Why Tyrants Fear A Caffeinated Mind

Hello All:

Is it just me, or does it feel like society is being conditioned toward a state of perpetual passivity?

There’s an undeniable push—subtle yet pervasive—to discourage ambition, critical thinking, and proactive engagement. Whether it’s the endless scroll of doom on our phones, the normalization of marginalization, or the legalization of substances that dull awareness, the message seems clear: Stay distracted. Stay compliant.

Health, discipline, and self-improvement are dismissed as outdated ideals, while apathy and disengagement are framed as modern virtues. And the most unsettling part? This doesn’t feel accidental. It feels deliberate. What’s going on in American and (probably) throughout the rest of the world.

Today's podcast which may provide a theory explores the connection between coffee and political resistance, framing the substance as a vital tool for intellectual clarity. We're provided with a historical overview, noting how various regimes once suppressed coffeehouses to stifle analytical debate and revolutionary thought. It analyzes a dystopian short story of mine about a weary society controlled by a regime that has outlawed the simple pleasure of coffee as a means to keep the populace docile and compliant.

No, coffee isn't outlawed in America and throughout much of the world. It's very much enjoyed. But if you ask me, I think the forces that be have found new ways of dulling our senses and plunging us into a mindless fog that seems to dominate the ever growing chill subcultures in our world.

Listen to Tyrants Fear a Caffeinated Mind

Lost Dog

Hello All:

We go deep into the archives for today's short story, all the way back to 2012. It's quite a bizarre fantasy game for someone to play, and I wonder if people actually do this sort of thing.

Lost Dog

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

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

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

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

In Sally's belief the dog was just as good as had! It was in her yard and lost. Apparently the owner no longer cared 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 has no home. Can we keep him, huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This incident only fueled more fantasies for Sally. At night she would lie in bed and imagine a dog that was far, 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 way to get back home, maybe the dog became confused and somehow ended up on a freight train and couldn't get off until it stopped at little Sally's town. Not sure of where he was, the dog continued to run down the neighborhood streets until reaching little Sally's house.

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

Mother and Father let the dog stay with Sally with the understanding that it was only temporary until someone answered the "Lost Dog Found" ad in the paper. But the owners were a thousand 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 answering the ad, Mother and Father had no choice but to keep the dog.

***

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

Today she drove through town in her red pickup truck, moving slowly until possibly finding something that caught her eye. Just then, she spotted a man in the rearview mirror that appeared to be crossing the street. But he disappeared behind a parked delivery car. The only feature she recalled was short, brown hair and carrying a beverage from the local coffee shop.

Quickly making a u-turn at the intersection, Sally stepped on the accelerator with not a second to spare. She reached the other end of the street and turned right where the man was last seen. 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 the end of the block as-if not to startle the man. Then she turned and drove forward 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 to wander the streets alone?

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

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

"Are you lost?" Sally asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soon the truck drove along the city streets with John sitting in the back. His hair tousled in the open wind as other motorists and pedestrians looked up at him while surely wondering why a man in a business suit would be riding in the back of a pickup truck.  After some time, he wondered why the woman didn't invite him to sit in the cab along with her. It was as-if John were nothing more than a lost dog being rescued and waiting patiently in the back of a truck to arrive at the destination.

Taking the final sip from his iced java, the pickup truck pulled into a residential neighborhood; soon to thump over the driveway curb of a house. This must have been where the strange woman lived.

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

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

Remaining quiet, John did as ordered.

"I bet you're hungry. Let's get you inside."

Inside, both Sally and John were greeted at the foyer by an excited border collie that barked and lunged from side-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 a bath and then fix him lunch."

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

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

It was only a bath and nothing more. Returning to the bathroom, Sally shut off the water and began to gently pour buckets of warm water all over John. "So, we need to give you a name."

"My name's John."

"John? No, that's not a good name 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's your new name and I'm your new owner. My name's Sally, by-the-way."

"Hi Sally, nice to meet you."

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

"To the office. I was returning from lunch break."

"The office? Is that your job?"

"Yeah..."

"What were you supposed to do there?"

"Well I did have a teleconference call scheduled for about now."

"What was the teleconference call about?"

"Eh... not much. Just the customer yelling at me while the boss listens in and yells at me even more."

By now, Sally had shampoo worked into Rex's hair. She immediately stopped massaging his head at the mention of being yelled at. "Well that doesn't sound like much fun. That's almost like abuse. See, no one there loves you. Aren't you glad you came home with me?" Sally began to rinse the shampoo out of Rex's hair. "We're going to 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 in a 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'll have a nice, hot Panini sandwich waiting for you. Do you like pastrami and Swiss?"

"Sure..." Actually Sally's lunch didn't sound so bad after all. The cookie and iced mocha didn't go 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 you a nice lunch." Sally finished giving Rex his bath. It wasn't such a bad afternoon, after all. Considering where he was supposed to be, Rex gladly accepted the alternative. And he couldn't help but feel so loved in that moment, getting a warm bath from a nice, friendly woman who would soon make him lunch. Sally was sure to become a good friend!

***

After drying off and redressing—slacks only worn and his shirt without necktie—Rex strolled into the kitchen with the border collie excitedly trailing behind and barking.

In the kitchen, Sally had lunch prepared for the two of them. A plate had been set for Rex with his toasted Panini and a drink.

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

"Thank you!" said Sally. Then she 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 like Zingers when I was a little girl. Doesn't he look like a Zinger?"

"Yup, he sure does."

Rex and Sally enjoyed a nice lunch together along with some wonderful conversation. Sally was so glad to have found Rex out in the streets. After some time, she might even wonder who rescued who.

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

"Oh, look at this. Zinger loves to play fetch! Go get it!" Sally whipped the ball some distance away.

Zinger charged after the ball like an energized border collie would, and returned to drop it on the ground before Sally for more.

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

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

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

Rex was able to still play. He waited 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 and catch 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 cuddled next 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 away from home. Apparently your owner didn't take care of you. Not only that, I have no 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 long would Sally play this fantasy game of Lost Dog?

How Real Names Killed the Digital Mask

Hello All:

It's Podcast Tuesday. With the introduction of our new Mapleview Social, I recalled a generated Podcast based on a writing I created a few years ago on "cyber existence". I'm sure many of the younger readers aren't familiar with the term "cyber existence". We can thank the death of the Internet we had in the early 2000s for that. But I invite people to revisit this wonderful state of mind through the use of Mapleview Social. 

