense flames of ecstasy when touched.

She could only partially turn towards me and pull herself as close as possible. "Do you have any idea what that does to me?"

I knew, but only smiled so innocently to say, "Not at all."

Ah, but her hot, passionate kiss told me everything that she felt.

And the only thing my emotions could silently call out at that moment was, "Enjoy it my love!

Naked Coffee

2012-01-04T04:47:00.000-06:00

Hello All:
I have for you the very, first short story written for 2012. Having not written any new fiction in possibly two weeks, I felt it best to do a writing exercise. As I've mentioned before, not writing for a week or two can cause one to lose touch with his or her style.
"But what should I write?" I asked myself. "Some new horror? Some new erotica?" I considered the featured writing for Monday, Nude art and Photography, and decided to create a short story based on nudity.
Have you ever had naked coffee? It's completely harmless and thoroughly enjoyable when had with a friend.

Naked Coffee

Stacy jogged the neighborhoodstreets on a beautiful, sunny morning in her sporty attire. Like most runners,the jog was for her heart and to maintain that fine shape. But as cars passed byshe fancied the idea of motorists and passengers checking her out.

Due to her fine shape, Stacydefinitely has some features to slow down and check out while driving by. Maybeshe has a nice pair of shapely, muscular legs. Or perhaps she has a perky, jigglybutt that bobs up and down with each step. It's certainly a possibility thatStacy might possess a stunning rack that would cause anyone to glance at in therearview mirror.

Yes, Stacy is like many earlymorning joggers with a pretty face glistening in sweat, aerobic breath exhalingthrough her lips and frazzled hair that might leave some to imagine being allsexed up. Maybe you have a neighbor like her. Or perhaps she's very much likeyou.

Now towards the end of her jog,Stacy slowed down to a brisk walk, and eventually a regular pace. But shewasn't about to go home. About one block from her apartment, Stacy insteadwalked up the driveway of a friend's house just to enjoy a nice cup of coffeeand some friendly chat.

Mark had been a coworker of Stacy'sfor many years, and they soon discovered that they had much in common. Lunchdates, coffee together and even dinner; Mark and Stacy were simply friends whoenjoyed one another's company.

"Hey!" Stacy immediatelygreeted her friend as he opened the door.

"Good morning!" Markhadn't dressed for the day just yet. He remained in nothing more than a pair ofboxers. Oh, but he had nothing to hide or be ashamed of. Mark was equally intohealth and fitness just like Stacy and possessed a fine, sculpted body withchiseled pectorals and a hardened abdomen with muscular split down the center.With toned biceps, rounded shoulders and well defined back; it was a sight thatany woman would prefer to be greeted by. Aside from that, Stacy had seen Markin the nude plenty of times. They were close friends and had nothing to hide.

Stacy stepped inside in her sweatyshirt and sticky flesh that told the tale of a work out well had.

Mark offered, "The shower'sall yours. I'll brew us up some coffee for when you're done." Apparently,Stacy was such a good friend that she often showered at Mark's house. Anyoneneeds a good shower after a lengthy morning run through the neighborhood. AndMark was sure to have Stacy’s favorite brands of soap and shampoo in theshower. She was made to feel at home whenever visiting. Shouldn't it be thisway for every close friend?

Stacy certainly wouldn't changeback into her sweaty workout attire after a refreshing shower. Along with herbrands of soap and shampoo, Stacy also had a white bathrobe in the closet. Inaddition to this, she kept a few changes of clothes in one of the sparebedrooms so that she could walk home after her workout, shower and coffee witha close friend. For now, however, she remained in her white bathrobe.

"Mmm... smells good!"announced Stacy as she entered Mark's kitchen. Her hair was wet after justcoming out of the shower.

"Wait until you trythis!" answered Mark. “It's the Sumatradark roast that I picked up at Starbuck's earlier this week.”

With the pot finished brewing andMark already on his first, Stacy helped herself and poured a cup while adding asplash of cream and some sugar. Coffee had with Mark was always extra sweet,but a little sugar added wouldn't hurt things.

In the meantime, Mark enjoyed thesight of his friend standing in her bare feet. Stacy’s naked legs were exposed belowthe knee-high length of her robe. Underneath that white bathrobe was Stacy'snaked ass. And then she turned towards him with bare chest exposed and naked breastsscantly covered by lapels.

Stacy took a sip from the cup."Mmm... This is so good!"

"You like it?" askedMark. "I'll be sure to get more."

"I so need this cup of coffee.You know, last night the neighbors upstairs from me had wicked fight all nightlong and it woke me up a few times. I've got to get out of there."

"Apartment life... I thinkthere's a house down the street for sale. Maybe you should check it out."

Both Mark and Stacy left thekitchen and into the family room towards the sofa. Stacy set her cup of coffeedown on the table and then carefully removed her bathrobe so that her fully nakedbody bathed in the light of the morning sun that shined through the windows.Mark was already sitting down on the sofa and remained in nothing more than hisboxer shorts. But he certainly admired Stacy in all her nakedness; her sexy,upper-thighs and perky, bubble ass. And those attractive breasts that just sortof hung were finally exposed as she faced him to sit down. They weren't perfectbreasts like the touched up models in Playboy or some of the popular nudewebsites. That's what made them so beautiful, so natural; and now Stacy sharedthe sight of them with her friend.

"Guess who I ran into theother day at the store." said Stacy.

"Who?"

"Our old boss, Jill."

"No way! What's she up to? Whatdoes she look like, now?"

"She's pretty much the sameJill that we remember. She was laid off a few years ago. I guess she's workingas some project manager at a software company or something."

Sitting next to his naked friend,Mark took another sip of coffee. While he raised the cup, Stacy admired hisflexed bicep and muscular forearm. For you see, this is what naked coffee isall about. It's nothing more than enjoying a fantastic cup of Joe in the nudewith someone close and enjoying the sight of his or her nakedness.

Speaking of which, Mark set the cupdown and flipped open the notebook computer that sat on the coffee table."I've got a new collection for you."

"Uh-oh!" replied Stacy.She remained silent while taking another sip of coffee, maybe smiling with abit of nervousness. How would this morning's session of naked coffee turn out?

Seconds later, the computer fullybooted and Mark loaded a photo slideshow. "Over six hundred pictures inthis one. I hope you like it." It was a secret pastime that she and Markshared together.

The first image was a naked beautywith long, brown hair and pretty orbs for breasts. Like many women, Stacyenjoyed seeing other women naked. There's nothing wrong with this, especiallywhen it causes arousal and excitement.

Mark sat back next to Stacy withhis cup of coffee and enjoyed the show. "I'm thinking of getting a newcar. Those new Dodge Avengers look nice."

"Oh, I've seen those."answered Stacy. "Or how about the new Chargers? Those are sweet."

"Yeah, but did you ever seethe price of some of those Chargers? You can pay up to 50 grand."

"I still have a couple yearsof payments on my car." added Stacy. “I won't be looking for a new one fora while."

In the meantime, images continuedto flash and then dissolve on the screen of the most beautiful, nakedgoddesses. Sometimes only standing nude in nature landscapes; other timeshiding in places such as a dark, abandoned factory in a pose to suggest erotic masturbation;the images continued to spawn subliminal fantasies and further intrigue of thenaked, female body. Stacy took another sip of coffee and then rest her hand onher naked thigh. It wasn't long before she gently tickled up and down with herfinger tips, gradually inching her way closer to a forbidden area.

"Oh, look at that!"announced Mark. "Your cup is nearly empty. Do you want a second cup? I'mready to fill up myself."

"Yes, thank you." Stacyswigged the remains from her cup and then handed it to Mark.

Mark stood up and walked into thekitchen. In those moments alone, Stacy continued to absorb herself in the nakedimages. Occasionally, a photo would reveal a close-up view of a woman'sbeautiful, fully-exposed vagina. For so many years, Stacy wondered what it waslike to touch another woman's kitten. The fascination caused much personalinterest in her own as she often played with it. Recently, Stacy shaved herkitty completely bald and admired how attractive the bare lips appeared withclitoral hood that protruded at the top. As Stacy believed, her vagina waspretty and something to marvel at. Of course in that moment she began to touchherself and slide her finger tip up and down the entrance.

Just then, Mark returned with bothcups of coffee. Was he able to see how beautiful her kitty was? Stacy glancedup with a look for reassurance as if to say, "What do you think?"

Mark set both cups of coffee downon the table and then sat beside Stacy. "So you shaved yourself,huh?"

Stacy smiled and nodded.

Mark helped himself to a littlefeel of his friend's exposed pussy. "It's so soft... baby smooth."

Stacy nodded.

"So when did you dothis?"

"Yesterday morning..."Stacy whispered.

Soon the two touched and exploredStacy's beautiful pussy together. Gentle tickles and light rubbing from bothsets of hands made her kitty feel so loved. Every kitty deserves to feel desiredand loved. As for Stacy, masturbation was always a favorite pleasure, but itwas nice to invite a friend to assist. And this is what naked coffee is allabout. You visit a friend who provides a fresh pot of coffee along with nakedpictures, and you bring along your freshly-shaved pussy to share for touchingand exploring together.

Further absorbing herself in thenaked images, it was possible for Stacy to imagine touching the upper thighs ofsome nude goddess while gently stroking and tickling her own. As forstimulation to her kitty and continued build-up of pleasure, Mark had thatcovered as his fingers would alternate massaging Stacy's clitoris and thenreturning for more circular, external fucking of the lips. It gave Stacy thefreedom to fully explore her own sexy thighs, imagine that they belonged tosome nude goddess on the screen and eventually imagine that she was that goddess.

Stacy felt so sexy and beautiful asshe placed herself in the bodies of those women who sensually posed. How manyeyes had looked upon her and fantasized about her? So many people wanted her inthose photos. In the altered state, she soon imagined and could nearly sensegroups of hands touching and exploring her naked body.

Another woman’s close-up kittyflashed on the screen and Stacy wanted so badly to satisfy her curiosity. Herfingers returned to her own where both she and Mark frantically played, nearlyfought over whose lucky hand could touch the sensitive areas.

Another nude woman flashed on thescreen, this time walking outdoors under the evening moonlight. It triggeredmemory of a sometimes recurring dream in which Stacy dared to venture out ofher home, naked and into the evening. But despite how dark it was outside, somehowpeople saw her. The dream and fear fused with the pleasure-induced alteredstate of the moment so that Stacy was that woman on the screen as peoplereached through the dark to touch her naked body.

A smiling woman with full breastsappeared on the screen. It caused Stacy to wonder what it was like to feelanother woman's tit. Her hands glided up her abdomen and to her own breasts whereshe caressed and squeezed; sometimes out of curiosity as-if feeling anotherwoman, and sometimes in a way as-if to be violated by other people's hands thattouched her.

At this point, Mark has his fingerburied deep with Stacy's pussy and fucked her. But there should have been moreeager hands to explore. Stacy lowered one hand down to her vagina and squeezedthe outer lips as Mark's finger gave her a nice fuck. Soon his other hand movedover to massage her clitoris. Being finger fucked; having the clitorisstimulated while squeezing the outer lips of your own pussy and violating yourown breast was a sensation unparalleled to anything, as Stacy soon learned.

