Other Things

Dogs howl for something more

I saw them in the yard

My drink went warm

I’m not sure but I think animals are happier alone

I watched them together in their own crowd

Much happier without us

_____________________________

I was alone when the party came to a close

Everyone decided to leave at more or less the same time

No one was drinking and everyone could drive

I stared at the blank canvas

It waits for me

I mixed the paints

Trying to find that surprising color

I used the pallet knife to get an edge

Slowly the white void grew into a host of colors

The texture would change with each touch of the brush

The beginning of an enigma

________________________

Overlapping pages of my thoughts

It’s okay we saw the play

We understand that the book is not the same

A touch of tragedy

Unidentified I exist

Alive

___________

This pavement

This car

I’ve driven my emotions

Power switch on

asphalt hypnotic blackness

I watch the reflectors

Fast in my trance

Asphalt is forever

___________________

A cloud never finds peace

though it thunders

though it dissolves

Forever pushed

__________________________

The capsized boat didn’t float nowhere

the current did what it could

I watched but sometimes I can’t understand

the Universe slowed

the tide came in

the wreckage disappeared

the sun scorched everything

the clouds wouldn’t dare cover its’ fire

____________________________________________

The colorful dance of twilight waltzed across the hood of my car

The FM stations faded in and out

Then she drove by

There seems to be something else to everything you want to do

__________________________

You never had dreams before today

Always searching, wandering, jumping from shadows

Afraid of every false prophet with a poem

Maybe you should have stayed home

you had to be a roller

one night stands

groupie for a band

you wanted to be lonely

Independence never fails

But there are no friends out here on the perimeter

you found out

To caress your loneliness you made friends in you mind

What a fine cell you have built

for no one to enter

and no one to leave

I’m The Everlasting Know-It-All and Nobody Comes to Visit

That’s okay cause I’ll find my enemies online

Sitting in my bunker, high, below the industrial wastelands of the mid-west United States.

My pius rantings fill the room

I am right until I’m not. Prove it if you can. ’cause I ain’t listenin’

“I scroll through your pages I listen to your search for understanding

I can only say you can.”

Back to my ego.

I judge from my protected society

I call into question your motives. If I cared I would already know.

My duplicitous poem is getting out of control

Bathing in my angst and panic I scream at the screens

Screens filled with doom and pornography.

Is there a relation between end of the world journalism and naked women on display? I’ma thinkin’

I hear the knee-jerkers call out everyone —-

You’re Gay! You’re a Homophobe! You’re a racist! You’re a libtard! You’re a Xenophobe! Go back to Russia! Go back to Kenya! Go back to Mexico! Go back to Cuba! Go back to Germany! Go back to China! Go back to Afghanistan!

I need to go back to, So many places. I’ve never been.

You’re Wrong, WRong, WRONG!!!

I hate, hate, hate everybody!

Unless you look like and agree with me. Don’t let me down, here. I’m tryin to work with ya.

Okay you don’t have to look like me but ya better agree or

I’ll troll you silly!

Facebook Bully? Check

Anonymous comments? Check.

Attack you for your looks, hairstyle, religious affiliation, make nasty remarks about your family and friends. You respond? I’ll never reply.

Somehow, can I hurt you, even more?

I’ll sleep well.

Cause I’m right. So effin right.

Defend yourself and if I’m listening I’ll laugh and call you a liar.

Cause that makes me real.

This world is too big and out of my control. So I must

Attack Attack Attack!!

A knock on the door… “Honey, come up it’s time for dinner.”

Whew ! I’ve got to stop surfing the internet while drinking espresso.

The Everlasting Know It All shuts down for the evening.

 

 

Happy Weekend Everyone.

~Mike

Stay tuned for the next exciting episode…… The Everlasting Know It All Takes a Drive—- Road Rage? You ain’t seen notin yet.

The Ann Arbor Cat Napper #9

Cuddles, Boots and Mittens resisted the wind and all the flashing objects. After dodging through the parking lot the moped picked up speed. Reinfeld was giddy, he was going to collect a couple hundred for these cats.