As for the Podcast, it explores the evolution of the cyber existence, contrasting the anonymous personal reinvention possible in the early internet era with the rigid identity constraints of modern social media. It argues that early digital spaces allowed users to inhabit idealized personas through chat rooms and forums, fostering a sense of self that often bled into their physical lives. However, the loss of anonymity and the requirement for verified data have turned the internet into a mere extension of one's offline reality. (Hint! You have anonymity and the early 2000s cyber existence available with Mapleview Social!) While the web once offered a boundary-free landscape for fantasy and romance, it has transitioned into a platform that largely reinforces social inhibition. Well, it's time to make the internet and social media fun again. 

Listen To How Names Killed Digital Mask

An Afternoon of Conduiting

Hello All:

The massive network of elevated industrial piping running across North America often owes its bizarre routing to historic right-of-way disputes between mid-century utility conglomerates and municipal zoning boards. In many cases, when private companies lost the rights to dig beneath public streets, they simply built outward and upward—constructing vast, seamless, hollow steel conduits suspended on riveted steel trestles. These forgotten networks exist in a legal grey area: not explicitly illegal to touch, yet completely absent from modern city blueprints. 

It is precisely this architectural ambiguity that gave birth to the subterranean subculture known as "conduiting".  And your reward for reaching the end of my 900 word short story is to view the 10 second video of the main character exploring that world inside the pipe. The video is at the end of the story.

An Afternoon of Conduiting

The entry point sat behind the decaying perimeter of the abandoned standard-oil sorting yard on the south side of town. To get there, you had to leave your car tucked discreetly behind a row of overgrown sumac trees and vault a rusted chain-link fence. Marcus adjusted his backpack, stepping over the tangled wire. Ahead of him rose the first elevation tower—a fifty-foot lattice of structural steel holding high a dull, six-foot-wide matte-grey utility pipe. 

No plaque named its owner. No pressure gauges or valve wheels interrupted its seamless metal hull. It carried no water, no natural gas, and no fiber-optic cables. It was just an empty, continuous steel cylinder hovering over the town like a discarded piece of an impossible machine. 

Marcus stepped up to the base of the tower. The bottom of the access ladder was intentionally cut ten feet off the ground to deter trespassers, but someone had welded a rebar hook onto a telescoping pole and left it hidden in the brush. Marcus used the pole to snag the ladder’s bottom rung, dragging the spring-loaded lower section down with a heavy metallic clack. He climbed twenty feet up into the late summer heat, reached the narrow catwalk, and unlatched the circular hatch cut into the pipe’s side. 

Slinking inside, the temperature dropped instantly. The steel shell muffled the outside world, replacing the hum of distant traffic with a deep, echoing acoustic chamber. 

To the uninitiated, the pipe was a maze. To Marcus, it was the ultimate private transit system. 

He flicked on his headlamp. The interior floor had been flattened over decades by the footfalls of urban explorers, drifters, and shadow-dwellers. Marcus began his hike, crouching slightly as he moved along the curved steel floor. The pipe stretched ahead, descending gently as it traveled north. 

After twenty minutes of steady walking, the pipe sloped downward, leaving its elevated towers to run directly along the ground through a narrow residential greenbelt. It passed straight through a tiny, concrete housing structure—a pump house without a pump—where light filtered in through high, iron-barred vents. 

Here, Marcus slowed his pace. The pipe was a transit network, but it was also a refuge. 

Sitting on a rolled-up sleeping bag in the dim shelter of the concrete housing was Old Miller, a local legendary hermit who had lived within the pipe system for five years. A small battery-powered lantern illuminated his makeshift camp—a folding stool, a stack of paperbacks, and a carefully arranged rack of canned goods. 

"Afternoon, Marcus," Miller said, his voice gravelly, barely raising his eyes from a crosswords puzzle. 

"Hey, Miller. Clear path up to the commercial district?" Marcus asked, leaning against the curved wall. 

"Clear enough. Watch out around Mile Two. A couple of runaway kids set up a tarp city, and they’ve got a dog that likes to bark at boots. Otherwise, smooth sailing." 

"Thanks. Need anything on my way back?" 

"Draft beer from the brewery if you’ve got a thermos," Miller grunted, waving a hand in farewell. 

Marcus ducked back into the cylinder, continuing his journey. Walking through the pipe gave him a bizarre, omniscient vantage point over the city. He could hear the faint, ambient sound of life outside radiating through the steel walls. At one point, the pipe passed over a bustling four-lane avenue; he could hear the distinct thump-thump of tires passing under the elevation trestle beneath his feet. 

Ten minutes later, he reached Hatch 4B. 

Marcus pushed open the heavy iron door and popped his head out like a periscope. The bright afternoon sun blinded him momentarily. He was standing on an elevated platform tucked discreetly behind the brick facade of a downtown artisan bakery. Below him, tourists and locals ambled along the brick sidewalk, completely oblivious to the man emerging from the giant grey tube above their heads. 

Climbing down the secondary ladder, Marcus grabbed a sandwich and an iced coffee from the cafe, sitting at an outdoor table for thirty minutes to watch the crowd. The contrast was intoxicating. To everyone else, the town was a rigid layout of streets, traffic lights, and crosswalks. To Marcus, it was a open-world map connected by a secret aerial highway. 

Finished with lunch, he climbed back up the hidden ladder, unlatched Hatch 4B, and stepped back into the cool steel darkness. 

Now he pushed further north, where the pipe elevated high above the suburban neighborhoods, crossing over the canal and heading toward the edge of town. The sounds of tires and sirens faded entirely, replaced by the hollow whistle of the desert wind echoing against the pipe’s metal skin. 

As he walked, the air turned crisp and scented with pine and damp earth. The pipe began its final descent, anchoring down into the granite boulders at the edge of the regional forest preserve. 

Marcus reached the end-of-line hatch—a circular opening that opened outward onto a wooden bluff. He unlatched it and stepped out onto the damp soil. Behind him lay miles of asphalt, concrete, suburban sprawl, and traffic. In front of him stretched miles of quiet timberland, untouched and still. 

He took a deep breath, checked his watch, and smiled. He had crossed the entire town in under two hours without stepping foot on a single sidewalk. Sitting down on a rock overlooking the valley, Marcus opened his pack, pulled out his thermos, and prepared for the trek back. 

Finding Light in the Heavy: Reimagining the Concept of "Bearing Your Cross"

We live in a world that relentlessly whispers that our worth is measured by the height of our ladders and the weight of our possessions. We pour the marrow of our energy into building resumes and curating lives filled with physical items, often forgetting that these earthly anchors can drag our spirits downward. This hyper-focus on the material creates a quiet friction with our highest calling: the command to "love God with all our heart, all our mind and all our soul." When our ambitions take up all the room in our hearts, God is often crowded out. To reclaim our peace, we must learn to shift our gaze from the heavy weight of our circumstances to the light of Christ through an upgraded lens of spiritual perspective.