An image flashed on the screen of anaked woman entering an outdoor pool. It brought her mind back to last summerwhen she stayed at a hotel on vacation and enjoyed some time outside in thepool area. At that particular moment, a man sat at a table some distance awayand seemed to enjoy watching Stacy. She placed herself back in that moment andinvited his eyes to be all over her. As Stacy recalled, he even watched her inthe pool. How naughty of Stacy to have played with herself beneath the waterwhile making eye contact with the man. Perhaps he played with himself under thetable so that the two fucked from a distance through eye contact and brainwavesthat were amplified through pleasure. Did it feel good for the stranger? It waseasy to simply reach over to Mark's boxer shorts and feel his bulging erection.

Another image flashed on the screenof a woman seated naked with legs spread open on the sands of the beach. Itbrought Stacy back to another time when she played a little afternoon game ofeye contact with a good-looking guy some distance away. He now sat before herand exchanged sexy, wet kisses while his hands slipped under the sides ofStacy's bikini shorts and played with her kitty. All she could think of in thatmoment was her messy juices leaking and running all over the sand. She justwanted it all out—to lose control and cum right there in public on the beachwhere curious eyes watched.

Stacy groaned while breaths grewquicker and more frantic. She touched herself like never before as Markfrantically finger fucked her pussy and rubbed her swollen clit. More imaginaryhands grabbed her. Women lay beside her and allowed full access to theirbeautiful kitties. Stacy let out one final exclaim of pleasure as the dreamsand sensations slowly drained from her body like the steamy bath water of sexthat ran down the drain. Completed and the moment passed, she lay there forabout a minute or so, no longer absorbed in the naked images of women.

Eventually Stacy recomposed herselfand Mark handed her the second cup of coffee. "I put a splash of cream inand two teaspoons of sugar—just the way you like it."

"Thanks!" Stacy took asip and commented, "I hear we're supposed to get a lot of rain by the endof this week."

"Yeah, that's what the weatherforecaster was saying." answered Mark. "That sucks! My brother was going tohave a barbeque over the weekend. Oh well, maybe he'll bring it in thegarage."

And that's what naked coffee is allabout; just a nice cup of Joe between friends, naked.

Nude Art and Photography

2012-01-02T04:47:00.000-06:00

Hello All:
Today's featured writing contains full-colored nude images of women--simple nudes: the coined phrase of Domai founder, Eolake Stobblhouse. You should probably be of legal age if accessing this blog post.

Happy New Year!

Here in our neck of the woods, the New Year has beenintroduced to us with gusts of strong winds throughout the day. I write today'sintroduction on Sunday afternoon, New Year's Day, and occasionally glance outthe window to see miniature invasions of snow flurries fly from the one of theyard to the next. Yes, the wind is so strong today that the snow flurriestravel sideways. Just moments ago, I stepped outside and realized that it ismuch colder than this morning. It would appear as though the wind brought withit the return of more recognizable winter, something we've not had in the Chicago area since winterbegan.

The temperature was different early this morning. The windactually called out to me while turning over in bed at around 4:30 thismorning. From what I could hear, there was a rather large machine humming somedistance away. You know how the sound of a machine generates a peculiar octaveas the stroke-cycles oscillate through the air? This is what I heard, and Icouldn't help but wonder what large machine was approaching from the distance.At first I thought it was one of those freight trains on the tracks a few milesaway. But I never heard the trains that loud before.

The machine continued to hum and hum with an undeniablesound octave. "What is that?" I thought to myself. "Well, it's2012. Maybe the aliens are landing as predicted and their spacecrafts make ahumming noise." That certainly couldn't have been the answer. So withoverwhelming curiosity, I got out of bed to go outside.

"What's wrong?" asked my wife.

"Do you here that noise?"

"Yeah..."

"I want to see what that is." And this is what Idid. In nothing more than my boxer-briefs I stepped out the back door and wasgreeted by the howling winds that blasted against my bare flesh. The temperaturewasn't too cold, so the wind was actually refreshing. I wouldn't dare do thisnow, of course! It's freezing out there! But listening carefully outside thismorning, no machine could be heard.

Upon returning to the bedroom, the humming could still beheard. Maybe there was some machine on the side of my house like a neighbor'sgenerator that kicked on for one reason or another.

The side bedroom window was opened, but no machine washeard. It was finally deduced that the wind blew at just the precise angle anddirection to brush against the window screen and create the humming octave. Ormaybe it bounced and echoed along the walkway between the two houses. Whateverthe reason, the phenomenon was really cool! And it could only be heard if thewindow was shut.

***

We're staring the New Year off right at the Literary Worldof Tom Raimbault by introducing a new page on the blog. Be sure to check outNude Art, an exciting new addition that will be updated weekly. Now don'tconclude that the Literary World of Tom Raimbault is becoming some nasty pornsite! I, for one, hate pornography! Pornography demoralizes and victimizeswomen and children as most models are either forced or tricked into theunfortunate circumstance. Keep in mind that not all models live the glamorouslife of some famous, well-paid porn star. If realizing how shameful and abusing the experience had been isn't enough,the victim soon learns that it wasn't all that financially rewarding either.

Nude art and nude photography are totally different frompornography. There are millions of women who are proud of their beauty and lovetheir own bodies. Isn't there a way to tastefully display themselves in anartistic way? Many such women have professional portfolios of themselves donein the nude. And thanks to today's Internet, there are high-quality nudewebsites such as Domai or Body in Mind that respect women and feature them innothing more than simple nudity. If you enjoy nude photography, you shouldvisit these sites and enjoy the countless samples. And why not support thewonderful women who present themselves for your enjoyment by purchasing amembership?

The nude art page is something I've considered doing for acouple months on the blog. You see, I have thousands of nude images in my owncollection and one day thought it would be interesting to use one as thebackground wallpaper for my phone. It wasn't such a great idea! I realized thatnude wallpaper would attract attention from a distance, possibly give me anegative reputation as most people don't appreciate nude art.

Oh, but I had a solution! With Print Shop, I altered a smallcollection of images by cropping them, turning them black and white and thendarkening them so that they appeared to be shadows. I soon learned that thereis an art to this technique. Not every pose or every woman looks good asdarkened black & white. And it was also discovered that darkening imagesbrings out heavier shadows which could have either a positive or negative effect on thephoto.

I've had altered nude wallpaper on my phone for a few weeksat a time. No one recognizes them. The images are discreet and subliminalenough so that only I know what they are. And I thought they would be theperfect addition to the blog. Yes, I'm proud to admit; I love women and have afascination with their beautiful, naked bodies. When images are occulted, mysterious and fantasy-provoking; they arecertainly worthy to be part of the Literary World of Tom Raimbault.

For today, we feature a writing that had been done a fewyears ago about nude art. I also include some of my favorite full-coloredsamples as they would appear on sites such as Domai and Body in Mind. Yousimply must visit these sites if you enjoy this form of photography.

Nude Art and Photography

Shortly after I turned 18, the legal age in Illinois to purchasenudie magazines, I had the realization that I could go into any convenient storeor book store and purchase a Playboy magazine or any other magazine offeringimages of nude women. This idea excited me and I found myself driving aroundlooking for a place to purchase such a magazine. But it wasn’t easy. You see,only perverts are supposed to buy those sorts of magazines and I didn’t want tobuy one near home or any place where people might know me. Even worse was thefact that just about any convenient store I went to had an attractive, younggirl my age working behind the counter. It’s just not cool to buy nudie magsfrom some babe that you should probably be hitting on instead.

I finallyfound a convenient store where an old lady worked behind the counter. Iapproached the counter and glanced at the collection of nude magazines butcouldn’t find a Playboy. Really I didn’t want a Penthouse or a Hustler; I justwanted simple photos of naked women. I saw a magazine that went by the name of Mayfair and figured that would be what I was looking for.I hoped it had naked women showing their breasts, buttocks, and other areasusually hidden by clothing.

The old ladyapproached me. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’llhave a Mayfair”

She lookedbehind the counter at the magazines and walked up to them. “You mean this one?”

“Yeah...”

She seemeddisappointed, “Okay sweetie; if that’s what you like… If that’s what you like…”

Of course Iliked that sort of thing! I was a young man who liked women and seeing themnaked was the greatest! I took the magazine home and enjoyed it for weeks. Ieven purchased a couple others. But I eventually threw them out and neverpurchased one again. I think it was because I didn’t feel comfortable buyingthem or having them in my possession. I’m sure many of the men out there havehad similar stories.

Years laterit is easy to find images of naked women without having to go the store andembarrass yourself. You can find them online – countless images for free. Butif you are like me, you find yourself disappointed if ever discovering pornography with no other objective than to demoralize the beauty of a woman.Yes to all those critics of this writing; there is a difference between nudephotography and pornography. Nude photography is images of naked women.Pornography is... well, I won't even try to describe it.

I’ve foundjust the site for all you men and women who like simple nude photography of beautifulwomen. Don’t look at work, but when you get home, check out www.domai.com

Domaispecializes in countless models who submit professional nude images ofthemselves. You can pay for premium service, or look at hundreds of photos forfree. And there are daily updates for you to enjoy for free as well. Go checkit out

A pictureis worth a thousand words. I’ll let the photos talk for you!