A stop light, a very useful signal to indicate the proper time to go, to stop and to be cautious. Most drivers follow the signals provided. Some do not. Reinfeld always did. He hadn’t had any driving problems in over twenty years. Now he only wanted to get out of town as soon as possible. He tried to ignore the distressed meows from Cuddles, Boots and Mittens.

Jim finally decided to get a move on. He was hoping for just one break. The turn of events didn’t work out, his preferred way, easy.  He wasn’t going back to the neighborhood anytime soon. He got up and walked aimlessly toward the intersection. Packard Street, a street that cuts through a healthy portion of Ann Arbor, had its usual traffic back up. Jim looked at the intersection and saw Reinfeld’s smokey moped. That machine always sounded like a high strung V8 without a muffler. it was loud and annoying. Jim thought Reinfeld was okay. He never had much to do with him. Reinfeld was an out of townie. He lived south of 94 (I-94 is a northern interstate highway located in the United States starting in Port Huron, Michigan and ending in Billings, Montana) on some sort of farm. A few years ago that moped fell apart in Jim’s neighborhood. Jim watched from his roof as Reinfeld tried to tie it all back together after about 45 minutes, Jim went down to help. An hour later, using duct tape, wire not plastic clothes hangers they finally got the thing drivable.

Jim approached the intersection and nodded to Reinfeld. Reinfeld smiled and nodded. The light turned green, Reinfeld revved the engine and the bike stalled. Jim gave a sly smile and Reinfeld turned the key a couple of times too fast and the bike protested with a grinding noise. Jim looked back and noticed immediately a black and white cat hanging upside down out of the milk crate like basket strapped to the back of Reinfeld’s moped. The sound of the key ground the starter again. The bike sputtered but didn’t start. Jim saw another cat climb on top of the one already hanging. Both fell to the ground and skittered through traffic. Jim sharp, as usual, watched the cats and started to move, though not really understanding. The events were starting to push through his mental fog. He looked back to Reinfeld and saw a third cat peering over the edge of the crate not quite ready to commit. The grind turned into a sputter and the bike jurked, Reinfeld swore above the noise. Mittens toppled off the bike and hit the ground, apparently on his feet since he bolted through the traffic in a different direction. Jim started after him. Reinfeld turned and watched the last cat run under a car and around the corner.

“Aw. crap! he said. He tried walking the bike to the corner while still on it. That didn’t work so well. Jim now more or less understood what was going and moved to chase down one or all of the cats. He gave Reinfeld a “What the Fuck?” look and broke into a slow trot.

“Here Kitty, Kitty.”

Reinfeld had the same idea but had to deal with a moped that seemed to have other plans. He wasn’t sure what to do when he saw Jim going after the cats. Maybe he’s  just being nice. But still he can’t get those cats. After a struggle Reinfeld leaned his bike against the wall and started in pursuit.

“Puss. Puss.”

The cats, as you know, were in a complete frenzy. Boots ran to an alley, Cuddles ran into a wheel of a car, got up and charged down the middle of the road. Mittens took off around the corner. Jim followed one into the alley. He didn’t see Boots at all but he heard that deep, meow-groan cats give when they are lost, frustrated and mad at the world. Jim found him cornered between two garbage cans. Boots hissed and scratched at Jim. Jim knelt to coax the kitty to him. Boots didn’t care for that idea. He didn’t like the looks of this human who seemed intent on grabbing him. Boots put up a pretty good defense. Jim finally reached in, took a couple of scratches and grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck. Boots howled and struggled for his life. Jim was not ready when Boots spun around and bit into Jim’s thumb. Jim immediately panicked, released his grip and shook his arm violently. Boots was air born with claws out, just when Reinfeld was going to surprise Jim and try to get the cat back. Boots comprehended little of what was happening, he was free but not quite safe. He flew quickly to Reinfeld’s leg. When he landed Boots attached himself to the leg with all his might. Reinfeld screamed and reached for the cat. Boots disengaged, dove and ran out of the alley back into the street.