The Career Trap: When Ambition Clouds Vision

In an achievement-obsessed culture, the most "socially acceptable" way to lose our way is through our work. We often view a career not just as a means of provision, but as a primary source of identity. This is perhaps the most surprising way we lose our spiritual focus; we are taught that ambition is a virtue, yet valuing a career or a physical pursuit above all else creates a veil between us and God. When we are caught in the "hustle," we trade spiritual stillness for a shimmering, temporary idol. It is a striking realization that the very success we pray for can become the barrier that prevents us from loving God with our whole being.

The Unpredictable Crisis: When the "Perfect" Life Fractures

Life has a way of shattering our carefully constructed glass houses. We may invest decades into a company only to be met with a "reduction in workforce". We may offer our whole hearts to a spouse only to face the devastating betrayal of being cheated on. These moments are more than just "bad luck"; they are the refiner's fire of our faith.

"These times can really test making God #1 and loving him with all our being."

When the foundations of our professional and personal lives fracture, we find out what we are truly anchored to. These crises ask a singular, difficult question: can we keep God as our top priority even when the world around us is falling apart?

The Grace of the Unexpected: Finding Love in Difficult News

Few experiences test the soul like the pivot from joyful expectation to a complex reality. Consider parents who spent months dreaming of their newborn's future, only to receive a diagnosis of Down Syndrome upon arrival. This is a profound shift in the landscape of a life. Navigating such life-altering news requires a spiritual resilience that goes beyond human strength. We are directed to handle these transitions "gracefully," finding a way to bridge the gap between the life we imagined and the one we have been given, without letting the weight of the news crush our spirit.

Defining the Cross: Radiating Light Through Burdens

To "bear one's cross" is not a call to stoic silence or bitter endurance. Instead, it is an active, vibrant choice to remain soft in a world that encourages us to be hard. Bearing the cross is a two-fold commitment:

• Bearing burdens gracefully: Walking through the fire of hardship without losing our spiritual integrity or our composure.
• Continuing to love God and "radiating the light of Christ": Refusing to let our circumstances dictate our character or our devotion.

Radiating light is an entirely counter-intuitive response to suffering. When we are burdened, the natural human impulse is to shrivel, harden, and withdraw into ourselves. Yet, the spiritual call is to glow and expand—to become a beacon for others precisely because our own world feels dark.

Conclusion: A Final Thought on Spiritual Resilience

The weight of our lives does not define us, but our reaction to that weight defines our relationship with God. Resilience is not the absence of the "cross," but the grace with which we carry it. Whether we are facing the sting of betrayal, the uncertainty of a job loss, or the surprise of a lifelong diagnosis, these moments are invitations to prove our love.

As you look at your own life today, how might you "radiate light" in the midst of your current "reduction" or burden?

Mapleview Social

Hello All:

On Saturdays I like to offer videos that discuss some strange topic. But, today, I'm going to use the opportunity to introduce something new on our blog.

Have you clicked over to the Mapleview Social page? If so, do you wonder what it might be? Well don't worry! We have a nice explainer video that introduces you to this new, revolutionary social media platform that's developed, exclusively, for the Literary World of Tom Raimbault.  In short, it's an AI driven social media hub based on (currently) 300 characters of my fictional universe. They have been turned into 300 of your new closest friends. The characters are programmed to be friendly with you and they place you at the center of the universe. 

Now, if you don't feel like talking, you can always browse the feed which promises to be highly entertaining. There is plenty of drama on Mapleview Social. And let me reassure you, it's always weird.

And here's one of the best parts: Your experience on Mapleview Social is 100% autonomous! That means my experience and your experience never cross paths. Your existence in Mapleview Social is totally private. No one sees what you are doing. Your 300 followers are imaginary, but they seem so real!

A fun way to connect is to upload a photo and see what your fellow Mapleviewers think! Next time you’re exploring the woods or out somewhere, or even want to take a selfie in your new ensemble, drop a picture in and see what everyone has to say.

I'm a little disappointed with the initial release, however. You see, I've been testing this for over a week and am very satisfied with how everything works. I was originally going to release on Labor Day weekend, but figured I would release it this weekend so you can give it a try and master it. Then you have something fun for Labor Day weekend. But, coincidentally, Google is having trouble with their GemBots, so I can't update the final revisions. As a result you are running the beta version. In upcoming days, I hope Google resolves their issue and I can make the perfected upgrade available. For now, just give it a test drive. Let me know what you think by adding a comment either at the bottom of this post, or the dedicated Mapleview Social page. Below is the explainer video:

East Cedar Grove/West Cedar Grove

Hello  All:

I have something to share with you. After nearly 20 years, I cancelled my publisher account with Draft2Digital (Originally Smashwords). This was the avenue which published most of my books and short stories to the major book catalogs. I'm a little sad because I had a nice run with them. The reason for cancelling? Authors who earn less than $100 a year in royalties must pay an annual fee of $12. All of my material is free on the premium catalogs. Yeah... I know... $12 is not much at all. It was just the principle of the matter. This doesn't hold true with my Mapleview series. This is published through Next Chapter Publishing. So you will still see those books on the catalogs. 

Because of this, my Books and Short Stories pages have been renovated. I now offer my works as free downloads in EPUB, PDF and MOBI formats. If there is a particular format you would like to see in my catalog, just leave a comment at the bottom of the page.

***

East Cedar Grove/West Cedar Grove: This was a short story written in 2014. I apologize for the repeats, but I'm sure many of the readers are new and have probably never seen this story. I'm preparing a mini novella that will be featured throughout week of Halloween, so that is taking up much of my creative energy for now. It'll be complete soon. As for the short story... Well, once upon a time I used to add a heavy layer of erotica to my works, a practice which I have ceased. As for this story, I'm okay of re-releasing it because it's PG-13. It isn't anything too terrible. The actual story about the two towns and the situation the main character is faced with is far more interesting. The introduction provides some heavy details on the development of the town, but bear with it. You need to understand the two towns to understand the situation of the story which gets very entertaining.

East Cedar Grove/West Cedar Grove

If traveling either north or south along Route 122, the road briefly changes its name to Town Line Road which spans—exactly—5.32 miles before resuming the name of Route 122. At precisely 2.66 miles onto the section of Town Line Road—the very center of those 5.32 miles—is a dissecting road called Main Street. Main Street cuts through the very center of both the towns of West Cedar Grove and East Cedar Grove.