The Knife

2011-12-30T07:21:00.000-06:00

Hello All:
Certainly no stranger to the real estate business, I once attended a three-day real estate sales training seminar and learned of a most interesting phenomenon of the human mind. Thanks to a portion of the brain often referred to as the Reticular Activator, our minds utilize the senses so that we ultimately become radio antennae searching for something important.
Have you ever purchased a particular model of car and noticed many other people driving this car? It's like the whole world is suddenly driving your car. If you recently had a baby, perhaps you suddenly notice more baby commercials on TV. Did the whole world just have a baby as well?
No, your Reticular Activator placed your senses on alert so that you paid more attention to the presence of these things. In the theory of that training seminar, a sales professional would use this phenomenon to his or her advantage by programming clients to seek more business. People looking to buy or sell a home are on alert for others doing the same. Can these people be programmed to seek more business for a real estate professional?
***
My mind goes back nearly seven years ago to a time when I worked a temporary contractor position at Motorola. Just so that the reader understands, Motorola is a terrible place to work. A highly anorexic company, Motorola continuously lays off workers and liquidates large portions of their business so that profit can be seen. I can say first-hand that working in this environment can cause people to become apocalyptic. Every day, rumors of layoffs in the not so distant future are whispered throughout the factories, offices and engineering labs. And sadly, these rumors all come true. Everyone, it seems, is looking for a new job in hopes to save his or her career.
It was at this particular job that I sat before my computer in a moment of downtime and registered for the following semester of classes at college online.
Suddenly, a coworker walked past and boldly announced, "Hey! Looking for a new job? Let me know if you need my help. I've got connections!" His Reticular Activator was obviously tuned at that moment to people looking for new jobs.
But I was terribly irked with him as no one wants rumors started that he or she is looking for a new job. "What the hell is he talking about?" I thought to myself. "That guy is so delusional! I'm not looking for a new job. I'm registering for classes."
The truth of the matter; I was looking for a new job while at home. This inspiration came during an office Christmas luncheon a few months prior when I saw a strange micro-expression and unsettling look in my supervisor's eyes. I did not like what I saw on his face! In that split second I learned that I was there only to fill in the 90-day wait period (mandated by law) for a previously laid-off employee to return and work as a contractor. Once he returned, there was no guarantee that I would have a job.
Now I would certainly agree that interpreting such things in a split second at nothing more than an unsettling look would be the behavior of those suffering from paranoia delusions. But I'm no stranger to these sudden moments when things seem to "hash and blend" together so that I'm provided pointers and sign posts of the future. I've allowed these moments to guide me throughout life and they've been most helpful.
As for my coworker who announced I was looking for a new job, I should have paid closer attention to what he was saying. Not more than a week after his rude announcement, I was contacted by another company for a job interview and ultimately hired! My coworker simply had one of those "hashed and blended" moments and saw something to possibly share. And guess what! With perfect timing, I left just as the previously laid-off worker had reached his 90-day wait period to return. It's amazing how things work.
Oh, but I'm afraid it was out of the frying pan and into the fire for me! Some months after working at the new company, I had the peculiar urgency to leave quickly. There is something about FDA equipment and how things are handled that can cause dreadful anxiety. I don't want to get into it, but I had to get out of that place before something bad happened! People go to jail for mishandling and mis-documenting federally regulated medical equipment.
One morning at this company I so wished to leave, I received a slight whisper of the near future that offered some hope. An old supervisor of mine had been laid off and started a new job where I was working at the time. From nothing more than the presence of this person, I learned that soon I would be returning to a place I had worked nearly ten years prior.
And guess what; not more than a month after my encounter, I was contacted with a job offer (my current job) and have been here for nearly four years. I worked in this very building and this very area of the lab over ten years ago. And it was all announced to me with nothing more than, perhaps, a two minute conversation with an old supervisor who once worked here with me.
I could go on and on with these brief moments of gazing into the future. Millions of people every day see the writings on the wall and act accordingly. It's a phenomenon, I believe, associated with the Reticular Activator as we seek answers to our deepest questions. Perhaps these episodes happen often to writers, artists, poets; anyone who often looks away from ordinary reality for a brief moment and dares to daydream with maybe a slight concern in mind. This phenomenon has guided me for so many years.
Perhaps this happens to you. But a word of caution: do keep your visions to yourself. People are not seeing the same things you do. At times I've made the peculiar statements to my wife of the neighbors such as, "Mark my words. By next spring, their house will be for sale."
My wife only rolls her eyes, "No they're not! What makes you think that."
Guess what. That person's house was put up for sale by the spring of the following year.
I've warned my wife about seemingly nice people who, in my perception, were nothing more than troublemakers that would soon make things miserable for us.
"Here we go again!" says my wife. "You like to see things the way you want to see them." Her husband is delusional and "sees things" that really aren't there.
Ah, but no more than a year later, everything I said about that person comes true! If only my wife had listened...
Again, my answer to those who share a similar phenomenon; keep these things a secret. People will not understand and only believe you to be crazy.
***
Today's featured writing was a short story I had written as a nine-year-old boy. Obviously heavily revised, it now appears as a free short story throughout the major catalogs. I'm presenting it today as a little celebration. I discovered in the Barnes and Noble catalog that Amber has now surpassed the sales rank of this heavily downloaded story. Being the case, why not feature The Knife?
Please have a safe New Year celebration. Consider your own family and the loved ones of other motorists on the roads by not getting behind the wheel after drinking. Drinking and driving is not cool! And do enjoy your alcoholic beverages responsibly.
Happy New Year and the very best to you in 2012!

The Knife

Author’s Note:

The Knife is a short story I had written when I was only 9 years old. For that matter, the entire direction and purpose of the story should be merely entertainment, something unusual to add to your collection. Revised nearly 30 years later, the actual story is weirder than it attempts to be frightening. Because of this, I take the reader behind the scenes and describe how that 9-year-old boy found inspiration for his work. Sit back and enjoy a tale of terror that could only come from the mind of a young boy.

The Knife

Such a gruesome tale that would project the reader into a blood bath of terror: to produce the ultimate horror story was a 9-year-old boy's ultimate dream. I sat upstairs in the living room one Sunday afternoon, and dreamed of being a writer, an author who would shock the world with his terrifying story.

I descended the staircase into the basement, and entered a dim room that my parents called "the study". It was a simple room of nothing more than an old, wooden desk with a chair and a small bookshelf that contained my father's business books. Sitting on the desk was an old, tackle box which contained antique art supplies such as paint, small brushes and chalk. The very existence of the art supplies was my reason for coming down into the study. The cover of my book needed to be created first, as it would help me to dream of the story. With feverish intensity I used the antique paint and brushes to produce a large knife with blood dripping from the blade. And the background was smudged with additional red paint to give it a gruesome appearance.

But the preliminaries to writing weren't over yet, not for this young author! In the closet of the study was an old, leather belt. Red paint was soon smeared on the strap. Then the walls of the study were repeatedly whipped. Red blood had streaked on the drywall with every crack of the leather strap. And when the red looked to be thin, more paint was added to the belt. It was actually an aerobic workout as that 9-year-old boy played out the tragic beating of an unfortunate soul, whose blood splattered on every wall. By the time I had completed this dance of gore, the room resembled a slaughter house! There, now the book could be written!

***

Once upon a time, a series of murders had terrified a small town. Bodies with multiple puncture wounds that were violently administered by a sharp object were discovered in various places of the woods. In an effort to protect citizens from any further killings, police urgently warned residents to keep out of the local forest preserves. A killer could have been at large, and the best way to prevent further murders was to avoid the woods all together.

But for such a beautiful, sunny morning; a nameless woman was tempted to throw caution to the wind and enjoy a casual stroll in the forest. She parked her car at the entrance; a gentle breeze picked up which rustled the leaves of trees into a dance of warning with the reflection of sunlight. But the warning was ignored as she entered the arborous world of solitude and isolation.

Onward she traveled, deeper and deeper into the thick, green realm of danger. But outside of her own footsteps, not a sound could be heard. There were no birds, no furry creatures and no appearances of deer. It was as if the forest, itself, was terrified of the blood thirsty presence which was in search of a new victim. Perhaps this is why the nameless woman's senses were keenly tuned to the surroundings where an unusual sight had been noticed.

It was a flash of light, sort of a metallic reflection of sun that caught her eye. Some 50 feet to the right of the walking path, a glowing object bobbed in midair. And as the nameless woman followed the trail with eyes on the mysterious sight, her direction turned so that the new angle had revealed that a large knife floated in midair.

Startled, she walked quicker; but the knife began to float towards her. The unexplained phenomenon only produced an instinctive terror with a need to run. Faster and faster, she looked behind her; but the pointed edge trailed closely. What would it do if the running stopped? Most likely, she assumed, the knife would penetrate her flesh. Perhaps this was how the brutal murders had taken place in the woods. And it was soon realized that the force behind the blade was merely playing with the nameless woman. Occasionally it increased in speed so that it would slice at her arm, her back, her neck; all the while creating a sense of laughter and delight.

But the nameless woman refused to be another casualty at the hands of the devious knife! And as luck would have it, she spotted a cabin distanced by a mere 100 yards. Could she make it?

The knife remained just inches from her back as the nameless woman's lungs were seconds from exploding! But how could she stop to open the door? In a desperate attempt to distance herself, she went past the cabin and turned left so that she circumnavigated the perimeter of the building and back to the door. Apparently this stalled the floating knife, but there wasn't a second to spare! The door was opened and slammed shut. The sound of the knife poked and rattled in the wood.

Violently breathing, sweat pouring down her face and shaking in terror, the nameless woman found safer ground in the cabin. But how could she escape? Leaving the building would only invite another chase by the knife. And the woods were void of any life. Sensible residents of the small town stayed out of the forest as they heeded warnings of police.

Just then, there was the sound of shattering glass! The knife had projected itself through the window and towards the frightened woman. She ran into the bedroom but felt a sharp sting in her spine, then her kidneys, then the back of her neck. The knife repeatedly stabbed her... and stabbed her... and stabbed her... and stabbed her... and stabbed her... and stabbed her! It was a bloody mess!

***

Of course completing the first chapter of a book required a celebration. This was done by applying more paint to the old, leather strap and whipping the walls until they were bloody red. Then I ran upstairs in excitement to proudly show my mother the new book. But she was not happy, threatening to cancel cable TV, because only ideas like my story could come from watching paid programming.

A few weeks later, my parents discovered the gruesome scene in the basement; and I was asked if I put red paint on the belt and whipped the walls with them. I denied this, of course; but couldn't think of anything to suggest. Maybe our dog did it. She was always conspiring ways to frame me so that I would be wrongfully punished. I almost suggested that perhaps someone was murdered in the study, but I didn't think they would believe me.

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Malooka Baboon

2011-12-29T09:04:00.003-06:00

Hello All:

It's the lazy end of the year for some of us. Throughout America I'm sure there are millions of people who have taken the time from Christmas to New Years off. At least this holds true for my place of work. Being a contractor with no vacation time or holiday time, I'm pretty much the only person here at the office. Oh, there is the occasional encounter with the cleaning woman who vacuums the floors or dusts the tops of cubicles. She doesn't have the holidays off, either. I'm sure this holds true for those of you in retail, restaurants, law enforcement, hospitals, etc. Not all of America has the holidays off.

For brief moment, an engineer in some other department might step in the office to do a quick project, or perhaps check data, initiate the next phase of an automated test and then resume the holiday break. As for me, my holiday projects are complete in the lab. I have spent the week restocking parts for upcoming projects. And I'm sure to take extra, long coffee breaks with my feet propped up on the desk where I might doze off for five minutes or so. Hey, there is no one here to see me. Why not?

I've gotten a little more lazy at home for the holidays as well. Rather than get up at the witching hour for some much-needed writing, I choose to sleep in--even blew off a workout for this morning! But that's okay. Friday I have off which means I can sleep in some more and make up for those missed workouts over the extended weekend. We can all have our fun, now. The New Year is just around the corner.

And what unusual dreams I've been having while sleeping in. The other night I had a strange dream that the trolley from Mr. Roger's Neighborhood was frantically calling out to me. It was almost frightening! I posted this dream on twitter and received a tweet back from a fellow writer who said there is apparently an important move that I need to make. That move was calling out for my attention.

Interesting...

