I’m interested in one thing, telling a story. If I wanted to show you a story, I’d take up painting. I write for me and I know what I like. I don’t write for some professor, sitting in a stuffy office, scowling at my lack of proper style. So yes, I’ll start a sentence with a conjunction, use a comma when it should be a semicolon, and use nouns as verbs. It only matters that I like it. If you like it, share it. If you don’t, that’s ok with…who am I trying to kid…please, please, please like it too.
Monday Morning Blues…
John stood at the window of his fifth floor office and smiled at the traffic on the street below. All those cars speeding past with their Monday morning drivers jockeying for a position nearer to the front of the line. Only to have to slam on their brakes again as the light on the corner of Grand St. turned red. In their eagerness to get to the jobs they hated, they’d start inching forward with each second that passed until the light would turn green and they could stomp on the accelerator to go another ¼ mile before screeching to a stop again on Jefferson.
He turned his attention to a group of little kids in the park across the street. Amused at how they clutched their mother’s fingers with one hand while they tried to toss bread crumbs from the other. Then they would quickly back away and peer out from behind the legs of their protector as the ducks and pigeons scurried forward to snatch them up. Jumping up and down with joy they would point their fingers and giggle at the fascination of it all.
“You know, it really doesn’t take much to make people happy. I sure wish you would have learned that lesson years ago.” John said, as he turned around to look at his lifeless body slumped over the desk. Its face buried in the quarterly reports that just had to be finished. It was still wearing the same suit he had worn to work on Friday.
Hey man, I wonder what’s at the botttom of the gene pool?
I know, I need to quit harping about how stupid people are, but every time I try, they go and do something even more idiotic. Like the rash of asshats lately in our National parks. A few weeks ago, some dude tried to pet a bison…on the face. Another couple grabs a baby bison from the side of the road and shoves it into their vehicle because they thought it was lost and yet another drunk-ass moron tried to pick a fight with a bison right in the middle of the road. Last week, I read about an incident where these two bull elk were fighting each other and about fifty people gathered around them to take pictures. After the battle, one elk walks away from the fight and these dingbats just keep standing there clicking their cell phones. I’ll tell you, they got a pretty good picture as that elk tossed one of those brain dead morons a couple of yards. The most recent escapade was these two numb nuts that get off the path and walk up to an active geyser and lean over the opening so they could take a picture of the inside. They got arrested for trespassing, which is much better than they deserve…my vote would have been to let them get steamed alive when it erupted. But even the actions of these brain dead morons didn’t even come close to the level of stupidity I saw in the comments of one of the digital newspapers reporting it. Check out what this idiot had to say about it.
“So you’re telling me that now I can’t even go wherever I want in my State Park, yay for freedom.”
Seriously?
Through the Years
My heart beats for you
My red-haired angel
Who closes your eyes
When you laugh
And still looks at me
Like I am your sunrise
Years ago our first kiss
pulled you into my heart.
The taste of your lips
the warmth of your soul
have been my life.
When the poet in me
dreams of love
it dreams of you.
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Play it Again Sam
Music’s always been part of my coping mechanism in life. My family could tell my mood by the songs I played. If I’d had a good day, you would hear Simon and Garfunkel, Steely Dan, Jethro Tull or The Beatles coming out from under the door. A more melancholy me would sit in the dark and listen to Pink Floyd, Jackson Browne, America or the Eagles.
One night my son wanted to borrow the car. I heard my wife tell him, “You better not go in there son, he’s playing Cat Stevens. My son called his friend for a ride.
Jerry Brotherton 