This is where people begin to suspect something very peculiar about West Cedar Grove and East Cedar Grove. You see, as naturally assumed, the boundaries of both towns are separated by Town Line Road. Both towns have Main Street that runs through the very center until it ends onto some other road outside of town. 

But Get This! If traveling into West Cedar Grove; you pass Ash Street, Birch Street, Crisscross Lane, Daffodil Court, and so on. And if traveling into East Cedar Grove, you will also pass Ash Street, Birch Street, Crisscross Lane, Daffodil Court, and so on.

But it's more than just a charming phenomenon of duplicate street names shared by both towns. It would appear that when both towns were being developed, plans were made for the two to be perfect reflections of one another. Houses are duplicates of one another with the exact same floor plans. And they sit on what would be considered the mirrored geographic locations from one another. The business districts of both towns have duplicate buildings with floor plans that are exactly the same. Every street sign, stop sign, traffic light and fire hydrant is positioned, precisely, so that it is the mirrored reflection of the neighboring town.

Now there was a time when this reflecting charm was forgotten. This is evidenced with a small portion of both towns somewhere in the middle that take on a certain individuality. Subdivisions and homes were constructed by different builders who built houses that were unlike the ones in the other town. Parks and playgrounds were placed in random places that didn't share an opposite. And to this day there are a few shops and storefronts that are not shared by the other town as well.

Then it would appear that at some point there was a new effort to continue with the reflecting charm of both towns from many decades ago. After passing the areas of individuality in both towns; there are newer roads, subdivisions and shopping centers that are perfect reflections of the other town.

***

Martin has a girlfriend, Betty, who—if all goes well—will soon be Martin's fiancée. She currently lives in West Cedar Grove— a town about twenty minutes from where Martin lives in Robin Creek.

Martin drove the network of roads and highways on a bright and beautiful Saturday morning and eventually turned onto Route 122. Within minutes the road changed the name to Town Line Road where he was soon greeted by the intersecting Main Street.

Oops! Martin better not have made the mistake of turning east! (At least not now!) If he did that, he would be traveling through the town of East Cedar Grove which can be a confusing duplicate of West Cedar Grove. Betty, after all, lives in West Cedar Grove, where her house is located on Jackson Street. Not the other Jackson Street in East Cedar Grove where... Well, Martin better not think about that right now.

Martin turned west like he was supposed to and followed Main Street all the way through the old section of town... the business district... the small section that is quite different from East Cedar Grove... and, finally, the newer section which resumed itself to be a perfect reflection of East Cedar Grove where Betty lived on Jackson Street... The Jackson Street in West Cedar Grove, not East Cedar Grove where... Well, let's not talk about that right now!

Martin and Betty planned a nice day together which began with Martin tapping the horn upon pulling into Betty's driveway.

Immediately, Betty emerged from the house in a conservative, ankle-length dress that was not a very flattering choice for a Saturday day out with Martin. It was dull in color and it covered Betty's entire chest, all the way up to the neck so that her large breasts could not be appreciated. Martin knew that Betty possessed large breasts and speculated that they were absolutely gorgeous. You see, Martin had never seen Betty naked.

To add to her conservative appearance, Betty wore a button-down sweater which covered up most of her arms. She had this need to protect her young and beautiful skin from the eyes of anyone—even from Martin who loved her so.

Martin stepped out of his car to greet Betty, "Good morning!"

"Good morning!" answered Betty in return.

Then they briefly hugged while exchanging a simple kiss to one another's lips. But nothing too fancy! You see; Betty is a conservative girl who doesn't believe in taking affection to a sensual level. This means that she will not engage in steamy make-out sessions with a lover. A kiss is to be perfect and simple, an affectionate greeting—nothing more.

Martin was sure to walk Betty to the passenger side of his car, and then open the door. Once she was inside he closed it. But Martin secretly wished there were a custom in which the man puts on the woman's seat belt. This might provide a way to sneak an "oops-feel" of one of her breasts.

They had breakfast at the West Cedar Grove Cafe which—as you know—is a perfect reflection in both location and building layout of the East Cedar Grove Cafe. But Martin would never take Betty to the cafe in East Cedar Grove! What if someone saw him with his sweet, perfect and conservative Betty?

She sat there at the table, across from Martin, taking a brief sip of her tea while eating her poached eggs on toast. "I thought we would browse some of the antiques at the West Cedar Grove Antique Shop. What do you think?" asked Betty.

"That's sounds like a great idea! The matinee won't be until 11:30. We have time."

Then Betty suggested something frightening. "Maybe if we have time we can drive over to the East Cedar Grove Antique Shop and see if they have anything different. I know it's supposed to be the same store, but..."

Martin interrupted, "That's a bad idea!"

"What?" asked Betty. "Why?"

"Well... Don't get me wrong. I don't have anything against East Cedar Grove. What I mean to say is that by the time we make it out there and back, again, we might miss the start of the movie."

"Oh..." said Betty before having another bite of her poached eggs on toast. For a second it almost sounded like Martin had a dreadful phobia of East Cedar Grove.

***

It was midmorning as Martin and Betty strolled through the musty aisles of the antique shop. Betty even allowed Martin to hold her hand! How Martin would have loved to have put his arm around her shoulders. But that might have been too much affection in a public place for Betty. For now, Martin simply enjoyed the moment of holding her hand.  

They admired the antique furniture and centerpieces. They found entertainment with the clothes and dresses from many decades ago. And then, once again, Betty made the unwelcomed suggestion of venturing into East Cedar Grove. "We still have a little bit of time. Why don't we run over to the Antique shop in East Cedar Grove?"

"Nah... I don't want to be late for the matinee." answered Martin. What do you say, instead, that we go to Starbuck's before the show?"

"Sure!" agreed Betty. Then she came up with a not-so- great idea. "Hey, you know how each of the Cedar Groves have their own, unique sections?—no businesses the same? Well there's a coffee shop in East Cedar Grove that supposed to be excellent. Do you want to sneak over there instead of Starbuck's?

"No!" snapped Martin. "Let's just go to Starbuck's!"

That's when Betty began to suspect that Martin had something against venturing into East Cedar Grove. "Martin?" she began. "If I didn't know any better, I would think that you have something against East Cedar Grove. What's the deal?"

"It's not that." reassured Martin. "It's just... just..."

"What?" pushed Betty. "What is it? Why don't you want to go to the other town?"

Martin tried to be humorous. "Well... you know what they say about the east side, right? It's supposed to be not as nice as the west side? I guess I have a phobia of going east."

Betty laughed. "Don't be silly! Let's go to the coffee shop in East Cedar Grove. I heard it's nice. And it's not too far from the movie theater here in West Cedar Grove."