Oh, but last night I woke up in laughter at a most unusual dream. How can I describe this one? I walked my bicycle out of the garage with the intention of riding it along a really cool bike path that (in the dream) was near my house. But riding the bike was nearly impossible. I could only walk, nearly struggling with the bike at my side. And while doing this, I was singing the 1980s R&B song there just ain't no doubt about it I'm in love. Yes! I was actually singing this song in the dream and could hear the groovy, electro-pop music all around me! Check out the video and pay attention to the lyrics if you never heard this song:

At some point while singing this song and walking with bicycle next to me, I began to laugh at how comical I must have looked. And somehow I passed my parents' how where my mother stood outside watering the flowers or doing some kind of yard work. Because she was a distance away, my mother texted me a simple statement. "YOU ARE CRAZY!"
That's when I woke up laughing.
After turning over to go back to sleep I had another interesting dream. The wife, kids and I were at some street festival that celebrated pastries and baked goods. I wasn't exactly in the mood to feast on cakes and cookies. But I offered to go up the block to one of the convenient store/gas stations to get some drinks for my wife and kids.
Now before continuing, let me just mention that the liquids I consume is pretty simple. I drink water with every meal and throughout the day. The only thing outside of water is plenty of tea and sometimes coffee. Wine is had on weekends. I never drink carbonated beverages, juice, soda, energy sports drinks, etc. If I'm thirsty, why would I want to dump sugar in?
Unfortunately, the convenient store did not have water! The owner bragged of having a vast assortment of high-quality energy sports drinks.
"I don't want that stuff! That's a bunch of chemicals mixed with caffeine that will only jack up my blood pressure. Do you have anything else?"
"Sure we do. We have lots of juices and other beverages. Go ahead and browse."
They had soda which I got for my wife and kids. But I could find no water! After some point, the owner stepped away and was replaced by a young woman who worked the counter. I asked her, "Do you have water?"
"Water? Umm... I'm pretty sure we do. It's probably over in the cooler." The clerk opened the door and began to rummage through all the bottles of health juices, sodas, Gatorade and energy sports drinks. She was absolutely convinced that water was in the cooler. But from what I could see, the store did not have water.
Now the clerk was beginning to act strange. Although she could clearly see that there was no water, the clerk felt that somehow she had to make this water materialize for me. The customer (me) was standing nearby and expecting a product that they did not carry. Her rummaging grew all the more frantic as her interaction with me became less involved.
I finally had enough. "Alright, look. Apparently you don't have water. Do you have lemonade?" I must have thought that lemonade was a safer option in the dream.
And that's when I woke up.
I guess the dream was trying to tell me to drink even more water than usual. It makes sense. With all the holiday eating, my body probably needs a little more. For the next week or so I'll double up on my consumption.
***
Today's featured writing was inspired by my dream about water. I believe I visited the same gas station in my dream that appears in this short story. Nobody knows what is in Malooka Baboon. But the person drinking it acts out some very, strange behavior. Be sure to check your local grocery stores or liquor stores for this fascinating beverage. It might make you have a most unusual New Year celebration.

Malooka Baboon

Slowly walking the boulevard on a warm, summer night with trails of car lights zipping to and from and night people strolling the sidewalks to reach their favorite pubs or nightclubs; Bob concealed in a brown, paper bag a bottle of Malooka Baboon, occasionally taking a swig. The name on the bottle, Malooka Baboon, was most appropriate; for at times it caused him to behave, exactly, like an angry baboon on the verge of war with its rivals. As for the prefix, Malooka, no one had anything to say about it. What does Malooka mean? It was probably only a catchy word to place before baboon.
No one was sure of the ingredients of Malooka Baboon. Those who actually knew of this beverage understood it to be a cheap, nasty-tasting whiskey that had a tendency to cause its drinker to behave so ferociously-manic. And there was only one source of Malooka Baboon in the entire city; a rundown gas station that sold cigarettes, candy bars and small bottles of booze.
Outside of an occasional homeless person who may have scraped up enough charity at the street corner to purchase a bottle, Bob was the only customer who regularly visited for Malooka Baboon. But whoa to the owner if bottles were unavailable!
Bob entered one early evening after a hard day at the office.
"Yes, can I help you?"
"Yeah, you got any Malooka Baboon?"
"No, I sold my last bottle an hour ago. Some street person came in and dumped a bunch of nickels and dimes on the counter. I've got Southern Comfort, Crown Royal, some Scotch..."
Bob slapped his open palm on the counter. "I don't want any of those! I want Malooka Baboon!"
Ready for combat with the angry customer, the cashier at the gas station answered back, "Look, I told you; we ran out. Should I start stocking more for you? I mean it's such cheap, nasty whiskey. What's the deal?"
Bob flew his hands across the counter, knocking over the promotional tins of cheap snuff. "It's not nasty whiskey! Can't you see I've had a hard day! I need Malooka Baboon, and you're the only place in town that offers it!"
Losing patience with the crazy customer, the cashier finally raised his voice. "Sir, if you keep that up, I'm going to have to ask you to leave! And I will call the police!"
In a motion of apology for his behavior, Bob bent over and picked up the tins of cheap snuff. Then he placed one on the counter. "Here, ring me up for this. And I'll be back next time for a bottle of Malooka Baboon. And you better have one!" Once leaving the store, Bob placed enormous wads of smokeless tobacco along every area between his cheek and gum. His entire mouth was packed with snuff, nearly the entire tin used up. It was the only remedy, Bob assumed, that would provide the exhilarating relief similar to Malooka Baboon. But 10 minutes later, he lay on the street corner in overwhelming nausea while wishing he had Malooka Baboon.
***
Tonight, the gas station had what Bob needed. And this is why he so dangerously stormed the boulevard, looking for trouble to come his way.
Not more than 10 feet away, Bob took notice of three young women who entered a clothing store; one of them wearing a tight, leather skirt and provocatively displaying her luscious thighs.
In his manic, animal instincts; Bob followed the trio into the clothing store. But he was soon met by an employee who worked there. "Excuse sir, you can't bring open beverages in here."
"What? Why the hell not?"
"That's the store policy, Sir."
"Well son of a... you've got to be kidding me!"
"Nope!"
Bob had no choice but to briefly exit the shop and set the brown, paper bag with half-drunk bottle of Malooka Baboon near the store window. He was in the decent side of town where not many homeless people wandered. And while in the store, Bob could watch through the window for anyone who might try to molest his precious bottle.
Returning to find the trio of women, Bob was soon distracted by an item which hung in an accessory isle. A pair of thick, black gloves; the type that a criminal might use to rob a house or perform other illegal assaults grabbed his attention. Bob removed the gloves from the shelf and broke the nylon binding with his animal strength made possible by Malooka Baboon. The gloves slipped on so well and made his hands feel as-if they had superhuman strength. But there was no need to pay for them. Malooka Baboon grants the drinker some mysterious power which enables invincibility from being apprehended and caught upon committing a crime. Bob simply walked out of the store while wearing the newly-acquired leather gloves, picked up his brown, paper back containing Malooka Baboon and continued to storm the boulevard in search of more trouble.
Opening the paper bag to take another sip from the bottle, Bob suddenly found it unnecessary to conceal the bottle. "Stupid bag! I don't need this!"
It was illegal to drink open alcohol in public. But again, Malooka Baboon grants the user invincibility from police or other authorities of law enforcement. And this invincibility included throwing a paper bag on the street corner while taking a hearty swig from the bottle. To add to his power, Bob now wore a pair of black, leather gloves that held onto the bottle while taking a swig. He felt so almighty and powerful.
After 10 minutes of storming the sidewalks, heavily buzzed with all sorts of primal urges screaming to get out; Bob realized he was at the bottom of his bottle of Malooka Baboon. He took a close look at the bottle just to verify this terrible certainty. And then he stopped to closely examine the bottle's artwork, an angry baboon that appeared to be charging at a rival.
Bob spoke out loud while studying the bottle, "What the hell...? I ain't afraid of no stupid baboon! Damn thing doesn't scare me!" With the black, leather glove tightly gripping the bottle, Bob threw it on the concrete which immediately caused the bottle to shatter. The act turned the heads of a few people who passed Bob in disbelief.
Bob didn't care about them. At that moment, he was on a mission. Bob knew, exactly, where to find a baboon and prove how unafraid he was of such a beast.
Walking nearly two miles along the boulevard, heart racing like a pair of bongo drums and nearly foaming at the mouth; occasionally someone would call out at the sight of Bob, "Hey, someone should call the police! That guy's not acting right!" But the police wouldn't find Bob. Malooka Baboon makes the drinker invincible to the police.
Soon the city lights and the crowds of night people dwindled away as Bob reached the edge of the busy boulevard. He now approached the city zoo for a hopeful confrontation with an ugly baboon. But what was this? The zoo was closed and locked for the night, and the fence was topped with coils of barbed wire. Fortunately, Bob was fueled with Malooka Baboon and took sight of a large tree that could easily be climbed. A thick branch extended over the fence and into the zoo's entrance. Loaded with booze and confidence, Bob climbed the tree with his superhuman, black, leather gloves; and successfully scaled across the thick branch to jump off and land in the zoo. He was just like a real baboon!
After several minutes of running wild throughout the city zoo, Bob finally located the baboon cage. A sleeping baboon awoke at Bob's huffing and puffing and took notice of the intruder.
Bob picked up a small stone from the ground and began smacking it against the iron rods of the cage. "Where the hell are you?—you ugly son-of-a-bitch! Come on out and show me how ferocious you can be!"
The baboon did just as suggested. It aggressively ran up to Bob, appearing like the baboon on the bottle of Malooka Baboon.
"I'm not afraid of you! Come over here!"
The baboon continued to approach, making aggressive noises and all sorts of warning gestures. It soon reached the edge of the cage so that he and Bob were only a foot from one another.
"What do you have to say to me besides grunts, huh?" Bob slapped the iron rods of the cage with his superhuman hand that was covered by a thick, black, leather glove.
The angry baboon returned the act of aggression by repeatedly slapping his side of the cage. And while doing so, Bob was able to foolishly stick his gloved hand through the iron rods and seize the baboon's hand.
With its brut strength, the baboon instinctively pulled away; but was soon possessed with seething rage as Bob stuck his hand further in the cage.
"Come-on you stupid baboon! What, are you afraid of me?"
The baboon seized Bob's hand. In Bob's almighty strength brought on by the black, leather glove and Malooka Baboon; he pulled the animal closer to the cage. That's when the baboon sunk its teeth into the black, leather glove. Fortunately, the animal's teeth were unable to reach and penetrate Bob's flesh.
Loaded with excessive confidence and booze, the fool he was, Bob just laughed. "Go ahead and bite me you ugly son-of-a-bitch!" With the animal's face close to the opening of the iron rods, Bob punched the baboon several times with his other hand.
Apparently, this hurt the baboon for it finally let go while letting out angry screams.
Bob only laughed harder. "See, you're nothing!" Then he walked away.
Malooka Baboon must have another effect outside of granting physical power and invincibility from authorities of law enforcement. It would appear to cause the drinker to lose memory at certain times. Shortly after walking from the baboon cage, Bob found himself outside of the zoo, back onto the city streets. But he did take notice of several cuts and scratches on his arms along with an incredible pain at the shoulder. He must have hurt himself while escaping from the zoo. But that's okay; Malooka Baboon provides relief from pain. Bob could have broken his shoulder, but he wouldn't notice until the following morning.
Now storming down the boulevard with his leather gloves and imagined power earned from winning a conflict with a baboon, Bob walked the night in search of more trouble. Nearly two miles were trekked until he reached the point where broken glass from his bottle of Malooka Baboon lay shattered along the pavement. Some distance ahead, escort ladies now patrolled the streets in search of late night clients.
When closer, one of them walked up to Bob. "Hey, Baby! You look like you need some company. You lookin' for company, tonight?" She was an attractive, promiscuously-dressed, black prostitute.
Bob nodded his head, yes.
"I ain't cheap, okay? And I prefer to be thought of as a lady of the evening. Because of this, I'm 50 dollars."
Again, Bob nodded his head, yes.
With that, the lady of the evening waved to some man across the street and then escorted Bob to a dark alley. Then she sat down on a metal garbage can. "What you in the mood for, tonight, Baby?"
Rather than follow through with what most male clients in this situation would do, Bob was so in love with his leather gloves that he pulled one off and began slapping the lady of the evening in the face with it. "Take that... and that... and that, and that.... Take that..."
The lady of the evening played along with Bob. "Oh yeah, Baby! Is that how you like it? You like to start it off all rough and wild?"
"Take that! Take that... and that... and that..."
After about a minute of being assaulted in the face by a black, leather glove; the lady of the evening was growing tired of Bob's game. She held her hand up against any further slaps. "Is that all you gonna do; slap me with a glove? I'm sorry, but my face can't take no more."
Bob attempted more slaps to her face, but the lady of the evening stood up from the garbage can and stepped back. "I'm sorry, but we're done. I need my 50 dollars."
"50 dollars?" asked drunken Bob. "I'm not giving you 50 dollars!"
The lady of the evening was outraged. "Well that's fine! I got someone who can talk to you." With that, she clicked her high heels down the pavement of the alley, towards the direction of her manager.
Now you would think Bob would be worried about meeting this manager. But he wasn't afraid! He had his black, leather gloves and the imagined power earned from winning a conflict with a baboon. Plus the Malooka Baboon intensified his strength more than ten-fold! Aside from that, Bob found some new trouble to get himself in.
With the maniacal strength brought on by those gloves and the Malooka Baboon, Bob jumped on the garbage can and then pushed himself on top of a brick, dumpster enclosure. From there, he scaled over to the bottom of fire escape. Latching on, Bob pulled himself up until he could finally hop over the railing and begin ascending the grated stairs.
Up and up Bob climbed until reaching a 6th floor balcony. In the alley below, the sound of the black prostitute could be heard arguing with her manager. "I'm tellin' you; he was here! He wouldn't give me no 50 dollars!"
Being that it was a warm, summer night; the resident of the apartment unit neglected to lock the sliding, balcony door. In fact, the glass door remained wide open so that only the screen stood between Bob and the outside. The apartment was dark inside; but Bob was bold enough to slowly open the screen door and quietly enter.
911 should not be called! Being the case, Bob lifted the phone off the receiver and pulled the cord from the handset. That way, if a victim happened to call from another phone in the apartment, the line would be dead from an extended busy-out. And to prevent the loud tones from warning of a soon busy-out, the cord had been pulled from the handset. What's even more, Bob wore the leather gloves which prevented any fingerprints from being left behind!
Tiptoeing through the darkened hallway, Bob found a bedroom where a woman lay in bed, sleeping. But unlike most intruders in this situation, he simply lay on the ground near the sleeping woman's side of the bed. Then he extended his arm over the bed and began feeling her with his leather-gloved hand.
Imagine awakening in darkness to the touch of a cold, leather hand that grabs in private places. Needless to say, the woman jumped up, screaming!
With her feet on the floor, Bob sprung up behind the woman and smashed his leather glove across her face. "Shhhhh! Don't make any noise!" Then he squeezed the woman's breast with his other gloved hand.
Bob's wife wrestled free. "Bob, where have you been? I've been worried sick about you!" Then she turned the bedroom light on. "Oh no! You haven't been drinking that Malooka Baboon, again; have you?"
Bob smiled so mischievously.

