Archives for March 2015

Heart of Stone

#91 Heart of Stone


Women didn’t like the way I acted or looked. The hell with them I thought. This is the modern age, and I can create a woman of my own. I studied all the books on DNA, RNA, artificial life, cloning, and other methods used in laboratories around the world. It was confusing until I found a site that claimed to have a book that showed twenty-one easy steps for creating a woman.

Sent for the book, cleaned out my garage and got to work. I made my woman gray instead of white, black, brown, yellow or any other color. I made her tall and thin instead of short and squat. Her skin turned out bumpy and rough instead of smooth and soft as she would have preferred.

She wasn’t exactly beautiful, but I didn’t care as long as she was mine and would behave exactly like I wanted.

I followed the book’s instructions to a T. When I plugged her into the 220- volt socket; she moved. I let her charge the entire night. In the morning after I pulled her plug, she got up and wanted to dance. She was a lousy dancer, so I told her to sit down.

She was as lively as a newborn pup and inquisitive too. I couldn’t understand how or why because inside of her light-colored head there was no brain. I looked in the book. It said the DNA I used to grow her parts from had a memory of their own. The book said I could train her as I would a dog and do it in only 30 days.

“Sit,” I said, and she did. “Roll over,” I said. She did three times. “Good girl.” I patted her head and fed her a doggie biscuit for being good like the book said I should.

She followed me around and lay at my feet when I sat on a chair. I named her Frankie, short for Frankenstein. She soon learned to respond when I called. She did everything I asked, plus more. When I asked her to rub my feet, she licked my toes. If I wanted dinner, she’d make a gourmet meal.

A few years went by, and I fell in love, and wanted to marry her even though she ran on oil instead of blood. I thought it about time that a man and a machine should wed. Went to city hall to get a marriage license, and they told me it wasn’t allowed.


“Marriage is for humans, not machines,” the clerk said.

“Same-sex marriage is allowed. I even heard of a man marrying his dog in California, so why can’t I marry the woman I created for myself?”

“Number one, she doesn’t have a birth certificate, number two; she doesn’t have a social security card. How do we know she’s not an illegal immigrant? Another thing, she’s made out of stone. There’s no way you can be married to a rock.”

“If I made her out of flesh, would I be allowed to marry her?”

“As long as she has a birth certificate and social security card.”

“I’ve created the perfect woman. See how obedient she is?  ”I told her to roll over, and she did.

The clerk was impressed but said, “That’s great, but she’s still made of stone.”

If only I could reverse Medusa’s curse and change her from stone to flesh. I didn’t know what to do. I had come to love Frankie for all that she was and didn’t want to rebuild her. Medusa was said to have turned men into stone if they gazed upon the snakes growing from her head.

The Goddess Athena was responsible for her becoming what she was. I researched how I’d get her to reverse the process and turn stone to flesh. I told Frankie what I wanted to do. She knew who Athena was and started praying.

“Goddess Athena, you are my favorite for I, like you, was born from the head of a man. And I, like you, am a woman true. Grant me the ability to see truth and clarity, to learn and appreciate new things, and to treasure and maintain the knowledge I already possess. Allow me to become flesh and blood so I can marry Joe. Thank you for allowing me to retain my reason and higher faculties while allowing me to love a mortal man. Your will be done.”

The air became heavy. An electrical sound filled the room, and a bright light appeared from which stepped the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She raised her arm and said, “As you are devoted to me, your wish is granted.”

The crackling became so loud I had to cover my ears. I watched as Frankie’s rough, bumpy skin of cement turn to soft smooth flesh. Her body changed to proportions that equaled Athena’s and after a bit, I could hardly tell one beauty from another. Then I noticed Frankie’s hair was turning into a bevy of snakes.

“No, no,” I said, but they continued to grow. As I gazed upon them, I felt heavy. I feared I was turning into a rock. “Why,” I started to say, but my lips of stone could no longer move.

“I’ve answered your prayer,” Athena said to Frankie. “Now you know, always be careful of what you ask for because it can come true.” She disappeared in a flash of light.

Frankie came close and whispered in my ear, “Sorry, Joe, can’t love a man whose heart is made of stone.”

The end





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Little Brain

#90 Little Brain


On my fourteenth birthday, Grandpa Joe took me fishing on the Mississippi River in his leaky old rowboat. We floated alongside the high cliffs on the Iowa side. I liked to fish and enjoyed baiting the hook. Grandpa wouldn’t use any bait. I asked him why.