Jim got up and started, Reinfeld “accidentally” side stepped into Jim causing Jim to fall. Jim was a little dizzy both were in shock and each wanted those cats.

Jim recovered. He eyed Reinfeld. “What the fuck’s with the cats?”

Reinfeld stared at Jim. He didn’t respond. He didn’t have time to think of an answer. He thought. “Should I get my bike and leave or chase the cats or go to the hospital for shots. Anyway, who’s this clown? What does he care about the cats?”

He replied to Jim. “They’re my cats. What’s it to you?” Reinfeld turned and headed out of the alley.

Jim realized that Reinfeld didn’t remember him and thought no one would be driving around with three cats on a moped? Jim slowly followed while he examined his cat bite. Reinfeld quickly turned out of the alley. Jim picked up the pace to catch up. When he emerged Reinfeld was nowhere to be seen. Everything looked as it should near the corner of Packard and State.

Jim looked up and down the street, ran to the corner and looked, nothing, no cats, no moped, no Reinfeld.

Despair. So “effin” close.

He heard a rustling of paper. He looked up and saw a badly xeroxed flyer, carelessly stapled to the telephone pole…

“HAVE YOU SEEN MY CAT?”

The Ann Arbor Cat Napper #8

Our hero was crawling through very low scrub brush along the side of a building, he could hear at once the close and distant cat’s meow. He also heard the Fixer punching the bushes and closing in behind him. He tried to dragged himself as fast as he could. The meows and the thrashing grew louder and louder.

“Kid yer sum piece a work.” The Manager said. Once again Jim had no idea where he was. He knew it was just his over active fantasy world. He developed this form of escape when he was doing things he didn’t really want to. He looked up and saw the Fixer starring back at him wearing his “I just buggered your dog and your next.” look.

“I could give a shit how you spend your days, creep. But this day’s almost over and where’s Cuddles?”

“Fuck man!” Jim said. As he pulled himself out of the hedge and got to his feet. Where he immediately found himself again after the Fixer grabbed him, told him to watch his language and pushed. He got pretty scratched up while trying to catch himself before he landed. “Ow.” he heard himself say. The Fixer and Manager starred at Jim like they were watching the most amazingly stupid event in history.

“Damn it!” The Manager snorted. He grabbed Jim’s arm and pulled him up. “Where’s Cuddles?”

“I donno. But two other cats are missing.” Jim felt a sudden dizziness while he realized he’d said the wrong thing. The Fixer was winding up for another swing and The Manager looked as though he might join in.

“Got a problem of focus, here.” Jim could see The Fixer’s hand on its way to the back of his head. He ducked just in time. The Fixer wasn’t quite that slow, he swung his foot and hit the back of Jim’s knee. Jim dropped.

“Crap. Com’on. I’m on the case.”

“This ain’t makin’ it quick, Butthead.” If Jim didn’t want to get off the ground he would have protested. It’s time to cut this meeting short.

“I gotta idea.” Jim said and crawled back, slowly. When he was out of reach, he got up and ran away.

Let ’em go. The little prick better find my cat.

“Find my cat! You Fuck!” The Manager kicked the dirt and turned toward the Fixer.

Jim stopped about two blocks away. He started walking in the opposite direction than The Fixer and The Manager. Late afternoon was bringing out more people. Students and townies walked around looking for something to do. Something besides spending money in the over priced stores. In a small town, townies usually recognized each other. Here, not a chance. Everyone was too involved with their own lives. Jim couldn’t remember anyone anyway. Right now he’d like to see a friendly face. He can’t go to his apartment, not until the bruisers leave the neighborhood. He didn’t want to talk with anyone for fear of another missing cat. He found a bench close by and decided to take a minute to think it through. Only the black and white connection with these cats. All three were somehow conveniently, coxed to go with the cat-napper. Why only black and whites? Jim was just starting into fantasy land when he saw a blue plum of smoke rising up from the parking lot across the street.

One use of the words bungie cord is to describe a rubber strap with hooks on either end used to hold things to the back of a vehicle.

A moped is a human operated, motorized device used as transportation from one point to another.