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Cosmic Tales

2011-12-26T12:03:00.000-06:00

Hello All:
Sorry for being late with Monday's update to the blog. It's the Monday after Christmas and I have the day off work. Being the case, the wife and I have been recovering the house after the weekend holiday celebration. Currently, the mother-in-law is traveling en route from Wisconsin to be with us until the new year. Of course the house must be immaculate!
We had a nice Christmas, and I hope you did too. And don't be too quick in walking away from the holidays. New Years is just around the corner.
Today's featured writing was inspired by a little discussion I had with my younger daughter on Thursday night. She's ten-years-old and developing quite a fascination with deep space and all things cosmological. It made me recall a piece I had written a few years ago titled, Cosmic Tales. What would you do if you found yourself at a cocktail party with clients or co-workers and some of them began engaging in a bizarre discussion of traveling at the speed of light or cruising through a black hole in space? Now you can't write them off as simply being a bunch of geeks and walk away. These are clients or co-workers of yours and your career depends on being able to get along with them.
Fortunately for you I have a survival guide to help understand and intelligently responding to discussions of cosmology in the every-day business world. You don't need a physicist degree to understand this stuff, just an open mind and a few minutes to read.

Cosmic Tales

Starting Point (the basics)

One goodthing about engaging in a discussion on cosmology is the fact that the conceptsare almost always theoretical. That's good for you and me because one guy'sidea is just as good as the other's. How the hell is one going to understandthe age or size of the universe when we as humans are infinitely smaller and younger?So when you suddenly find yourself in a discussion like this; relax, the keycontributors of this conversation really don't know for a fact that what theyare saying is true.

There are afew common pieces of information that all cosmologists agree on. First is thefact that the universe was created out of the Big Bang. The Big Bang happenedsome 25-30 billion years ago when the universe was what physicists describe asa primordial atom. Some kind of reaction took place which caused the atom to explodewith incredible force creating the universe we live in today. Now not everyone believes in the Big Bang.Many people feel it’s a sin to believe in the Big Bang because this statesthere is no God. If you are like me, you can believe that the Big Bang is anattempt to understand how God created the universe. The initial explosion wasGod saying, "Let there be light."

Anotherpiece of information that all cosmologists agree on are points made byEinstein's theory of relativity. Actually it is broken into two theories: thespecial and general theory. You don't need to fully grasp what each theory istrying to prove, but these theories are often referenced to discuss and back upthe idea that gravity bends light, gravity can alter the transition of time, ortraveling at the speed of light will cause the traveler to fast-forward intothe future. And don't forget the important point often referenced in acosmology discussion: According to Einstein's Theory of Relativity, it isimpossible to exceed 99% of the speed of light -- although fiction andimagination presses this theory that we can exceed the speed of light. It hasoften been imagined that exceeding the speed of light would have a similareffect to breaking the speed of sound where-as breaking the sound barriercreates an audible explosion, a breaking the light barrier would cause a visualexplosion.

Tales of Cosmology (stories and riddles of time travel)

Many timescosmologists will break out the 'ole tales of cosmology. A favorite story --some kind of paradox of time lost -- told again and again involves one brotherbriefly leaving the other on a motor cycle ride. The brother riding hismotorcycle approaches the speed of light and observes everything around himlook as if it were in a concave mirror. As he nears the speed of light he canonly see a spec in front of him. As he backs off the speed of light the specand concave view returns to normal. The ending of the story is when the brotheron the motorcycle returns to the brother who is waiting. He is shocked to findout that his brother had aged 70 years! What happened? Well now that you know a littleabout Einstein's Theory of Relativity, you know that traveling near the speedof light caused the bike-riding brother to rapidly accelerate into the future.

A littleriddle often brought up in the possibility of traveling through time is calledthe Grandfather Clause. It asks, "If you went back into time and shot yourgrandfather, would you be able to come back to the future? You would have neverbeen born. The answers to this riddle are amazing. Remember, your answer isjust as good as anyone else's. There is an explanation that says that you wouldgo back to a parallel universe with a profound amount of changes experiencedsince your grandfather was not alive to create your father who was not alive tocreate you. And the whole ripple effect that people make in their lives wouldbe felt as well.

Here's aburning question often asked about time travel: If time travel is possible,then where are the time travelers? This question implies that one day we knowhow to travel through time. But if this is possible, how come time travelersfrom the future don't come and visit us. Many answers to this question say thatwhatever avenue or technique being used cannot travel before the initial datetime travel was invented. My favorite answer simply says that future timetravelers know it is unwise to give us the technology of time travel because wewon't know how to use it correctly.

Impossible to Know (size, age, shape of universe)

When adiscussion about the size, age, or condition of the universe is taking place,the initiator relies on his favorite theorist to make a point. What I mean bythis is no one could possibly know for sure how large the universe is, how oldit is, what the shape is etc. But there are a few different schools of thought.One way of thinking believes that the universe is continuing to expand sincethe Big Bang. Because it is the Big Bang that caused this expansion, it isassumed that the expansion will eventually cease as the momentum of theexplosion will die off. The total gravity of the universe will cause the wallsto sink in and one day shrink back to nothingness again. This belief opens thepossibility that trillions of years will generate another Big Bang to start thewhole process up again.

Anothertheory says that black holes (see black hole discussion below) generatedoorways to other universes that are growing/shrinking as well. In short, thetheory says that our universe is a collection of countless other universes thatare interwoven through little holes (actually tremendous holes in comparison tous).

There isalso the simple theory that our universe is simply a blob of shapeless massthat contains stars and planets, and the limitations of the universe is thesize of that mass and it will always be simply that.

Black Holes (everyone's favorite)

Many peopleare familiar with black holes. Although they can not be seen, astronomersdetect these massive voids in space that seem to eat up all light and matter.Because of Einstein's Theory of Relativity, it is theorized that black holescontain an inconceivable amount of gravity that pulls all light in along withmass. Black holes seem to be drains in the universe that eat everything up. Youcan also say that time stops in a black hole because the intense gravity willaffect time. There are complex formulas that demonstrate how a black holecauses time to no longer transition.

Onefavorite story of fans of black holes suggests that at the other end of a blackhole is white hole. This implies that all the matter and light being sucked inby a black hole is ejected out of the other end. I don't believe there is anyphysical proof of a white hole so technically they have not been proven yet.Also, there are a couple laws of physics that pretty much disprove that a whitehole is the other end of a black hole.

Far out Stuff (supernovae, pulsars, and quasars)

Sometimes adiscussion on cosmology will venture into deep water and will bring up nameslike supernovae, quasars, or pulsars. These are actual objects that have beendiscovered but are still not fully understood.

Tounderstand a super nova or pulsar, you need to understand that a star has alife span. As the star begins to run out of energy and dies off, there is agravitational collapse that sucks everything nearby in. Eventually there is arelease of this matter which is seen as a supernova. Supernovae radiate enoughlight and energy to equal millions of our suns. Often they over light an entiregalaxy for several days or weeks until all the energy is released. (Oh, agalaxy is a collection of billions of stars in a neighborhood such as our ownMilky Way).

Once asupernova has ejected all its energy and light, it becomes a pulsar. This is adead neuron star that rotates on its axis at a rapid rate. It has a tremendousamount of gravity and is believed to be the seed of a black hole.

Quasars arenamed from the fact that they can only be detected by radio telescopes. Thename combines the words Quasi-stellar-radio-source. Quasars are believed to beat the center of a distant galaxy that contains a black hole. The quasargenerates enough energy to equal trillions of suns. Since they cannot be seen,it is believed that quasars are so far away but with the amount of energy theyare being detected through radio signal.

Bizarre Stuff (wormholes, Tripler Cylinders and cosmicstrings)

Be carefulwhen bringing up these controversial topics in cosmology. Depending on thepeople engaged in the discussion, you can either raise the bar and impresspeople with your cutting edge knowledge, or give people the impression you tookacid some time in your life.

Wormholesare pretty much widely accepted though still only theoretical. A wormholeinvolves applying a gravitational field that is strong enough to bring twopoints of the universe closely together. This is the basis of hyper warp. Insome future starship, it is hoped that astronauts will be able to open a wormwhole tunnel and travel light years into space within seconds.