He said, “I love floating on a boat and hanging a fishing pole over the side. It gives me a reason to be here, but I don’t want to catch a fish, and take its life. I don’t believe in killing anything, not even a worm for bait.”

Figured Grandpa was getting senile, but he still knew things I didn’t. I didn’t have a father or any other man I could talk to about girls, so I told him about my girlfriend and how I had the urge whenever I got close to her. Probably shouldn’t have said anything because he went on a rant that embarrassed me.

“By God boy,” he said. “When I was your age my little man ruled. The world was his. He was spoiled and always got whatever he wanted. Together we traveled to pleasurable spots around the globe. We took so many trips he has gotten them all mixed up and only remembers the good times.”

“Hold on Grandpa, you’re saying your penis has a mind of its own?”

“What did you just tell me boy? Didn’t you say whenever you got close to your girl you had an overwhelming urge? Well, that’s your little guy taking control; some call it your little brain.”

“I can’t believe that. I take responsibility for my actions.”

“Responsible or not, your actions will be directed by the little guy.” Grandpa got a bite on his line.

“Looks like a big one. Reel it in,” I said.

Grandpa took out his pocketknife and cut the line.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Fish are driven by urges just like we are. I didn’t want to take its life just because it saw my shiny hook and did what it was compelled to do.”

“Let me get this straight. You’re equating a fish getting hooked with a man’s sexual urges?”

“Got that right, boy,” he said and tied a knot in a new hook he had threaded onto his fishing line.

“If you don’t want to catch a fish, why do you even put a hook on your line?”

“This is the Mississippi boy; never know what you’re going to hook.”

“Ya ever hook anything interesting?”

“Yep. Hooked a man’s body once.”

“No kidding?”

“Poor bastard kilt himself.”

“How do you know that?”

“Read it in the paper. His wife said he was despondent because he was impotent. So you see his little brain drove him to it.”

“Why do you say that?” I finally got a bite and pulled in a two inch long sunfish. I threw it back.

“He was in his fifties. When a man ages, his journeys aren’t always the ones he wants to take. His little guy was driven by desire and sought pleasure, but he discovered passion and age go in different directions. The little brain drove the big brain to despair because he always wanted satisfaction but could no longer raise his amorous head.”

“How would you know that?” I got another bite and reeled in a foot long pike. I saw the sorrowful look on grandpa’s face, so I cut the line and threw it back into the muddy water.

“It happened to me; that’s how I know. When it did, I laughed in the little guy’s face and told him I was now in control. Boy, did I underestimate him. He showed me who was in charge. Every time he wouldn’t respond, I begged and pled to no avail. He refused to raise his little head unless I returned total control to him.”

“So what did you do, Grandpa?”

“Everything the little guy wanted.”

“Like what?”

“Sorry boy, there are some things I can’t discuss with a boy. What my little brain tells me to do is between him and me.”

A double-decked tour boat sped on by; washing our boat in waves that rocked it back and forth so much I thought we might tip over. Grandpa looked away and didn’t say another word. I figured he was embarrassed by this man-to-boy-talk. Since he wouldn’t tell me what his little brain made him do to stay happy, I followed my urges, and bought a pair of lace underwear to wear when I watched porn.

I named my little guy Kaptain Kielbasa to make it more personal when I talked to him. The Kaptain and I get along great. I do whatever he wants, so that when I get old, he and I will see eye to eye.





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What Ghosts Haunt Me


#89 What Ghosts Haunt Me


On a sunny New York day, the sidewalks on 52nd Street were crowded with pedestrians as usual when one man stopped looked up and pointed. His unusual actions caused others to look, and they saw a man standing on a ledge eight floors above ground.

“Better get out of the way,” the man on the ledge yelled, “I don’t want to take anyone with me.”

“AW, go on and jump you jerk, you’re holding up traffic,” The man who pointed said.

The man on the ledge crouched into a diving position, swung his arms behind him, and started to bring them forward as though he would spring forward in a headfirst dive.

“NOOOOOOOO,” A woman screamed, “Don’t do it.”

A crowd of several hundred people had gathered to watch the man splat as he hit the cement. Some in the crowd started a chant, “Jump, jump, jump.”

“Shut up you animals. That’s a human being up there,” the woman said.

“He’s a jerk and is probably better off if he jumps,” one of the chanters said.