A milk crate is made of hard plastic and is used to conveniently hold 4 gallons of milk or 8 paper quart containers. However the crates are more likely to be found holding up short planks of wood acting as not so temporary shelving or strapped to the back of mopeds to transport items from point A to point B.

As he packed cans of cat food and a bag of chips into the almost full milk crate strapped to the back of his moped, Reinfeld Dogtree Westinghouse almost thought that using milk crates as storage for transport a very good idea.  Instead he was thinking about how lucky he was. He found three black and white cats all within a couple of blocks. He cased out the area for days, knowing the cats lived there. His hope was to get one at a time when they were let out. One person losing a cat wasn’t a really big deal. Three at once that was special. He couldn’t wait to tell the story.

Reinfeld pushed the bags into the milk crate. The other occupants meowed their disapproval. He put on his oversized crash helmet and started the moped causing a large puff of blue smoke. Some in the parking lot sneered. Reinfeld was having a great day and didn’t care

Cuddles, Boots and Mittens had no idea of the various forms of technology being used to generally make their lives uncomfortable and they certainly didn’t like it being strapped to the back of a moped to transport them.

 

I’m not cheating…I just write other blogs.

While I’ve been trying to keep you all from meeting and all the embarassing questions that come with it. How long? Why? Wasn’t I good enough?

I find that now I’ll neglect one for the other or visa versa.

Now what the heck! Let’s go total transparency. More so than business and more so than government. I want you to know me and I’m involved with other projects.

Two big projects I am starting:

First I’m in process of getting financing and my business plan for a multi media theatre diestrict. Lots of work and lots of fun. Lots of no’s and some yes’s.


Next

Since I like diversions. Show me something shinny and I’ll be gone for hours.

I’m thinking that I would like to run for President of the US.

In the meantime Please take a look at the links below.

Personal

http://ypsidaily.blogspot.com/

Linked In

https://www.linkedin.com/pub/michael-mclean/15/874/415

I also have a henrywest twitter that I set up but haven’t used it yet

https://twitter.com/HenryWestmin?refsrc=email

https://www.facebook.com/#!/henry.west.568089?fref=ts

Work related

http://mikeswatching.blogspot.com/

http://libdiversity.wordpress.com/

 

Barington Withersom

Barnington Withersom always followed the rules. Never would he take an unearned advantage. He was fair, honest to a fault. Hardly any would ever know his qualities. Barington worked a 46 acre spread just south of the Rockies. Nice enough but what can you farm in the desert? Barington knew and so did the specialists who came to work every summer. Barington let them be and collected the rent. The Withersoms owned the land since, well, since a long ago ancestor Kari-Strauss Withersomful hijacked a slave ship and ran it aground somewhere on the Texas coast. His origins are rather sketchy some say he was a prisoner from Portugal, convicted by the inquisition, after a couple of years of torture he wouldn’t confess and wouldn’t die, they sent him to Africa to work as a slave. He quietly escaped and found the double mast ship in harbor, loaded and waiting to set sail. Kari-Strauss Withersomful stowed away, once the ship was under way he overcame the guards in the hold and released the slaves. Within minutes he and the “passengers” had secured the ship without firing a shot or killing one person. The captain and officers became guests in the hold. They continued toward the west. No one wanted to go back. Life was hard and, if your neighbor was going to sell you into slavery or something like that, it might be time to leave. On with the story. Kari-Strauss along with the ship and crew struggled across the Atlantic. Finally reaching the islands, they knew better than to dock. They continued west around Florida and across the gulf. Every so often they’d make land and a few men would leave, sometimes others would join them. At one point, while in the middle of the gulf, they set out the captain and crew in the life boats. The tales of their exploits are legendary, they’ll have to wait for another day. They reached shore finally and assuming it was Mexico scuttled the ship in a deep cay. Over a hundred men swam to shore. Some walked away in groups, others alone. Kari-Strauss went alone. He walked and he didn’t stop until he was in what is now northern New Mexico, within site of the Rockies.