Triplercylinders aren't as commonly known as worm holes. A Tripler Cylinder involvescreating a spaghetti like object that spans billions of light years but is aboutthe diameter of a spaghetti noodle. You then rotate the tube at a very high RPMand since the tube is spanned for such a large distance, there is a time-spacecontinuum alteration due to the energy sharing of one medium throughout thecosmos. If you intersect various points of the Tripler Tube you will jumpforward or backwards into the future or could even jump to a galaxy very faraway.

Where wouldyou get the materials to make such a cylinder? You could take a star, and rollit up like play dough so that it stretches across space. Unfortunatelydiscussing this could get you in trouble as it did the other day during lunchfor me. Some of my co-workers were having a cosmology discussion and when timetravel was brought up I mentioned the Tripler Tube.

"Haveyou been taking a few hits off the bong? First of all I don't even know how youcould just a take star and roll it up." The reaction was mixed laughterand criticism. And this same thing could happen to you if you are not careful.Rather than point out that you thought it was perfectly acceptable to discusssuch a thing while everyone else is discussing riding motor cycles at the speedof light or cruising through black holes, simply admit that changing the formof a star is next to impossible. But you do have another solution. You don'tneed to change a star to make a Tripler Cylinder you can use a cosmic string!

A cosmicstring is a remnant of the transition of the universe at the moment of the BigBang. Trillions of shredded matter still in the one-dimensional state spreadout throughout the universe now known as cosmic strings. Cosmic strings are thediameter of the proton but the length of several billion light years. One pieceof a cosmic string only 1 meter long would weigh 10 times the amount of Earth!If you could get your hands on a cosmic string, you could use it to make aTripler Cylinder and create a time machine. Not only that, cosmic strings havea sense of polarity. Supposedly, a cosmic string can tell us which is north,south, east, and west in the universe. They also contain material and energythat was ejected at the moment of the Big Bang.

I hope youfind my survival guide to cosmology discussions very useful. Remember, you arenot an expert on these concepts and neither is anyone else!

Review of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer (yearly TV Christmas special)

2011-12-23T05:25:00.003-06:00

Hello All:
I'm not sure why, but all throughout yesterday, I was quoting lines from the yearly stop-animation TV Christmas special,Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Everyone has seen this at least a couple dozen times in his or her lifetime. It's made quite an impact on me because I regularly recall scenes from it throughout the year, even sing about the Island of Misfit Toys. Sometimes I think I belong on the Island of Misfit Toys! But I'm not a toy and I'm sure the King Lion wouldn't let me stay.
"Hmm... I think I did a writing about Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer a few years ago..." I thought to myself. "If I recall, it was a review of some sort." Later in the evening I sat down with my laptop and opened up the archives from 2008. To those who just discovered the blog and have been following it in only recent times, I should mention that once-upon-a-time I owned a completely different site and blog that ran along the same format but featured more of a loose collection of writings that were more like essays or "editorial style" fiction. Only in the past couple years have I devoted myself as a story writer. Because of this, there is plenty of removed material from those days that never made it on the new blog. As I felt, the older writings were kind of "stupid".
My review of Rudolph the Red Nosed reindeer wasn't so bad. In fact, over a glass of Malbec, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I showed it to my younger daughter and asked if it should be featured for Friday.
"No, why don't you do the one about the black holes and deep space."
Yes, I found another writing from 2008 called Cosmic Tales. It will be featured on Monday! It was pulled out and showed to my younger daughter after a little after-dinner discussion about black holes. She's ten-years-old and suddenly into these far-out cosmological things.
But today it is more appropriate to discuss Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Tomorrow evening, children will be watching out their bedroom windows for a glowing red light in the sky, a possible sign that Santa Claus is in the neighborhood to deliver all those toys.
Before presenting the review, let me just come out and give it five stars. There is no reason to give it anything less. Aired on TV since 1964, it's a wonderful special that has been shared for at least a few generations. I'll be sure to watch it year after year and hopefully one day enjoy it with my grandchildren.
But there are a few problems with the special, items that really bothered me since I was a small boy. Perhaps you've considered these things as well?
Have a Merry Christmas and enjoy your holiday weekend!

Review of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer (yearly TV Christmas special)

You knowDasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen. Forcenturies, Santa Claus has used these reindeer to navigate the world onChristmas night and deliver all the presents. But on one Christmas, SantaClaus was faced with the possibility of not being able to deliver his toysbecause the winter storm was so heavy. If it weren't for Rudolph who has aglowing, red nose, Christmas would have been canceled that year. He immediatelybecame a hero for saving Christmas and is every child's favorite reindeer. Whenchildren look for Santa Claus in the sky, they often look for Rudolph'sglowing, red nose. I remember doing this and would often mistaken air planes orwater tower lights for Rudolph.

But hewasn't always so popular. As the yearly TV show goes on to describe, Rudolphimmediately brought shame to Donner (the reindeer who is Rudolph's father). Andwhen Santa Claus came to visit the new reindeer, he was horrified to see thatit had a bright, glowing, red nose! And Santa Claus said the most horriblething to Donner. He said, "Donner, you ought to be ashamed ofyourself!" And that's when I immediately had a problem with the story. Icouldn't believe that Santa Claus would insult someone just because of a rednose. It made Donner throw mud on Rudolph's nose to cover it up.

One of theshocking things that my kids point out to me is the fact that Santa Clause isso skinny in the animation. Santa Claus is supposed to be fat and round. Andworse yet, Santa Claus is grumpy in the special. Which brings another goodpoint made to me by my kids: Why is everyone so grumpy and mean in the North Pole? It's supposed to be Christmasville wheneveryone is happy.

Take for example;Santa Clause was given a preview of the new elf song for Christmas. But when itwas done he totally criticized it. This caused the foreman boss to yell atHermes the Elf for not being at Elf practice.

Theanimation continues to tell the story of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Itshows when Comet was coaching the new reindeer and declared that Rudolph couldnot join in any reindeer games because of his red nose. But that is, after-all,a main part of the story from the original song. If you think about it, thecruelty that this reindeer and Hermes the Elf experienced could only take placein this bizarre, parallel universe where the North Pole is a not-so-friendlyplace. So really you can't blame the producers of the animation for making usscratch our heads when watching it.

But theunlikely environment of the North-Pole isn't the only problem I have with theanimated special of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. I wasn't too comfortablewith the way Sam the Snowman discussed Yukon Cornelius. Since a young boy, Ialways saw Yukon Cornelius as some guy who had a passion for searching forsilver and gold. It wasn't so much his actual quest for the metals themselves,but his adventure for searching for them. But then Sam the Snowman makes thisstatement, "So what do you think of our friend Yukon Cornelius? It seems like the onlything he cares about is silver and gold." I never agreed with Sam theSnowman.

Even worseis the song Silver & Gold that Burl Ives (voice of Sam the Snowman) sung.The start of the song seems to illustrate that silver and gold is useless, butthen Sam the Snowman points out that it certainly wouldn't be Christmas morningwithout all the silver and gold decorations on the tree or pretty silver andgold bows on the packages. So what was his point? The song totally contradicteditself. But there just might be a crucial part to the story that many of ushave never seen.

I found outthat at the end of the story, Yukon Cornelius found a peppermint mine whichyielded an epiphany for him that he was actually in search of peppermint. I know, many people have never seen this part of the show because TV stations pulled the scene to make the allotted time slot. But it's a crucial part of the story!!! Big mistake for the TV stations! Recall that he often tasted the ground for silver and gold but was neversatisfied. So I guess in some symbolic way the special was indicating that themagic of Christmas is not something that can be seen, only "tasted"or felt in your heart. In this light, silver and gold is useless because itdoesn't taste as wonderful as peppermint. And perhaps this gives clarity to thecontradictory song Silver and Gold. Oh, for decades the ending of the storywhich featured the peppermint mine was omitted from the yearly broadcast. Itstarted to appear again in 1998, but many broadcasts still leave it out. In myopinion, it should stay in because it makes sense out of the silver and goldthing.

King of the Island of Misfit Toys: Who giveshim the right?

Theremainder of the story is pretty much predictable. Although a brief stop at theIsland of Misfit Toys is an interesting twist. Mykids now point out that some of those toys would be really cool to play with.My daughter would like to have a cowboy that rides an ostrich or a spotted elephant. And a water gunthat shoots jelly might be a humorous toy as well. Perhaps those kinds of toyswere thought to be defects back in the 1960's. But now they would be big hits(ignoring the video games).

But I haveone question about the Island of Misfit Toys: Who theheck is this lion that searches the world every night for toys that are nolonger loved? And who gives him the right to take them to a frozen waste-land aspunishment for not being loved by a child?

Rudolphcomes home after running away and Santa asks him to lead the sleigh in the snowstorm. He rescues the misfit toys and everyone lives happily ever-after. Butwhat about the lion? Now he's all alone on the Island of Misfit Toys. :-(

The Knight that Escaped the Chessboard

2011-12-22T03:15:00.002-06:00

Hello All:

I've recently begun practicing the art of casting circlesevery morning after my workout, a lesson given by my mother when I was a youngboy. Circles, in case you are unaware, are typically casted in times of deepprayer or meditation. Sometimes imagined or even etched into the ground tosurround you, the circle represents the separate reality in which you plan tooperate for a brief moment. My own physical representation of this circleinvolves geometrically placing a handful of quartz stones along the circumference.Perhaps it's my career as an RF lab technician, but I find that I prefer thestones to be equally and perfectly spaced so that I can literally see thephysical representation of my casted circle.

Just as expected, the original circles from nearly two weeksago were only circles. Then as each new circle was casted throughout thepassing mornings, I began to feel almost claustrophobic in them as I imaginedan invisible energy surrounding me in the form of a dome. But yesterdaymorning's circle was by far the most interesting, yet. Actually, the phenomenonstarted on Tuesday morning when I noticed a sensation of what I would describe as a "vaporcoldness" near my feet. Was it only imagination?

By Wednesday morning the presence of this coldness wasundeniable. It made me question as to just what was happening. Perhaps someparanormal phenomenon was about to take place and the coldness served as anindicator. But that was nonsense. These circles I cast are always filled withthe presence of God and prayers are said within them. The "vaporcoldness" I conclude is the vision to strive for in all future circlescasted. I am to imagine being surrounded by a cool, misty, fog-like world—perhapslike a partially snow frosted forest on morning in March. It's who I am and thesort of place that I like to be. This is the separate reality that I willconstruct within my circles and operate in.

I now do this with the intention of beginning a new exerciseearly next year of invoking the elemental sprits of nature. Calling upon theseforces such as air, water or fire is nothing to take lightly. In fact, beforeeven calling an element, it's best to practice the reverse of sending it awayback to where it came from. I might imagine the realm where water originatedand order the element to return. As I believe, it's not enough to simplyimagine these elements and send them away. I feel that individual, noteworthyexperiences must be had while understanding each element, similar toexperiencing the vapor coldness within my circles. It could take weeks ofunderstanding and perfecting this art before finally calling and invoking anelement. And how many should be called within my circle? Start with one... thentwo... then all?

These are the exercises that writers of fiction mustpractice.

