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. 

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!

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.

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! :-)

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. 

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.