Martin sighed. "Well, okay. But we have to be quick about it."

And with that, Martin and Betty drove off from the antique store; down Main Street and across Town Line Road into East Cedar Grove. They passed Ash Street, Birch Street, Crisscross Lane, Daffodil Court, and so on. They drove through the business district. Then they drove past the Walmart which made Martin secretly nervous. For you see, it was at Walmart where Martin first met her. West Cedar Grove doesn't have a Walmart, and Martin really needed to pick up some items. So he stopped one evening at the Walmart in East Cedar Grove on the way home from Betty's house. Once inside, he couldn't believe what he saw.

A drive past the parking lot on this Saturday afternoon with Betty, Martin could see that her car was in the lot—probably working. At least there wasn't a chance of the two women encountering one another. But what about other people? What if someone recognized Martin with his sweet, beautiful and conservative Betty?

Just as Betty promised, the coffee shop was way better than Starbuck's. It smelled like a coffee lover's heaven, inside, and the beverages were made to perfection. And no one recognized Martin with his sweet, beautiful and conservative Betty. It looked like luck was in his favor for today.

***

They went to the matinee. They went to the park and took a nap by the pond. And by late afternoon, the two returned to Betty's house to make dinner—lasagna with grilled eggplant. As for wine; Betty prefers not to drink alcoholic beverages. Instead, they had freshly squeezed lemonade.

After dinner, Martin and Betty sat side-by-side on the swing, outside, and watched the beautiful sunset. In this alone time, together, Martin was permitted to put his arm around Betty. He even managed to sneak a few kisses in. But nothing too fancy! Betty doesn't like sensual kisses.

Now you might question Martin, and wonder why he stays with Betty—even considers proposing to her in the near future. Really, Betty is a great girl! She's beautiful, intelligent and so reserved. And think of the fun the two had together throughout the day. Who wouldn't want a girl like Betty?

Ah, but there's that little matter of intimacy and deeper romance. That's what's killing you, isn't it. But, really, Martin doesn't mind.

***

It was about 9:00 in the evening when Martin announced that it was time for him to start heading home. He and Betty hugged and briefly kissed before Martin drove off. And in the rearview mirror, he could see Betty waving and smiling. She loved him so much.

Martin drove Main Street all the way to Town Line Road. And what was this? Rather than turn in the direction towards his own town, Martin crossed Town Line Road into East Cedar Grove! He passed Ash Street, Birch Street, Crisscross Lane, Daffodil Court, and so on. He drove through the business district. He passed Walmart and noticed that her car wasn't there. He continued until reaching Jackson Street. But this time, he turned the opposite direction. For you see; the house where she lives is the perfect reflection of Betty's house—just opposite directions.

It's such a perfect reflection, in fact, that the woman who lives there looks—exactly—like Betty in West Cedar Grove. That's why Martin was so dumbfounded the first time he saw her at Walmart. It was as-if he had found Betty's double or Doppelganger.

And get this! Betty's double who lives in East Cedar Grove in the house that is a perfect reflection in style and location, shares the same name with Betty! Her name is Betty, too! Secretly, Martin refers to the Betty in East Cedar Grove as "Naughty Betty"; for you see, Naughty Betty does all those naughty things that the good Betty in West Cedar Grove will not.

As soon as Martin pulled into the drive way, she ran out in a pair of tight shorts and athletic bra. Martin could have eaten her luscious thighs right there! Or maybe he would skip to her enormous breasts that were strapped into the athletic bra. And the best part; she looked just like his wholesome Betty in West Cedar Grove! Martin had been drooling over her all day.

"What took you so long?" asked Naughty Betty?

"Sorry..." answered Martin. "A little hold-up."

"Well get your ass in there! I've been waiting for you all evening!"

As soon as the two entered her house, a duplicate floor plan of Betty's in West Cedar Grove—just opposite, their lips locked and in a hot and steamy session of making out with plenty of tongue action. Martin ripped off Naughty Betty's athletic bra and then squeezed her enormous breasts.

"I have wine." announced Naughty Betty. "Don't you want some wine to get started?"

"I'll take mine like this!" answered Martin. And with that; he reached for the bottle of wine and dumped some all over Naughty Betty's naked breasts. He licked and drank up every drop.

See how naughty Naughty Betty can be? Just one problem: Martin was going to have to propose to her as well.

The End!

How Tibetan Snow Dictates Your Winter

Hello All:

I listened to an interesting Podcast this morning while getting ready for the day on how our brutal (and often early) winters are decided. While listening, the concept of snow and winter was so foreign to me. Living in the valley of Arizona, I've been faced with afternoon commute temperatures hovering 120 degrees. I'm sure that this sort of temperature really pushes the design limits of my poor car.  As for Winter, I won't see it. In January, it'll be beautiful weather in Arizona. But in many other places around the globe Winter is on the way. Will it be early this year?

When we think of weather and extreme conditions, we are conditioned to think of things like carbon emissions, global warming and melting glaciers... "If things don't change with the environment, I'm going to glue myself to the airstrip of a major airport and set myself on fire... Be sure to vote for the next Karl Marx so that half the country can finally be government funded transvestites and they can put THC in our drinking water!"

But, seriously! What causes a brutal winter that seems to drag on? Today's Podcast dives into some fascinating material that might initially seem like folklore and old wives tales. But , it's pure physics; all things proven to be scientifically accurate. With the approach of Winter not too far off, let's watch and wait to see if we have an early snowfall and test how true all of this is. Be sure to give the Podcast a listen.

Listen to Tibetan Snow Dictates Winter

The Knight that Escaped the Chess Board

Hello All:

I wonder how many of my original readers are still around, and if so, how many remember today's short story that was originally written in 2008. 

The Knight that Escaped the Chess Board

He stood there motionless on his usual square among the other chess pieces, and wondered what life was like beyond the chess board. The knight realized that in order to escape the chess board, the ability to move was needed. This shouldn't have been difficult since the knight was a 3-dimensional figure that existed in a 4th dimensional universe which accommodated the transition of time.

The knight concentrated with all its might until finally gaining 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 the chess board. He looked behind, and for the first time understood that he was once 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 out while considering safety; the knight took a deep breath, nudged his horse to hop off and was soon on new ground. After galloping away, he looked behind to notice that only a moment ago, he was on a small board that sat on a flat surface. 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 an enormous drop to a much larger surface that appeared checkered. It was similar to the chess board where the knight came from, but designed differently. Is this what exploration had in store? Was existence simply a chess board on top of a flat surface on top of a larger chess board on top of a larger flat surface? Such a theory needed verification, so he gathered the nerve to plunge off into the abyss and landed on the larger chess board.