***

Today's story hasn't been featured in some time. I nearlyforgot about it until seeing it on the blog stats. The Knight that Escaped theChessboard was conceived one morning at work, possibly inspired by a missingchess piece on an electronic chessboard at home. At the time, my youngerdaughter was taking an interest in the game of chess. But we lost the knight.

"Hmm... I wonder what happened to the knight." Iasked myself.

"He's far, far away; probably escaped the chessboardthrough a will of his own." was my answer.

The Knight that Escaped the Chessboard was written at a timebefore I started writing horror. You might notice and recognize it as awriter's earlier work. It's interesting how your literary style changes anddevelops through the years.

TheKnight that Escaped the Chess Board

He stood there motionless on his usual square among theother chess pieces, and wondered what life was like beyond the chess board. Theknight realized that in order to escape the chess board, the ability to movewas needed. This shouldn't have been difficult since the knight was a3-dimensional figure that existed in a 4th dimensional universe whichaccommodated the transition of time.

The knight concentrated with all its might until finallygaining the power to move. As soon as this new power of animation was realized,the knight hopped over the pawn that stood before him, and looked around thechess board. He looked behind, and for the first time understood that he wasonce an inanimate chess piece like all the other pieces lined up on the board.Now he was moving about freely while contemplating an escape.

Drawing towards the edge of the chess board to look outwhile considering safety; the knight took a deep breath, nudged his horse tohop off and was soon on new ground. After galloping away, he looked behind tonotice that only a moment ago, he was on a small board that sat on a flatsurface. Now the knight was galloping along this new, flat surface which,unknown to him, was a table.

But then there was a new edge of a flat surface with anenormous drop to a much larger surface that appeared checkered. It was similarto the chess board where the knight came from, but designed differently. Isthis what exploration had in store? Was existence simply a chess board on topof a flat surface on top of a larger chess board on top of a larger flatsurface? Such a theory needed verification, so he gathered the nerve to plungeoff into the abyss and landed on the larger chess board.

It was a rough landing, but after traveling along the newchess board (which unknown to him was tiled floor), the knight looked back andrealized that moments before he was on a table that overlooked the larger chessboard. And you can imagine that while galloping along this new, larger chessboard; the knight contemplated of how large it was.

But soon he reached the end of the tiled floor, and foundhimself on a soft, plush surface. This soft surface continued to be wandereduntil reaching a barrier which, unknown to him, was a screen door to whatappeared to be an infinite world with no boundaries. The knight managed to openthis barrier and ventured out into this infinite world with seemingly noboundaries. As he galloped along, he stopped to look behind him and realizedthat just moments before, he was inside a house that had flat surfaces and atable where a chess board rested.

All day long the knight galloped and explored this newworld where he encountered hills, valleys, forests and lakes. It just seemed togo on forever; and the knight was satisfied that he finally found a world withno boundaries. By nightfall he got off his horse so he and his partner couldhave some much, needed rest. While lying on the grass and gazing up at thestars and the moon that hung in the sky, the knight suddenly wondered if hetruly did make it to a world with no confines or boundaries. All day he happilyexplored this new world, but remained on the ground. And the more he thoughtabout it, the more he realized that there were birds flying in the sky. It onlytriggered the realization that he remained trapped to the confines of theEarth. He decided that in the morning he would escape the ground and see whatthose stars and moon were.
Awakening the following morning, he hopped back on his horse and took off athigh speed while encouraging the horse to jump. But the knight quickly cameback down to the ground. He tried again, jumping and jumping and jumping, butsoon realized it was not easy escaping the ground. Finally he tried with allhis might which resulted in his ability to escape the confines of gravity. Theknight looked back and realized that moments earlier he was on an enormoussphere that contained the forests, hills and valleys along with the house thathad tables where chess boards sat. The knight continued traveling farther andfarther away past the Earth. He galloped past the moon and past all theplanets.
Eventually, the knight realized that the Earth that he was on, some time ago,was part of a network of other planets that seemed to revolve around the sun.But soon the sun grew smaller and smaller until he realized that he escaped theconfines of the solar system as well.
The knight traveled through several solar systems and wondered what confines hewas in that housed all of these solar systems. And it wasn't long before hebroke through the Milky Way galaxy and looked back to see where he once was.
After some time, the knight began to notice a pattern. He was traveling pastgalaxies that contained stars that contained planets, which possibly hadseemingly endless hills, valleys, and forests. But all of these galaxies had tobe confined to something. This thought just inspired him further to break theconfines of whatever was housing these galaxies. Although he wasn’t aware, theknight set out on the difficult mission to break through the walls of theuniverse.
He looked out along the infinite and could see the edge of this confinementthat he was trapped in, but just couldn't seem to reach that edge. The horseneeded to travel faster, faster, faster until the knight and his horse weretraveling way past the speed of light. Finally, the knight could feel that hewas drawing closer to edge of his confinement. The walls of this confinementwere expanding at an enormous rate and he needed to continue traveling past thespeed of light to approach it.
Suddenly the knight got so close to the edge of the universe that the gravityof the expanding walls caused time to stand still. He was no longer in a 4thdimensional universe. This made animation nearly impossible for the knight. Heneeded to remain strong and break the confinement of 3rd dimensional reality.But soon he experienced the break down of 3rd dimensional existence as he drewcloser to the walls of the universe. He didn't know this, but the very edge ofthe universe takes us back to when the universe was first born. It takes usback to when the universe was only two dimensional, and then one dimensional.
I don't know how he did this, but the knight remained strong enough to defeatthe confines of a universe where there is no transition of time, and hefollowed his final one dimensional path right through the wall of the universe.
And then there was nothing. The knight was without form, without matter,without energy. The knight managed to escape the universe and travel back to atime when the universe was, well, what ever it was before it was.
Who knows where the knight is galloping off to now that he has escaped theconfines of the universe? All I know is that I am short a chess piece on mychess board.

A Smile at the Door

2011-12-19T02:55:00.000-06:00

Hello All:

I had an alarming dream on Saturday night that caused me tolie awake in bed and nearly shiver while recounting the peculiar details. Notquite predawn, I had to wonder if all the doors and windows were locked in myhome.

The dream started off as a Sunday morning about an hourbefore paying our weekly visit to church. For some reason, I went into thekitchen for my Sunday morning glass of wine. In reality, I certainly don't havea Sunday morning glass of wine, but I apparently did this sort of thing in thedream.

Just then I glanced outside the window, and could seetwo strange women approaching the back door while waving and smiling at me.Their presence and eerie approach startled me, and I soon scurried into theother room to get my wife. I'm not sure how she was going to help me in thisdream, but for some reason I got her.

Seconds later I returned to the back door where the twowomen were nearly close. I opened the door and they took turns announcing allsorts of bogus products, business scams and other fraudulent offers.

"I see some of the siding on your house is damaged. Wecan get that replaced for you." said one of the women. It was an odd offerto make. We don't have any siding on our house.

"I will start up a college investment fund for you.” saidthe other. “I just know you wish for your beautiful daughters to attend areputable university some day." I wasn't interested in any investmentsoffered by the strange woman.

Now just a couple feet from my face, I could see who thesewomen were. They were gypsies who wished to get inside of my house with noother intention but to negotiate and possibly steal valued things away from me.Once they made their way into my home, there would be no getting rid of them!They would sink their parasitic hooks into our household and spread their lifedraining virus of greed and desire until there was nothing left of our home.

One of the women sensed my fears and began to reassure mewhile reaching her hand through the open door, "We are only interested insmall items or small matters; anything that you can give we'd beinterested."

Fortunately I have an ability to turn cold and unfriendly atshort notice. Although I might be open and inviting to strangers, I can quicklychange face and close up if I sense malicious intent in someone's heart. Andalthough the gypsy women reacted in such a way that would suggest my change ofbehavior to be inappropriate, I had no problem coldly declaring, "We havenothing small to give you!" With that, the door was closed and the gypsy women were left to stand outside.

But I'm afraid that wasn't the end of them! Although keptout of our home, I could sense the gypsies' presence outside near the window,listening and trying to gauge the activities in our home.
It was a frightening and bothersome dream!

As a small boy, I had a few encounters with gypsies. Mygrandparents befriended an older married couple who were gypsies. Whenvisiting, it wasn't uncommon to see them. Even at that young age, I could sensethat there was something not right with those people. Quite possibly sufferingfrom borderline personality disorders, they looked to be the sort of people whoplaced more emphasis on the novelty of relationships and would suck the verylife out of people who trusted them, only to move on to the next place whenthere was nothing left.

And one time, my grandparents brought them over to ourhouse! The woman-gypsy took out her tarot cards and offered to do some psychicreadings on our family. Of course all gypsies wish to take people's children.The readings all pointed to one thing. "Your son, Tommy, is in bigtrouble! He's in danger! Somebody close to your family wishes to hurt Tommy.You need to send him far away where he can be protected from danger!"

***

A few years ago, I noticed an emergence of door-to-doorsalespeople who used a most interesting technique in getting homeowners to openthe door. If one would glance out the front room window, the salesperson wouldsmile and wave. This happened to me a couple times and it caused me to believethat I knew that person. This technique worked so well on my wife, one time, thatshe let a salesperson in the house! Imagine the sort of damage that couldhave been done had the salesperson been dangerous?

A Smile at the Door is one of those bonus flash fictionpieces that were added throughout the release of Freaked out Horror. Have yougotten your copy of Freaked out Horror?

A Smile at the Door

Susan sat in her living room on a late Sunday night, devastated. How could such a nightmare have happened? One would have never believed or suspected such a diabolical scheme, most likely requiring detailed training in the art of deception.

