The Sock-Monkey As Alone

  "till you spend half your life just to cover it up." ·     Bruce Springsteen.   What is the magic bullet made of? Is it by that wizard of weapons, packed with sanity and tattered, torn, crippled, and waiting for some point where there is enough clarity to say a proper goodbye, those old dreams? My father gave me a bullet on my eighteenth birthday and told me, "this is your escape plan. When things get too heavy, this is your parachute".   I wear it on a necklace stare at it, unsure if the thing is real, hoping that baking out in a parked car with no air conditioner, it will go off and take an artery with it. It looks like it is made of gold. Maybe my old man wasn't a shit; perhaps it is gold. Maybe he meant if I ever went on hard times, I could sell it for some quick cash. Yeah, perhaps that is it, but more than likely, he hated me as much as I hate myself.   I wrote a short story called red as riding hood; I knew it was terrible, in the same p

  "Learn from the mistakes of others. You can never live long enough to make them all yourself." ― Groucho Marx Somewhere east of Eden, there is a lake of black glittering with stars, and a smiling moon seems to watch over the hills on the way to the graveyard. The dead trees of the season leafless in the cold. The headstones of the forgotten or barely remembered. Zip was carrying a shovel on his shoulder that was twice as long as him. The twelve-year-old looked closer to nine in age—Lankey and thin but not tall. "Adelinda, how much farther do we have to go?" said Zip With her blue skin and red eyes, she didn't turn back; she seemed like she was trying to ignore the child. So he responded the way he always did, with persistence. "Adelinda? I am tired and hungry. You said we would have supper tonight, not like the three nights all hungry and hurting but food. Adelinda, I know you can hear me?" Said Zip. Adelinda looked over her shoulder, still walking f

  A lake of black glittering with stars and a smiling moon seemed to watch over the hills on the way to the graveyard. The dead trees of the season leafless in the cold. The headstones of the forgotten or barely remembered. Zip was carrying a shovel on his shoulder that was twice as long as him. The twelve-year-old looked closer to nine in age—Lankey and thin but not tall.   "Adelinda, how much farther do we have to go?" said Zip   With her blue skin and red eyes, she didn't turn back; she seemed like she was trying to ignore the child. So he responded the way he always did...with persistence.   "Adelinda? I am tired and hungry. You said we would have supper tonight, not like the three nights all hungry and hurting but food. Adelinda, I know you can hear me?" Said Zip.   Adelinda looked over her shoulder, still walking forward, and said, "we are going to get food, something delicious."   Zip did not like the sound of that; he star

 I see that there is something wrong with me. "you turn on the light and darkness goes" I want to sing but start to scream I have to much ugliness for one man's soul. The voice in the acid, says things to clear. the voice speaks but no one seems to hear. that an ocean of solutions...   is a loaded gun of retribution.   but the cello in the rain is soothing.