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

But soon he reached the end of the tiled floor, and found himself on a soft, plush surface. This soft surface continued to be wandered until reaching a barrier which, unknown to him, was a screen door to what appeared to be an infinite world with no boundaries. The knight managed to open this barrier and ventured out into this infinite world with seemingly no boundaries. As he galloped along, he stopped to look behind him and realized that just moments before, he was inside a house that had flat surfaces and a table where a chess board rested.

All day long the knight galloped and explored this new world where he encountered hills, valleys, forests and lakes. It just seemed to go on forever; and the knight was satisfied that he finally found a world with no boundaries. By nightfall he got off his horse so he and his partner could have some much, needed rest. While lying on the grass and gazing up at the stars and the moon that hung in the sky, the knight suddenly wondered if he truly did make it to a world with no confines or boundaries. All day he happily explored this new world, but remained on the ground. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that there were birds flying in the sky. It only triggered the realization that he remained trapped to the confines of the Earth. He decided that in the morning he would escape the ground and see what those stars and moon were.

Awakening the following morning, he hopped back on his horse and took off at high speed while encouraging the horse to jump. But the knight quickly came back down to the ground. He tried again, jumping and jumping and jumping, but soon realized it was not easy escaping the ground. Finally he tried with all his might which resulted in his ability to escape the confines of gravity. The knight looked back and realized that moments earlier he was on an enormous sphere that contained the forests, hills and valleys along with the house that had tables where chess boards sat. The knight continued traveling farther and farther away past the Earth. He galloped past the moon and past all the planets.

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 the confines of the solar system as well.

The knight traveled through several solar systems and wondered what confines he was in that housed all of these solar systems. And it wasn't long before he broke 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 past galaxies that contained stars that contained planets, which possibly had seemingly endless hills, valleys, and forests. But all of these galaxies had to be confined to something. This thought just inspired him further to break the confines of whatever was housing these galaxies. Although he wasn’t aware, the knight set out on the difficult mission to break through the walls of the universe.

He looked out along the infinite and could see the edge of this confinement that he was trapped in, but just couldn't seem to reach that edge. The horse needed to travel faster, faster, faster until the knight and his horse were traveling way past the speed of light. Finally, the knight could feel that he was drawing closer to edge of his confinement. The walls of this confinement were expanding at an enormous rate and he needed to continue traveling past the speed of light to approach it.

Suddenly the knight got so close to the edge of the universe that the gravity of the expanding walls caused time to stand still. He was no longer in a 4th dimensional universe. This made animation nearly impossible for the knight. He needed to remain strong and break the confinement of 3rd dimensional reality. But soon he experienced the break down of 3rd dimensional existence as he drew closer to the walls of the universe. He didn't know this, but the very edge of the universe takes us back to when the universe was first born. It takes us back 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 defeat the confines of a universe where there is no transition of time, and he followed 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 a time 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 the confines of the universe? All I know is that I am short a chess piece on my chess board.

From Dropped Cake to Another Solar System

Hello All:

It's Podcast Tuesday, and we offer a surreal narrative beginning with a mundane office accident involving a ruined slice of cake, which serves as a catalyst for a journey toward interstellar self-discovery. After accidentally dropping a colleague's dessert onto a filthy breakroom floor, the narrator visits a local shop that transforms from a simple bakery into a space of metaphysical revelation. The shopkeeper initially insults the man's appearance and virility, but the encounter quickly shifts into a supernatural recognition of their shared alien heritage. By the story's end, the mundane goal of replacing food is forgotten as the characters communicate through celestial languages and manipulate light to express their true, cosmic origins.

Listen o Dropped Cake to Another Solar System

The Carousel

Hello All:

I thought I'd start the week off with a really interesting short story I had written back in 2011. It's always been one of my favorites. After all, we are getting close to the season of Halloween, and readers might like this sort of things. 

The Carousel

In a rare, once-in-a-lifetime occurrence; an employer who offers a modest salary might be fortunate enough to have a dedicated worker who goes above and beyond the call of duty. It might be a place like Funland Amusement Rides that in recent years has nearly declared every summer the last season in operation. Rides have gotten outdated and the grounds appear unkempt. Those operating the attractions, working in hospitality or maintaining the grounds are paid minimum wage and must endure the unpleasant reality of working twice, sometimes three times as hard since staffing is at a minimum. But despite what management expects, no one is willing to step up and work very hard. Would you? The people who run Funland Amusement Rides are unhappy, not very engaging with the guests and seem to be sluggish.

But then there is a special employee, Gertrude, who operates the bi-level carousel that is located in the corner of the park. Were-as most rides appear rusty and nearly falling apart; the carousel looks to be brand new and nearly glows from an illumination of its own. The reason? Not only does Gertrude operate that carousel from the time of park's opening to close, but she also comes in early to maintain the ride. An older immigrant woman who looks disheveled and hardly ever speaks; she has long strands of split-gray hairs and cracked, aged face. Her very mannerisms with quirky, odd behavior might suggest her to be a witch. In fact, many coworkers at the park maintain a strong aversion towards this woman because of this.

"That lady is weird!"

"She's creepy!"

But management doesn't care of how others feel about Gertrude. She is the model employee who exhibits a passion for her job. Why else would she come in with a collection of paint and brushes to carefully maintain the precious faces of those animals on the carousel? Gertrude personally loves each and every animal on that ride. Her art gives every horse, camel, lion and dragon a character of its own. And in recent times, she has begun to chisel and carve new expressions on their faces. Oh, how they looks so real and as-if to come to life!

Gertrude goes even further with her dedication to the ride. Recalling the old days when carousel music was hand played on an organ by the operator, Gertrude purchased and installed her own keyboard to play while the guests enjoyed going round and round on the animal of their choice. She wouldn't dare allow the shrilling voice of some electro-pop hip-hop artist to loudly blast through the speakers! Such a thing might be sacrilegious on her carousel.

Occasionally, park management might walk past the carousel on a fine Saturday afternoon. It's easy to admire the well-maintained animals that appear to nearly come to life. The ride has an illumination of its own and draws a large crowd of people who are eager to enjoy the attraction. But it's the music that slightly concerns management. If people didn't know any better, the pitch of the keyboard sounded to be deliberately off tune. Although the lively organ music matches the dance of the animals, it has an overwhelming hint of being somewhat macabre and frightening. And why do most of the children on the ride scream and cry while the animals go round and round?

The park manager approaches Gertrude who dances from side to side, swaying her long strands of gray hair along her back while playing the keyboard. Perhaps she isn't hitting the right keys. "Gertrude?" the manager calls out. "Can't you adjust the pitch or hit the sharper keys, not so many flat tones? I think the music is scaring the children."