The women ignored what he said and addressed the jumper who seemed to be interested in the banter going on about him. “Tell me about yourself before you jump?” she instinctively said.  She stepped forward onto the area he would likely hit when he jumped.

The jumper stood up straight and in a voice loud enough to be heard eight floors below said, “The specter of decisions I made throughout my life come into my dreams. The things I left unsaid that could have saved my ass time and again have made my life harder than it should have been.”

“That’s a silly reason to jump from a ledge,” the woman said.

The police had arrived and pushed the crowd back so none would be harmed if the man jumped. Some cops ran into the building.

“I came to this world with good intentions, but the day I arrived, I went into a bar in search of a soul to save. I saw her sitting at the bar. Sullied by sin, but still as beautiful as could be. I wanted to save her, so she could return with me to a better place than here.

“Smitten with her, I drank the booze she ordered and did the drugs she gave me. I could have said no, but I always wanted more. I should have done better, but, I needed more and more.”

“The guy’s crazy, he may as well jump,” a man said.

Ignoring the words again, the woman shouted, “I can help you overcome your addictions, just give me a chance.”

“You don’t understand,” the man on the ledge said and took a step forward so that his toes were sticking out.

He obviously didn’t see the cop reaching through the window about to grab hold of him. The cop stopped moving once the man moved so close to the edge.

“I came here to find a wife, and the one I chose was a plant, sent here to foil my plans. What’s left of her is in there. He pointed to the hotel window he had crawled from. I was instructed to find a woman with compassion, a woman who cared for others and was kind, but like a fool, I fell for beauty and inside she was as evil as could be. She confessed and told me all her wicked ways before I cut out her tongue.”

He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a piece of bloody flesh to show the crowd. He threw it to the ground, and it splattered in front of the woman trying to save his life. She looked and saw it could be a human tongue.

“You can get help,” she said through trembling lips.

“You’re the kind of woman I came here for,” the man on the ledge said.

“The world is full of women like me, but if you jump, you’ll never discover one you can love.”

“The guy cut out his girlfriend’s tongue for Christ sake, let him jump, better than the electric chair,” the man next to her said.

She turned to give the man a dirty look, and she looked up in time to see the cop who had crawled halfway out the window lunge at the man on the ledge. It looked like when he wrapped his arms around the man’s legs they passed right through them, and the cop was left holding an armful of air.

The cops face showed his astonishment. He attempted to grab hold of the man once more, and his hands passed through him. He scurried back through the window.

“It’s some kind of hologram,” the man standing beside the woman said.

The woman looked at the tongue lying on the sidewalk. She touched it with her shoe. It moved when she touched it, and blood dripped from it onto the cement. “How can he be a hologram when the tongue he dropped is really here?” she put her hand on the man’s shoulder waiting for an answer.

“Hell, I don’t know. Must be some kind of trick.”

“But why?” she said.

“Don’t know. Maybe it’s some advertisement for a movie or something,” he kicked the tongue into the gutter.

“Are you really there?” the woman looked at the man on the ledge.

“Do you really care?”

“If you are, I want to help, but if you’re a projection, I’m a fool.”

“You’re the one for me,” he said as he dove from the ledge.

A collective scream went up from the crowd as the man hurtled downward. The scream became shocked silence when halfway to the ground, the man sprouted wings, and he swooped over the crowd, took the woman who had tried to save him in his arms and headed for the sky. The crowd, the cops, the photographers watched in silence as he flew so far away he became a speck in the sky. Then disappeared.

The end






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Story of the day. #87 Brutal.

Granite Mountain. Prescott AZ

The trail were either flooded or covered with snow. On the way down I lost the trail and had to go over rocks, brush, and slippery mud to reach the bottom. Once on the bottom I had to hike a mile or so toward the cliffs before I found the trail leading back to the parking area.IMG_0192 IMG_0181 IMG_0180 IMG_0177 IMG_0176 IMG_0170 IMG_0169 IMG_0168 IMG_0167 IMG_0166 IMG_0164 IMG_0163 IMG_0162 IMG_0161 IMG_0159 IMG_0158 IMG_0157 IMG_0156 IMG_0155 IMG_0154 IMG_0153 IMG_0152 IMG_0151 IMG_0150 IMG_0194 IMG_0193

#85 Genocide

#84— (Planet) PSR J1719-1438,

My story of the day

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