Far enough, absolutely nobody around, I mean nobody. He built a rock house, this ended up being the southernmost boundary of his property. He found a river about 10 miles north and after about two years moved his home to the river. Kari-Strauss did not see another soul for five years. He loved being alone though he may have gone a little loopy. The year is 1634. Kari-Strauss met his first original occupants of the land. They were impressed. They had not seen someone with fair skin before and thought it a bad omen. They didn’t care if he stayed but decided it would be better to keep their distance while keeping an eye on him. The men stayed a week and left. Still somewhat impressed. Who could live out here? After a couple of years the men returned with women and children. They stayed for an extra month and, when they left, one of the women stayed.

Another story has Kari-Strauss as a extremely rich and very eccentric resident of Hau-chen city somewhere in central China. He built a small fleet of ships to sail east. He had a vision of wide open sea leading to a beautiful shoreline. Kari had a mission, he knew there was more in the ocean and did not want to travel west to the barbarians. We’ll get into that later. Back to Barington.

Barington was very happy when the paleontologists arrived. They paid well to dig in the northeastern sector of his property. Turns out the property had the largest collection of tyrannosaurus bones in the western hemisphere. Barington found himself contemplating what the world must have looked like when those hugh beasts roamed. These insanely large reptiles lived for millions of years. He ran through the familiar thoughts again; How did they live? Did they develop cross species communication? How could a catastrophic event kill them all and not allow a recovery? Did they stay together as families or tribes? Herds?  Barington loved this land. It was paid for and he sent half the rent payment to a local shelter, some 300 miles away.

Barington would have liked to have more friends but his manner of speaking drove people nuts. He talked with an unbelievably loud, scratchy voice. HOW YA DOIN? Is about all they could stand.

Tim’s Lament

Click off. Shut down. A night like any other. Drag to bed. Mentally and emotionally exhausted.

Beautiful and mostly disturbing sites. Images pop up and fade. His flickering eyelids stop and stay closed

Next night – same thing

New night – log on

While Tim surfed to his regular sites – he realized that old feeling

He found himself going to those sites he hoped to avoid

He couldn’t resist. Click Click Select

Yes, he smiled. His favorite porn sites -cams and videos

He tried a couple of other sites, other videos, other cameras –

the same thing

It really started to creep him out. He lost his anonymous feeling -What’s… going….. on….?

Every place he clicked the actors would stop what they were doing and stare back.

Click off.

stay awake

 

A damn good waffle

Tony couldn’t wait to get to the Brazen Waffle. The sketches were hot and he had to move them quick. There was only one place to sell “Americana” artwork, the Brazen. Tony looked like a field mouse dodging hawks. The risk was 70/30 and not in his favor. Tony may have looked scared but he was rather comfortable in his chosen profession. He spent years building his customer base. He matched client with location. From the low rent to the 1% he knew where his clients were whenever he had product to move. This was country art and Tony was able to pick it up without notice and walk away. Without notice? Maybe. He saw a face. Someone who seemed to acknowledge what he had done. He saw the face and didn’t see it again. He was spooked.

Tony realized his turn was right now and almost skidded into the gravel parking lot of the Brazen Waffle. His clients would be there plus it’s time for a damn good waffle. The parking lot filled with dust and most of it followed him into the restaurant. With the sketches under his arm he found a seat. “I’ll have a pomegranate smoothie and an order of your extra crispy waffles.” The waitress turned away mumbling “I’ll be right back.” At the breakfast bar George turned to acknowledge Tony and eye the sketches. George invited himself over and asked to look at the drawings. George was the client Tony wanted to see. Tony told him about the famous American artist who made these available at a very reasonable price. Five hundred each. George fancied himself an art collector. He bought most of the art Tony brought in. He did make a pretty decent profit when he resold them. The waffles arrived and Tony handed George the drawings. George was very excited to see the art. Drawings of the wilderness, farms and quaint street views. George was satisfied and ready to pay when a hand landed on Tony’s shoulder. Tony swallowed hard, still a damn good waffle. The face of the artist leaned in from behind Tony and said, “They’re six hundred each.”