It was a smile so friendly and suggestive that the stranger on the other side of the door was a long-lost friend. This was the moment that Susan continued to analyze; the turning point of where she lost control and invited disaster in the apartment. As the minutes of agony and despair unfolded, she contemplated when and where a technique of hypnotic intrusion would have been used.
Perhaps undercover agents and police used similar tactics to surprise a suspect. A simple smile and wave through the window might provoke a double-take and the burning question, "Who is that? I recognize that person."
Naturally, one's mind begins to fill the gaps as a quick dash to the door in expectation to greet a relative, neighbor or friend is the suspect's final moment of freedom. Surprise! An arrest is made!
Perhaps this technique of hypnotic intrusion was developed around the time of Nazi-Germany. During a time when it was believed that fugitives hid throughout German homes to evade capture, military and police may have staged surprise visits which simply involved smiling and waving through the window while wearing civilian clothes. Once again, the mind might have hiccupped as the victim ran to answer the door, feeling it was a friend or relative. The poor, unsuspecting fugitive was then confronted with his or her worst nightmare!
***
The woman at Susan's door earlier that afternoon was a salesperson whose training may have involved the “smile and wave” technique. And although not immediately recognized as a door-to-door peddler, it was the friendly smile and wave that caused Susan's mind to loop and conclude that it was her long, lost friend from high school.
Susan hadn't seen Tina in years! But with the arrival of her new baby, word must have spread fast which resulted in a “karma” of old friends now reuniting with Susan in one of the happiest times of her life.
She exclaimed, "Hi! Oh my God! It's been so long!" Happy tears glassed in Susan's eyes as an embrace of the teenage-years friend would soon follow an invitation into the apartment. Perhaps if she weren’t alone that afternoon, someone else would have awoken Susan from her trance.
"You probably came to see the baby!" She grabbed who she believed was Tina by the hand and eagerly pulled her through the living room of the apartment, down the hall and into the nursery where the newborn infant soundly slept. "Isn't she beautiful?" We named her Taylor. Tina continued to smile.
But it was in the nursery, over the crib, where Susan began to suspect something not right about her long, lost friend. In Susan's teenage years, Tina was the one who had a voice that rang from the moment she entered a space with excitement, greetings and the latest gossip. But today she stood over the crib in a frightening silence with nothing more than what was taking on the look of nervous smile.
That’s when Susan nervously called out her friend’s name, "Tina?"
The strange person replied, "Umm… I'm selling subscriptions to some of the leading magazines and offering 3 subscriptions for the price of two. That's buy two subscriptions of your favorite magazine and get the 3rd one free!"
This person was not Susan's long, lost friend from high school. This was a door-to-door salesperson that was now in the privacy of a prospect's home. Susan was outraged to have let a stranger in, believing it was someone she knew. Even worse, this stranger was standing over the precious, new-born baby.
"Get out!" Susan pointed to the door with a face emphasizing outrage. She would have shouted, but the baby was sleeping.
The stranger was not so easy. "Look, I would ask that you give me some kind of courtesy, treat me like a human being and at least hear what I have to offer."
If such a salesperson were at the front step, it would have been simple to shut the door and forget about the unsolicited visit. But this salesperson was already in the house and requiring a more forceful means of removal. Unfortunately, Susan’s husband was at work for the Sunday afternoon.
"Out!" Susan’s voice was raised a notch and the baby stirred at the sudden crack of a command.
But the stranger was persistent, "Look, I'm not as fortunate as you are. I've seen some really hard times. I'm not married and depend on magazine sales as my sole source of income. If you could just be so kind..."
Susan had lost patience, "That's it; I'm calling the police!" She stormed out of the nursery, down the hall, and into the living room where the phone sat on the table. Being that Susan lived on the first floor, it wasn't necessary to control the hardness of walking as the floor beneath was a concrete slab.
The magazine salesperson remained in the other room as Susan dialed 911. Why was the stranger still in the nursery? One might think that a threat to call the police would have been motivation to leave.
The new mother with concern for her child rapidly approached the nursery while speaking to the 911 dispatcher, "Yes I have someone in my apartment.... Oh my god! My baby is gone! She stole my baby!”
No salesperson in sight and an empty crib; the only clue of disappearance was a wide-open window with screen removed. The April wind violently pulled the curtains as they danced outside the nursery window, attempting to point the direction of the abducted baby. But nothing could be seen out the window; no car pulling off, or no stranger running away. And the only description Susan had of the alleged abductor: the woman wore a baseball cap. And for a few moments of hypnotic hallucinations, the stranger had the appearance of being a long, lost friend.
***
Susan sat in her darkened living room on a late, Sunday night. How could she sleep? How did she fail as a mother? Was her baby okay?

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Mister T's Martial Arts Academy

2011-12-16T08:55:00.000-06:00

Hello All:
I want to share with you another piece of wonderful artwork created by my twelve-year-old daughter. I've featured her art and stories a few times on the blog.

This picture was actually an assignment for one of her art classes in school. She modeled the room after her mom and dad's bedroom. No, my bedroom doesn't look quite like this, but the furniture and windows are all there. I would like to redecorate it after seeing this picture, even if it contains all the elements that are important to a twelve-year-old girl. Notice the purple walls? Notice a painting of the Eiffel Tower facing the bed? If you look at the far right hand corner of the room, you will see a portrait of a horse. Horses are very important to my daughter!
Look what's behind my bed! No, that's not a window; it's an aquarium. And something that really impressed me was the care and detail given to the French lattice window at the far wall along with the Pergo tile flooring.
Job well done, and I give this piece of art five stars! It now proudly hangs in my cubicle at work.
***
In my late teens and early twenties, I heavily trained in the martial arts--in particular, the internal martial arts. For most people, the internal arts are a complete waste of time. Where-as most popular schools teach how to beat, annihilate and break bones; schools of internal martial arts (Tai-Chi, Kung-Fu, Pakua, Hsing-I, etc) focus on health, well being and harmonizing oneself with the world around. And there is this fascinating concept of a metaphysical energy that orbits in our bodies and is also present throughout the universe. After a few years of practicing these dance rituals that condition the body to absorbing and utilizing nature's elements, the student of these internal arts becomes aware of the existing metaphysical world.
By my late twenties, the world and perception was nothing more than synchronizing my microcosm energies with the universe's surrounding macrocosm of energies. Of course priorities change. You get married, become a parent and eventually come down to Earth. But there was no reason not to integrate these martial arts exercises into my daily workouts throughout the years.
Recently, I have placed heavier emphasis on my morning workouts of practicing those ritual dances for extended periods. Many of these movements integrate controlled breathing or quasi-yoga positions. Those who practice certainly know what I'm talking about. And I must say I do notice a difference! It's not quite the same as simply working out.
While practicing this morning, I suddenly had a flashback of a story written a couple years ago about a neighborhood martial arts school.
Everyone have a great weekend! Why not reground your energies and harmonize with the elements around you? And stay away from those silly schools like Mister T's Martial Arts Academy!

Mr. T's Martial Arts Academy

Considered a brainwashing cult thatdoes more harm than good, Mister T's Martial Arts Academies continue sprawlingup in every city of every state. Students of this bizarre martial arts cultclaim not only an increase in physical health, but a surge in a confidence outin the streets. But there is more to this school than what meets the eye.

Most vulnerable are the young—childrenand teens who leave the daily lessons, super charged with a tendency towardsviolence. And to make matters worse, instructors welcome newcomers by offeringtwo weeks of free lessons!

***

Danny and Joey werea couple of wimpy 7^th graders who were small in size and feltsomewhat bullied and pushed around. Danny suggested that a couple weeks of freelessons at the neighborhood martial arts school might improve their ability todefend themselves against those who bullied. And Mister T's Martial Artsacademy was only a two block walk from their neighborhood street, right next tothe 7-11 convenient store!

"Welcome; stepinside of my office." The instructor sat behind a large desk and invitedDanny and Joey to sit down. "So what can we do for you here at Mister T'sMartial Arts Academy?"

It was Joey whospoke in reply, "We need to learn how to defend ourselves. The olderstudents bully us in school."

The instructor whomerely identified himself as "Instructor Bob" leaned back in his seatwith hands behind his head. "Oh, we'll take care of that. At the end oftoday's introductory lesson, you'll walk out of here with complete confidencein defending yourself. And at the end of the two weeks, you will be deadly! Areyou ready?"

Both boys noddedtheir heads.

But it was necessaryfor the instructor to ready the boys for their encounter with the almighty MisterT. "Now, experiencing Mister T for the first time can be a mind-bender.You might be shocked, frightened and even angered. But I urge you to remaincalm, follow his lessons and keep an open mind. The end result: you will have avery strong body and mind with an ability to annihilate anyone who attempts towrong you."

The instructor stoodup from his chair and motioned the boys to follow. Passing through a door inhis office, Danny and Joey entered a large work-out area that was the size ofthe gymnasium.

"This is roomis called the dojo, and based on its size; you can conclude that we have somelarge group lessons throughout the week. But for the next couple of weeks, youwill learn the basics for your training in private lessons with Mister T."

Instructor Bobordered the boys to stand side-by-side and mimic the sequence of movements thatwere about to be passed on. "Now bend your knees slightly with feet a fewinches apart. Punch with the right fist, punch with the other, then kick withthe right, kick with the left. Again: punch, punch, kick, kick... Again: punch,punch, kick, kick... Alright; now you're ready to meet Mister T!" InstructorBob walked over to the wall at the front of the room and pushed a button.Within seconds, a moving picture was projected onto the wall as the instructorwalked back to his office.

Mister T was nothingmore than an animated figure of Mr. T—the same character from the 1980'stelevision series, The A Team. But he was somewhat altered in appearance as hewas 3 times the size of an ordinary human. Where-as the average person standsaround 5 to 6 feet tall, Mister T was over 18 feet in height! And he hadenormous muscles to suggest monstrous strength!

His greeting washarsh, "What are you doin', fool? Get back down into position like theinstructor showed you and keep doin' the movements! That's right! Don't stopmovin'!"

The boys continuedtheir sequence of punches and kicks while the almighty, Mister T spoke to hisbrand, new students.

"Now you mightask, 'What do I know about martial arts?' Well plenty jerk! Consider some ofyour favorite martial arts heroes." The animated figures of Bruce Lee,Chuck Norris, Steven Seagal, Jean Claude Van Damme, and even David Carradineran up to the enormous Mister T. They were tiny in size and proceeded toexecute deadly martial arts moves.

"I don't careabout these fools! I squash 'em!" His mighty fist dropped down on theattackers' heads like a hammer striking a nail. All they could do was lie onthe ground, dazed in disbelief.

Then Mister T lookedback to Danny and Joey. "See; I told you, fool! And let that be anextra-added bonus to your lesson, for today. I call that the T-Hammer! Go aheadand mix it in with the exercises your instructor gave you."

Danny and Joeyblended the T-Hammer along with the punches and kicks while continuing to watchthe animated, motion picture.

"Keep it up andsome day you'll be able to do this!" The image zoomed in on Mister T'senormous fist which slowly plowed into a brick wall, smashing it tosmithereens!

Suddenly, Mister Twas flying over a city of skyscrapers on a commercial-jet airplane. He was solarge that he merely stood on top of the jet plane as-if riding a surf board."That's right, fool; Mister T is comin' to your town. You better lookout!" Rather than wait for the commercial-jet plane to land; Mister Thopped off and landed in the streets of the city.

"When someone'sbeen givin' you trouble, you simply walk up and show 'em who’s boss." MisterT now stood before a 3 story building. He looked up and pointed out a businessman who sat behind a desk with his feet up.

"Look at thatjerk actin' all bad like he was better than Mister T! Sometimes you gotta shake'em down to size!" With that, Mister T shook the building which caused itcrumble to the ground. The business man lay over the battered building,completely dumbfounded at Mister T's strength.

But themonster-of-a-man wasn't done, yet. "Take that, fool!" His enormoushammer fist slammed on the business man's head—more powerful T-Hammer strikes.

The image dissolvedinto a scene in which Mister-T walked through a forest preserve on a fine,spring morning. "Sometimes I like to come out to nature and enjoy a niceworkout." With that, Mister T began lifting enormous trees out of theground and throwing them over a cliff. The damage and noise must have startleda mother grizzly bear as she stood up right and approached the intruder,sounding the most frightening bear growl.

"Never ceasesto amaze me! Fools be messin' with you while you’re tryin' to enjoy a peacefulworkout." Wrestling the grizzly bear that was half his size was a slightchallenge; but in the end, Mister T picked up the bear, spun it around, andthen hurled it off the edge of a cliff. And despite all the action, he enjoyeda moment with the two bear cubs as he picked them up and held them near.

"Awe; ain'tthese guys cute? And remember fools; practice every day and you can be aspowerful as me!"

And that was Dannyand Joey's introductory lesson at Mister T's Academy of Martial Arts.