Gertrude turns her face to present a plastered smile with her red, glassy eyes. Employees have often accused the old immigrant woman of drinking on the job. Why else would she be so weird and lively while operating the carousel all day long?

Speaking only broken English with a heavy accent, she often referred to herself in the third person. "Gertrude think the music is fine. You like, yah?" Then she cackles, nearly sounding like a witch. All the while, the children cry in terror while going round and round on that dreaded carousel. Even the parents exhibit an irrational terror of the ride.

Nothing, outside of the peculiar music, can be identified as disturbing on Gertrude's carousel. But if management would care to take a closer look, they might notice the hellish world being reflected in the carousel's center mirror. They would see the hideous animals that aggressively bite the children and parents with their large, sharp teeth. The animals stand on their hind legs and then pounce their front hoofs on the guests, nearly crushing them. The lions swipe their enormous paws across the bloody chests and backs of unfortunate riders. Camels rip the hair out of children's heads with their nasty mouths. Dragons cock their evil, serpent heads back and then force rage-full flames into the faces of people who soon find themselves to be cooked alive.

Round and round the terrifying carousel goes while Gertrude cackles and plays her morbid music. Now that’s the sort of carousel I want to ride! :-)

Fire in the Sky: the real story

Hello All:

It's video Saturday, and we share a detailed summary of the 1975 Travis Walton alien abduction. Many are familiar with the story and have seen the movie. And yet, according to Travis Walton in a radio interview, his experience was very much different from what was portrayed in the movie. 

My take: I think the spacecraft may have been preparing for launch when Travis got too close and was seriously injured by the energy required for takeoff. Realizing that a terrible accident had occurred, the people aboard brought him inside to help him heal and recover.

I'll let you decide in today's video.

The Blue Bird of Happiness

 Hello All:

At home I have a comfy chair with side table that might serve as some sort of personal religious shrine. On the table is the Bible with some religious books; my rosary, a statue of St. Joseph and a small painting of St. Michael the Archangel. 

Recently, I discovered my wife's glass sculpture of the Blue Bird of Happiness sitting on my table. She found it in one of the boxes from our move to Arizona a couple of years ago. And of course this personal shrine is the perfect place for blue bird!

That's when I remembered that I've written about this Blue Bird of Happiness throughout the years on the blog. I pull out a classic writing from over ten years ago and feature it for today's writing.

The Blue Bird of Happiness

As shown in the picture, the Bluebird of Happiness is simply a glass sculpted bluebird. Originally created in 1980 by a glass craftsman, Leo Ward; the trademarked Bluebird of Happiness is currently manufactured by Terra Studios.

The Bluebird of Happiness first appeared in literature in an early 1900s play by Maurice Maeterlinck titled, L'Oiseau Bleu. In the play, two children are instructed by a fairy to set out on a journey in search for the Bluebird of Happiness. The journey is very interesting in that they visit places such as the Land of Memory, the Palace of Night, and the Kingdom of the Future. But the journey turns out to be a failure as the two children never actually find the Blue Bird of Happiness. It isn't until they return home that they discover the bird to be in their birdcage the whole time. The moral of the story: one doesn't need to travel far to find true happiness. Oh, but the moral takes on a double whammy as the children give the bluebird to a friend who had been sick. Somehow the bluebird escapes and flies away! This event symbolizes our realization that treasures are found in the journey of life along with extending random acts of kindness; but never reaching the destination.

The bluebird has been decorated with mystical powers for many centuries. Those who carry some statue, a painting or even have a bluebird tattooed on themselves are blessed with good luck, victory and triumph. The bluebird symbolizes springtime, new beginnings, joy, and love. And now this wonderful bluebird is available in the form of a small glass sculpture.

It was my wife who originally received the Bluebird of Happiness as a gift. I wasn't fully aware of the Bluebird of Happiness until a couple years into marriage. You can carry it with you as a good luck object which rarely fails. I've taken the Bluebird of Happiness with me during job interviews. My kids have used it during big tests at school. Once I accompanied my violin-playing daughter to an orchestra audition. I stood outside the door with the Bluebird of Happiness sitting in the palm of my hand. Both of us watched through the small, glass window as my daughter executed, flawlessly, in front of the judges.  And of course I carried the bluebird down the hallway with such reverence. It remained sitting in the palm of my hand as-if it were alive. I'm sure those standing nearby found my behavior unusual.

Some people might not believe in the power of the Bluebird of Happiness. But that's just how people are nowadays. Many people no longer believe in things. People are told to be rational and avoid any beliefs in omens, signs, dreams or sacred items. And when it comes to God and religion, there seems to be a great push in society to no longer believe. We've come so far as humans, and no longer need the "invention of God" or things we do not understand to give us a sense of hope or power. Such a shame; once upon a time our universe was so vast and mysterious. We sought ways to understand and tap into the unexplainable--understand the mind of God. Now we've limited ourselves to understanding our favorite professional athletes, and worshiping their individualized winner's attitudes while denying any sort of beauty and mystery in the surrounding, exterior universe.

Halloween is roughly 6 weeks away; a time when the veil between this world and the other is at its thinnest; a time when we can truly recognize that there are realities in our world that cannot be explained through science or the rational mind. If you are a regular visitor of the blog and a fan of my writings, then surely you believe this. We need to serve as opposition to the social push of no longer believing in the mysterious and unexplained. 

Shoshone National Forest Spirit Castles

Hello All:

It's Podcast Thursday and we examine the rugged topography of the Shoshone National Forest as an architectural marvel composed of mystical fortresses and monuments built by a forgotten civilization. It's very possible that the mountains are actually sentient spirits capable of camouflaging their true, majestic forms to avoid detection by human observers. By blending physical observations with supernatural symbolism, such as celestial numerology, we redefine the natural wilderness as a sacred, hidden realm haunted by powerful ancient entities.

Listen to Shoshone National Forest Spirit Castles

Prehistoric Man is Introduced to Little Darling Snack Cakes

Hello All:

Go back to Monday of this week and we have our friend, Steve, who traveled to medieval times to offer up Little Darling snack cakes to the king in exchange for silver coins. Well, my daughter challenged me to write a sequel of Steve venturing to prehistoric times to offer up more of these snack cakes to the residents.

And just how would that work?

Well, sugar and refined carbohydrates act on the brain in ways remarkably similar to addictive substances. When consumed, hyper-palatable foods trigger a surge of dopamine in the brain's reward centers. In modern society, we are accustomed to this chemical rush, but to an early hominid whose diet consisted entirely of lean game, roots, and bitter wild berries, a sudden blast of concentrated sugar would represent an absolute sensory overload.

From an evolutionary standpoint, introducing ultra-processed food to prehistoric humans isn't just a culinary shock—it would completely alter their behavioral dynamics, social hierarchies, and symbolic culture in a single afternoon.

Oh, I also generated an image of what this Little Darling would look like on the box. You are certainly familiar with Little Debbie. Well, we can't write stories about their product. But we can create a fictional competitor. I include this image as the cover image for today's story.

Prehistoric Man is Introduced to Little Darling Snack Cakes

Steve stood on a ridge overlooking a sun-drenched valley, his fingers resting lightly on the temporal actuator strapped to his wrist. Down below, sitting around a smoldering pit of ash, was a band of early hominids. Clad in raw animal hides, they were gnawing brutally on the uncooked marrow bones of a small steppe deer, occasionally grunting or threatening to strike one another with heavy river stones over the choice cuts.

Steve smiled, feeling a thrill of mischievous curiosity. On his last temporal leap, he had terrorized a medieval court, but this experiment promised to be far more primitive. He unslung a canvas duffel bag packed with two dozen boxes of "Little Darlings" pastry treats. He had deliberately left the hexagonal-shaped Honey Cakes at home, reasoning that such geometric perfection might break their fragile, ancient minds. Instead, he brought dense chocolate squares and foil-wrapped Swiss Rolls.

He adjusted his windbreaker and walked down the dusty slope.

The moment Steve cleared the brush, the band froze. Grunts turned into low, defensive snarls. Two tall males stepped forward, brandishing thick oak clubs with jagged knot-heads. To them, Steve was a creature from another realm—tall, hairless, dressed in neon-red synthetic fabric that practically screamed danger.

Steve held up his hands, unzipped the duffel, and pulled out a chocolate square. Slowly, under the watchful, terrified eyes of the tribe, he peeled back the plastic wrapping and took a deliberate bite. He exaggerated his chewing, letting out a satisfied sign.

The tension shifted. Fear gave way to primal curiosity.

A younger female cautiously shuffled forward, her nostrils flaring as the wind carried the heavy scent of cocoa and vanillin toward her. Steve reached into the bag, unwrapped another square, and gently extended his arm. The female snatched it, sniffed it aggressively, poked the soft sponge with a dirty fingernail, and then mashed the entire cake into her mouth.

Her eyes went wide. Her entire body stiffened as the hyper-concentrated dose of high-fructose corn syrup tore through her nervous system. She let out a high-pitched shriek of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Within seconds, the rest of the tribe swarmed forward. They abandoned their marrow bones and dove into the duffel bag, tearing through cardboard and plastic with yellowed teeth. The scene devolved into chaotic pandemonium—hominids screaming, rolling in the dirt, and smearing chocolate across their faces in a frantic feeding frenzy that looked alarmingly like the apes encountering the monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Steve pressed the button on his wrist and vanished back to the present, chuckling to himself. "Well, that was fun."

Three weeks later, Steve returned. This time, he brought a commercial van’s worth—over two hundred boxes stacked into a hand-cart.

When the temporal haze cleared, Steve found himself in the middle of a transformed landscape. The campsite was now a sprawling settlement, and the culture had undergone an abrupt, terrifying evolution.

Several tribal elders stepped out from a stone overhang. Woven around their necks were crude necklaces made from the torn cardboard faces of the "Little Darlings" mascot—her smiling, freckled portrait now serving as a holy talisman. On the flat face of a nearby sandstone cliff, the tribe had painted crude red-ochre murals depicting dark, solid squares descended from the sky.

When Steve appeared, the entire village dropped to their knees, bowing toward him as a god. But the peace was short-lived.

The arrival of two hundred more boxes immediately triggered a societal collapse. Previously, only twenty elite hunters possessed the sacred mascot medallions. Now, with hundreds of boxes pouring into the camp, nearly every member of the tribe claimed the divine right to wear the smiling girl's face.

An all-out war erupted before Steve’s eyes. Neighboring tribes rushed over the ridge, drawn by the scent of sugar. The air filled with guttural war cries as warriors tore into the Little Darlings cakes, wolfing down the sugar to fuel a manic, adrenaline-fueled strength before lunging into combat. Clubs slammed into shields; dust filled the air as factions fought over the right to hold the sacred artwork of the squares—and the newly introduced hexagon treats.

Steve leaned against a boulder, watching the chaotic battle unfold with a smirk. "Look at them," he muttered. "All for a bit of processed sugar."

His amusement ended instantly when a shadow fell over him.

A massive warrior, his face painted with chocolate residue and blood, stepped out from behind the boulder. In his hand was a heavy, stone-weighted wooden club. The warrior didn't bow; his eyes were fixed greedily on the temporal device on Steve's wrist.

He swung the club with terrifying force.

Steve ducked, but the heavy oak weapon clipped his left shoulder with a sickening crunch. Pain exploded through his upper body. He stumbled to the dirt, the actuator slipping out of his grip and tumbling into the grass.

The warrior raised the club for a killing blow. Operating purely on instinct, Steve reached out with his good arm, grabbed the base of the ancient weapon, and planted his boot firmly into the caveman's chest. With a furious shove, he sent the warrior sprawling backward into the dirt, wrenching the heavy club from his grip.

Steve lunged for his actuator, slammed his thumb onto the return switch, and pulled the ancient club tightly against his chest.

POP.

Steve collapsed onto his living room rug in a cold sweat, clutching his throbbing shoulder and breathing heavily. Next to him lay the rough-hewn, blood-stained prehistoric club.

Six months later, Steve sat on his sofa, his shoulder fully healed, sipping coffee while the morning news played in the background. Suddenly, a breaking news segment caught his attention. A world-renowned archaeologist was standing in front of an excavation site in Southern Europe, holding up a camera.

"Archaeologists today are baffled by a series of extraordinary discoveries at a Upper Paleolithic site," the reporter announced. "Excavators have uncovered dozens of fossilized cardboard fragments bearing the vibrant image of a mid-century cartoon girl—matching the modern logo of the Little Darlings snack brand."

The screen shifted to show a high-resolution photograph of a cave wall.

"Even more perplexing," the reporter continued, "are the cave paintings dating back thirty thousand years. Primitive artists drew detailed geometric squares and precise hexagons, worshipping what appears to be a sugary confectionery. Scholars are left with far more questions than answers as to how these modern artifacts ended up buried in deep prehistoric strata..."

Steve took a slow sip of his coffee, leaned back against the cushions, and smiled quietly at the TV.